You can not call me Jack anymore.
You can not call me at 11pm
And say Hey Jackie Baby!
And talk to me about passion or religion.
You can not invite me over
And make my favorite meal
Then roll your eyes,
As if you don’t care
When I say I love it.
You can not open the door for me
Smile at me with your head tilted to the right
Or rest your hand on my hip.
You can not sleep next to me
And cuddle up close with your eyes shut
Pretending your movements are innocent.
You can not call me Jack anymore.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
I wrote that poems about six months ago and decided it might be more interesting to read than another post about family members on the verge of death, or my damn hand. Maybe I just posted them because I was tired of reading through my own sadness and narcotic-induced ramblings. I retired a number of posts to the vault tonight. While out of sight, they are forever preserved in digital format, as are your comments, which I am still grateful for despite having retired them by proxy.
Is that the correct use of the phrase "by proxy"?
I can't wait to find my space at Boston University's library. I am yearning for intellectual stimulation to such an extent that since I graduated from college, I lost almost all capability to read novels. I've happily ingested biographies of Saudi princesses and soldiers in Afghanistan, more than seven books on nutrition, metabolism and food combination, a history of the Forbes 400, a guide to relationships, poetry collections by Whitman and Neruda, and lots of travel literature.
Exceptions to the novel rule include the following: Vonnegut, Kundera, The Secret Life of Bees, The Arabian Nights, and some trashy romance novels.
Spent the evening trying to decide which classes I want to take at BU this fall. I have narrowed the possibilities down to eight (from fourteen). Wish my degree required more credits...
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
I know, I know......I'll be fine.
Every day, by about four in the afternoon, I fall apart.
By four in the afternoon I have probably spent a few hours hugging my mom while she cries over her dying mother, or encouraging her to be strong in the face of her siblings who haven't bothered to contact her in the last twenty years.
Things have usually wound down at my grandmother's hospice and I find myself sitting alone, worrying about my father and staring at my mangled hand.
Every day, in those moments, I want to disappear. Sensing an impending crash, my mom drives me to our motel, where I lay on a smoke-smelling bed for a few hours and remind myself to breathe.
Sometimes I cry because I miss Argentina and I am mourning the loss of a trip I sacrificed so much for. Other times it's the thought of physical therapy and enduring even more pain that brings me to tears. Occasionally I feel too tired to cry, so I call people in an attempt to distract myself.
I am exhausted and its not over yet.
I fly back to NY on Tuesday, then spend Wednesday helping my father get to the doctor, seeing two of my own doctors and completing a PT appointment. On Thursday to Friday I am set to drive out to Illinois with my mom and my sister, to see my grandmother if she is still alive, or attend her funeral if she is not.
By the end of May I am supposed to have my eye fixed, register for classes at Boston University and move to Washington Heights, New York City. I'm also still waiting to hear back from my insurance company about the $3,000 they owe me, and wondering how I am going to afford $100/week in PT copays for the next three months.
I still can't feel my fingers.
I missed my good friend's bridal shower on Saturday.
I want to visit my Nana but I don't know how or when.
It's really hard to talk to people I know well because they can read through my attempts at distraction or dissociation. Even so, it's been very heartwarming to receive text messages, e-mails and phone calls from close friends. I've attempted to reach out to acquaintances a few times with varying degrees of success, which tends to leave me feeling more isolated than I was to begin with.
All this fucking sucks, but life goes on. I just hope that sometime in the near future I find some strength to hold onto so I don't keep falling apart.
By four in the afternoon I have probably spent a few hours hugging my mom while she cries over her dying mother, or encouraging her to be strong in the face of her siblings who haven't bothered to contact her in the last twenty years.
Things have usually wound down at my grandmother's hospice and I find myself sitting alone, worrying about my father and staring at my mangled hand.
Every day, in those moments, I want to disappear. Sensing an impending crash, my mom drives me to our motel, where I lay on a smoke-smelling bed for a few hours and remind myself to breathe.
Sometimes I cry because I miss Argentina and I am mourning the loss of a trip I sacrificed so much for. Other times it's the thought of physical therapy and enduring even more pain that brings me to tears. Occasionally I feel too tired to cry, so I call people in an attempt to distract myself.
I am exhausted and its not over yet.
I fly back to NY on Tuesday, then spend Wednesday helping my father get to the doctor, seeing two of my own doctors and completing a PT appointment. On Thursday to Friday I am set to drive out to Illinois with my mom and my sister, to see my grandmother if she is still alive, or attend her funeral if she is not.
By the end of May I am supposed to have my eye fixed, register for classes at Boston University and move to Washington Heights, New York City. I'm also still waiting to hear back from my insurance company about the $3,000 they owe me, and wondering how I am going to afford $100/week in PT copays for the next three months.
I still can't feel my fingers.
I missed my good friend's bridal shower on Saturday.
I want to visit my Nana but I don't know how or when.
It's really hard to talk to people I know well because they can read through my attempts at distraction or dissociation. Even so, it's been very heartwarming to receive text messages, e-mails and phone calls from close friends. I've attempted to reach out to acquaintances a few times with varying degrees of success, which tends to leave me feeling more isolated than I was to begin with.
All this fucking sucks, but life goes on. I just hope that sometime in the near future I find some strength to hold onto so I don't keep falling apart.
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