In four days I leave for Florida. I bought a one-way ticket and rented a beach house for two weeks. Can I afford this? No. I put it on a credit card and hopefully I can pay it back. I needed some time away. Most people think that because I’m on Disability my life is filled with TV and eating Bon Bons on the couch. It’s far from it.
Everyday I am in physical and emotional pain. Everyday I wake up with a lump in my throat, a stiff neck, lower back screaming, hips popping, and a wave of dizziness that let’s me know I’m still here. Lucky me. If it’s a Monday I look forward to my dad coming home from Dialysis. I watch the clock. If it’s past 10:30 I know it’s going to be bad. This means that the staff has infiltrated his fistula again and can’t stop his bleeding. They have to leave him “clamped” longer until the bleeding stops. They blame him and make him feel like a scolded school boy. They have even gone as far as putting him at a station without a TV for a week and that was built for a Right Handed Patient, this means the tubes and wires have to across my dad’s stomach and chest making it hard to relax for four hours.
My sister said today that he needs to speak up for himself. She was pissed at me because I hung up on her. I hung up on her because she wasn’t paying attention to anything I was saying. I couldn’t reach her all day yesterday. She had just come back from another week long vacation where there was supposedly no cell phone reception. This was her seventh or eighth this summer. I’m afraid to leave now because she won’t even answer the phone when she’s 10 minutes away. What if something happens to my Dad while I’m gone and she doesn’t answer the phone? Why can’t she understand that I am sick too?
Lately my stuttering is so bad it scares me. I find myself on the floor in the bathroom rocking back and forth, stuttering to myself. When I stutter it’s to a point where it sounds like a deaf person trying to speak for the first time. I mean no disrespect, I mean my voice has the same pitch and tone. The Doctors found it odd themselves, it was unusual for someone with a stutter to have a change in their pitch and tone. It was a key factor in the diagnosis of the type of Conversion Disorder I have. It’s why it sounds so disturbing to the people who know me. I don’t find it funny and I will never understand why or how anyone could laugh or mimic someone like me. I do think it’s unacceptable the same way my dad’s Dialysis care is.
I find my fuse is short lately. I also find myself not really caring. I have had episodes where I have let things that bother me simmer for so long that one day I see red and hear a rushing sound in my ears. If I continue to swallow it down it’s going to kill me. I’m worried my dad is going to hurt himself when I’m away. He’s been extremely depressed. It’s been 90 degrees here and he’s working under his truck for 8 straight hours without stopping. He does these things just to see if he still can. He’ll lift a 100 pound bag of grain just to see if he can. He just had his Aortic Aneurysm repaired and he isn’t supposed to lift anything heavy with the arm that has the fistula! I can’t take it some days.
I also wish my twin sister would love and understand me someday. I wish she would stop with the guilt and shame. I wish she understood that I didn’t take attention away from her consciously. I don’t remember most of it because of alcohol or I just don’t remember it. I know, thanks to my one friend, that I’m not that crazy. She has one of the best memories and wonders what the hell my sister’s problem is. My best friend remembers the bullying and teasing I went through. That’s putting it nicely. While that was happening my sister had a large amount of friends and wasn’t bullied or teased. She never intervened on my behalf. When I became a Senior in High School and started drinking I turned a little mean and they left me alone. The kids in my school knew who I hung out with outside of school at that time and were afraid of them. For once I caught a break until I realized I was tossed into a much worse place. A place of worse degradation, brutality, and suffering.