The Purge Part 2: "Please, tell me something to make this okay."

This is a post about the things we know we have to purge.

On my teeny nightstand next to my bed there is a lamp, a glass of water, and bottles of pills. There are pills I take in the morning and different ones I take at night. Save a couple weeks of antibiotics I have never been this person before, the person who takes pills routinely, and it's proving rather difficult.

First, there's just the logistics of being a pill person--there are times that they must be taken and amounts of food that they [supposedly] must be taken with, and then you just have to remember to take them, and even more frustrating--you have to remember that you've already taken them. They're so small, all my pills. They're tiny little white pills and they come in four sizes, and there are far too many of them in the tall orange bottles where they live to warrant the number of days that have passed. I can't seem to wrap my head around taking them, on time, everyday, for many days in a row. It's all so hard. But this, I suppose, is part of my reality. The worst part is, it is becoming my whole reality.

I haven't been completely honest either, and I suppose it's time to make this exceedingly clear: I am really, really sick. I am "may have to add 3 more pills a day to the regimen" sick, I'm "sometimes I can't stand up" sick, and once even I was "passed out on the concrete floor at work" sick. The insult to this injury is that it's quite likely that I'm several different kinds of sick, all with treatments that impede each other.

I am one hundred, twenty-three pounds.

Have you any idea how tempting it is to have someone to save me from this? To hold my hand and drop me off at the hospital, to bring me tea and water at night, to count out all my pills, to massage my calves until I can stand up long enough to take a shower. To bring me dinner. To make me eat. To fix me and fuck me and call me beautiful--but me, all of me, is becoming an increasingly large responsibility and it's almost too daunting for me and it's definitely too daunting for someone kind enough to actually do all of those things.

By now I suppose that everyone is realizing that this isn't exactly hypothetical, and I guess you can imagine this conversation any way you want because I wont repeat it here as it was just long enough to hurt. I will say that he was just new enough to be perfect, and just perfect enough to be wonderful, and way, way too great to be deserved by tiny, treacherous, mind-fuck me. 

I have another appointment on Monday, and one the Monday following. Soon I will have a treatment plan, and soon after that a routine. Maybe by then I will have rifled through a Wordsmith and a Painter or two, and maybe be fortunate enough to fall back to the natural conclusion? 

Until then I'm pissed at myself for being too honest and lacking the will to change my sheets because of course they smell like him and I'm scared to death to do this all alone, but I suppose I'm even more scared of getting help for all the wrong reasons--and wait, haven't I done this before?

Cross your fingers for me, kittens. I need it right now.

p.s. ...and bring me some Cake. 


Lisa said...

1) my fingers (and toes) are crossed

2) I'm running across the street to play the Lotto; if I win, I will fly out and be that person to bring you tea and water and take you to all your appts.

3) I love you

Miranda Moure said...

I might make you fly out if I have to have surgery. For the exact same reasons detailed above, Seattle's off the list for that one. Hopefully, I don't, but in the meantime I keep dropping weight like...I don't know. Insert some analogy there.