Sunday, May 16, 2010
Sunday, May 2, 2010
My Heart Screams
Stars
singeing in furious
frenzy and singing of shackles
wrapped around my swollen wrists to declare
me an example.
Symphonies
screaming of all the beauty
masked and swimming with crescents
encased in watery coronas to explode
in flawless matrimony.
My sunken bones
know what’s inside
despite the envious and illusional
flame of disillusion.
And I think it's about God.
singeing in furious
frenzy and singing of shackles
wrapped around my swollen wrists to declare
me an example.
Symphonies
screaming of all the beauty
masked and swimming with crescents
encased in watery coronas to explode
in flawless matrimony.
My sunken bones
know what’s inside
despite the envious and illusional
flame of disillusion.
And I think it's about God.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Dear Dad,
I hear you're reading this blog.
Well, that really makes me happy. :) And I was really mad when I wrote that other thing down there so... sorry. :D
We had a wonderful dinner together today. I was so excited when I left the restaurant. No offense, but it's one of the only times that we could legitimately stand each other for more than a few minutes without trying to solve the world's problems together.
I think we should make it a weekly happening. Or maybe two-weeks-at-a-time-ly. But either way, we should definitely do it more often.
God, I had so much stuff planned out in my head about what to write and now I can't remember it at all and I'm just blathering incessantly. XD
It was like we were best buds again. As much as I rant and rave about your misgivings and faults, my ignorant anger blinds my memories of our fun times together. Going for drives around Lake Hefner, playing baseball in the courtyard, making videos, riding bikes, watching Anne of Green Gables, seeing your face in the audience at every performance. The list goes on. We were quite pair. It's sad that it's been dismantled for now, but I know that the awesome connection between us won't ever be shut away.
You're awesome, Dad. :)
I love you.
Well, that really makes me happy. :) And I was really mad when I wrote that other thing down there so... sorry. :D
We had a wonderful dinner together today. I was so excited when I left the restaurant. No offense, but it's one of the only times that we could legitimately stand each other for more than a few minutes without trying to solve the world's problems together.
I think we should make it a weekly happening. Or maybe two-weeks-at-a-time-ly. But either way, we should definitely do it more often.
God, I had so much stuff planned out in my head about what to write and now I can't remember it at all and I'm just blathering incessantly. XD
It was like we were best buds again. As much as I rant and rave about your misgivings and faults, my ignorant anger blinds my memories of our fun times together. Going for drives around Lake Hefner, playing baseball in the courtyard, making videos, riding bikes, watching Anne of Green Gables, seeing your face in the audience at every performance. The list goes on. We were quite pair. It's sad that it's been dismantled for now, but I know that the awesome connection between us won't ever be shut away.
You're awesome, Dad. :)
I love you.
Friday, February 19, 2010
The Great Lion is Dead
My grandpa died on Monday, February 8th, 2010 in Mercy Hospital.
When Conner ran into the lobby to wake me, he told me that his breathing had dropped to zero, so I needed to hurry. I did, and I ran down to the ICU room.
There, Ronnie and Sarah sat beside my motionless grandfather. His heart monitor was still off the charts, though, but his breathing rate had, indeed, fallen to zero.
I sat in the chair beside him. I watched him.
The nurse ran in and switched the heart monitor to the 'private' setting, which means we don't see anything happening internally. Then she ran out.
I still watched him.
And I watched as he morphed into a lifeless, inhuman form.
The peaceful lapse into unconsciousness you see in the movies is a lighthearted, playful version of death. That's the stupidest thought, but it's what I was thinking.
The being that used to be my grandfather, my warm, honest, sturdy, musky-scented grandfather transformed into something alien and wrong before my eyes.
It was alien. It was inhuman. It was not supposed to be.
I watched him briefly resemble my peacefully sleeping grandfather.
And then I watched him melt into a soulless monster, an inanimate creature that wasn't supposed to exist.
He looked empty. Like a coffee cup filled with everything that mattered had suddenly been dumped out into a hellish abyss and all you wanted to do was rescue it. And all that's left is the cup. The empty, ugly cup.
His son entered the room. His son tried to close the empty vessel's mouth. It didn't work. His son pushed the lifeless alien onto its side, and I watched as this thing that mildly resembled my grandfather sank like a ragdoll under his son's touch.
Sarah whimpered and turned my face away. I squeezed eyes shut, but it's burned into my head.
I told her I needed to leave. She came with me and had her arms around me for about the next hour. She saw it too. She saw the monstrous, empty shell. She and I, and also Ronnie, will never speak of this experience, but we will always have the connection. We saw it happen.
Conner saw it too, but I think he saw it a different way. He doesn't understand how disturbed we are.
I'm now taking a healthy dose of Zoloft every day, so it's easier to push aside. I do have panic attacks every morning before school. But that's what the Zoloft is for, I suppose.
I want to melt into a puddle of water and curl up on the ground, just so I can sleep forever.
When Conner ran into the lobby to wake me, he told me that his breathing had dropped to zero, so I needed to hurry. I did, and I ran down to the ICU room.
There, Ronnie and Sarah sat beside my motionless grandfather. His heart monitor was still off the charts, though, but his breathing rate had, indeed, fallen to zero.
I sat in the chair beside him. I watched him.
The nurse ran in and switched the heart monitor to the 'private' setting, which means we don't see anything happening internally. Then she ran out.
I still watched him.
And I watched as he morphed into a lifeless, inhuman form.
The peaceful lapse into unconsciousness you see in the movies is a lighthearted, playful version of death. That's the stupidest thought, but it's what I was thinking.
The being that used to be my grandfather, my warm, honest, sturdy, musky-scented grandfather transformed into something alien and wrong before my eyes.
It was alien. It was inhuman. It was not supposed to be.
I watched him briefly resemble my peacefully sleeping grandfather.
And then I watched him melt into a soulless monster, an inanimate creature that wasn't supposed to exist.
He looked empty. Like a coffee cup filled with everything that mattered had suddenly been dumped out into a hellish abyss and all you wanted to do was rescue it. And all that's left is the cup. The empty, ugly cup.
His son entered the room. His son tried to close the empty vessel's mouth. It didn't work. His son pushed the lifeless alien onto its side, and I watched as this thing that mildly resembled my grandfather sank like a ragdoll under his son's touch.
Sarah whimpered and turned my face away. I squeezed eyes shut, but it's burned into my head.
I told her I needed to leave. She came with me and had her arms around me for about the next hour. She saw it too. She saw the monstrous, empty shell. She and I, and also Ronnie, will never speak of this experience, but we will always have the connection. We saw it happen.
Conner saw it too, but I think he saw it a different way. He doesn't understand how disturbed we are.
I'm now taking a healthy dose of Zoloft every day, so it's easier to push aside. I do have panic attacks every morning before school. But that's what the Zoloft is for, I suppose.
I want to melt into a puddle of water and curl up on the ground, just so I can sleep forever.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
He's not gonna make it.
My grandpa is slowly dying and there's nothing we can do about it.
We watch as his organs shut down and his body functions begin to disintegrate and he drowns in his own body fluid because we can't stop it from filling his lungs.
They say the morphine blocks out the pain of drowning, the pain of hunger, the pain of thirst, but there's no real way to tell, is there? Unless they really give him too much and guarantee that there's a lack of pain.
I'm still just a kid to them. I'm still just little old Katie, too young to understand the gravity of the situation. Here I am, just little old Katie, sitting in a chair, wondering in a clueless, innocent fashion what is going on.
Uncle Ron takes over. Uncle Ron knows what's best. He assumes the authoritative position and decides everything. He assumes we agree with what he says. He doesn't even bother to assume if I agree, though, because my opinion doesn't matter anyway. I'm just a kid. I don't know what's going on.
We are ALL going through a hard time. We all know how important and influential Grandpa was. We all have our own special connections with him. We all have a voice in how this should be handled. We all know that Grandpa is going to die. And we all know that we all have to watch. Why should it matter who the fucking LEADER is?
I am seventeen years old. I am six months away from being eighteen. I know that that's still young, but I will not be categorized as one of "the kids" and just thrown into whatever position is open. I refuse. And I don't give a flying fuck what Uncle Ron thinks about it.
I love my grandpa. I love him so much. He created this family. He made it into what it is. He kept us all together. He kept the peace.
I'm probably just overreacting and taking all this out on my uncle because I'm having a hard time dealing with all this, but I was never looked at as being more than a kid, even before this happened. And now, no matter how much effort I spend trying to take care of everyone else, trying to assure that everyone else is okay, trying to make sure everyone has what they need, I'm still going to be another kid, another dependent, another one to be pushed to the side with a lack of knowledge, a lack of understanding, a lack of importance.
I'm not important to this family.
We watch as his organs shut down and his body functions begin to disintegrate and he drowns in his own body fluid because we can't stop it from filling his lungs.
They say the morphine blocks out the pain of drowning, the pain of hunger, the pain of thirst, but there's no real way to tell, is there? Unless they really give him too much and guarantee that there's a lack of pain.
I'm still just a kid to them. I'm still just little old Katie, too young to understand the gravity of the situation. Here I am, just little old Katie, sitting in a chair, wondering in a clueless, innocent fashion what is going on.
Uncle Ron takes over. Uncle Ron knows what's best. He assumes the authoritative position and decides everything. He assumes we agree with what he says. He doesn't even bother to assume if I agree, though, because my opinion doesn't matter anyway. I'm just a kid. I don't know what's going on.
We are ALL going through a hard time. We all know how important and influential Grandpa was. We all have our own special connections with him. We all have a voice in how this should be handled. We all know that Grandpa is going to die. And we all know that we all have to watch. Why should it matter who the fucking LEADER is?
I am seventeen years old. I am six months away from being eighteen. I know that that's still young, but I will not be categorized as one of "the kids" and just thrown into whatever position is open. I refuse. And I don't give a flying fuck what Uncle Ron thinks about it.
I love my grandpa. I love him so much. He created this family. He made it into what it is. He kept us all together. He kept the peace.
I'm probably just overreacting and taking all this out on my uncle because I'm having a hard time dealing with all this, but I was never looked at as being more than a kid, even before this happened. And now, no matter how much effort I spend trying to take care of everyone else, trying to assure that everyone else is okay, trying to make sure everyone has what they need, I'm still going to be another kid, another dependent, another one to be pushed to the side with a lack of knowledge, a lack of understanding, a lack of importance.
I'm not important to this family.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
When it just seemed to be getting better
My grandpa had a massive stroke.
He's okay. I mean, okay as he can be. He can't talk and his right side is paralyzed, but he's awake and cognizant of what's going on around him, and I'm pretty sure he knows who we are and what we're saying to him. I'm just so grateful that he isn't in a coma. Or dead. There's always that too.
The last thing my grandpa said to me was about my depression. I live pretty much right next to where he works, and he was taking a walk as I was exiting my neighborhood, so I pulled up next to him to talk to him.
He said that I shouldn't let it get me down and move on. I was frustrated because I was not only having a bad day, but I'd also had similar lectures from different people, so I just sort of brushed him off. I told him thanks and I'd try, and then I drove off. I'm pretty sure that was the last time I saw him.
It's interesting, I guess. Thinking about it.
Right now, I'm at Mercy hospital and I'm staying the night here. And I'm skipping school tomorrow. I guess I can't catch a break when it comes to school attendance. Consider my exemptions kissed goodbye.
I look around at all the people in the waiting room outside of the ICU and it's a really eclectic group. Well, as eclectic as they come in a Catholic hospital. I wonder what happened to their loved ones and why they're here. There's one guy that has a gray and black beard sitting not too far from me and he's all by himself. Is it his wife in there? His estranged child? A sibling? Maybe just a close friend?
There's a family here and I just overheard that their loved one has stage 4 melanoma, which is the most dangerous type of skin cancer. Stage 4 is the worst stage and can't be cured by surgery alone.
It's just interesting to me, I guess, seeing all these people that support other people and would give up a planned weekend to be there for them.
I have a birthday party, a writing workshop, and a nine-hour rehearsal that I have to cancel. :/ I mean, not that I mind, but I was really excited.
I love my grandpa. He's the one person in my family that is invincible. And yet now, I guess it's pretty much proven that he isn't, and that's so heart-breaking.
He's the heart and soul to this family. He is what keeps everyone together. He is Mercer, you know? I dunno. I guess that sounds strange.
It's so sad to see him like this.
At the same time, though, I'm feeling sort of numb to it all. I don't even mean like I'm trying to numb the pain; I just mean that I don't really feel much. I feel upset that he's incapacitated, but most of my sadness stems from watching everyone else react.
Not that I don't love my grandpa, because I do. He's an amazingly unique person and has had a huge impact on my life. I could never forget my grandpa.
But right now, I feel just sort of mutely sad for everyone else. I got blankets and pillows and food and everything to take care of everyone else.
I especially ache for Cristin. She's taking this so hard. Grandpa is her rock, the only man in her life that really understood her and kept his word on everything he said. She just keeps crying.
Mom, too. Mom's hiding it right now, but I know she's gonna break down sooner or later.
It makes me think about my dad and what I would do if something happened to him. I don't know if I could take it. As much as I hate some things about him, I still love him unconditionally. It's just hard to get over the pride and the awkwardness sometimes.
I love being a part of a loving, supportive, close-knit family.
He's okay. I mean, okay as he can be. He can't talk and his right side is paralyzed, but he's awake and cognizant of what's going on around him, and I'm pretty sure he knows who we are and what we're saying to him. I'm just so grateful that he isn't in a coma. Or dead. There's always that too.
The last thing my grandpa said to me was about my depression. I live pretty much right next to where he works, and he was taking a walk as I was exiting my neighborhood, so I pulled up next to him to talk to him.
He said that I shouldn't let it get me down and move on. I was frustrated because I was not only having a bad day, but I'd also had similar lectures from different people, so I just sort of brushed him off. I told him thanks and I'd try, and then I drove off. I'm pretty sure that was the last time I saw him.
It's interesting, I guess. Thinking about it.
Right now, I'm at Mercy hospital and I'm staying the night here. And I'm skipping school tomorrow. I guess I can't catch a break when it comes to school attendance. Consider my exemptions kissed goodbye.
I look around at all the people in the waiting room outside of the ICU and it's a really eclectic group. Well, as eclectic as they come in a Catholic hospital. I wonder what happened to their loved ones and why they're here. There's one guy that has a gray and black beard sitting not too far from me and he's all by himself. Is it his wife in there? His estranged child? A sibling? Maybe just a close friend?
There's a family here and I just overheard that their loved one has stage 4 melanoma, which is the most dangerous type of skin cancer. Stage 4 is the worst stage and can't be cured by surgery alone.
It's just interesting to me, I guess, seeing all these people that support other people and would give up a planned weekend to be there for them.
I have a birthday party, a writing workshop, and a nine-hour rehearsal that I have to cancel. :/ I mean, not that I mind, but I was really excited.
I love my grandpa. He's the one person in my family that is invincible. And yet now, I guess it's pretty much proven that he isn't, and that's so heart-breaking.
He's the heart and soul to this family. He is what keeps everyone together. He is Mercer, you know? I dunno. I guess that sounds strange.
It's so sad to see him like this.
At the same time, though, I'm feeling sort of numb to it all. I don't even mean like I'm trying to numb the pain; I just mean that I don't really feel much. I feel upset that he's incapacitated, but most of my sadness stems from watching everyone else react.
Not that I don't love my grandpa, because I do. He's an amazingly unique person and has had a huge impact on my life. I could never forget my grandpa.
But right now, I feel just sort of mutely sad for everyone else. I got blankets and pillows and food and everything to take care of everyone else.
I especially ache for Cristin. She's taking this so hard. Grandpa is her rock, the only man in her life that really understood her and kept his word on everything he said. She just keeps crying.
Mom, too. Mom's hiding it right now, but I know she's gonna break down sooner or later.
It makes me think about my dad and what I would do if something happened to him. I don't know if I could take it. As much as I hate some things about him, I still love him unconditionally. It's just hard to get over the pride and the awkwardness sometimes.
I love being a part of a loving, supportive, close-knit family.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
It's like a constant, throbbing nausea that you know would go away with sleep but it keeps you awake at night.
This is how I feel right now.
I stayed home from school yesterday. I'm staying home today, too.
My head hurts. So. Bad.
In reality, when does it NOT hurt?
I can't even function anymore. You wanna know how many times I threw up bile yesterday?
Five.
Five times I staggered to a toilet, vomited myself to near unconscious, staggered back to the couch, and collapsed while the sensitive fabric absorbed my cold sweat.
Except one of those five times was outside in the grass because my mom still had to come home and take me to my psychologist appointment, and she had to take me because I obviously couldn't drive myself. Oh, and the appointment is next week.
And another one of those five times was in my mom's car, in a huge water bottle she has in there. I had to hide it in a stray bag so my mom wouldn't get grossed out.
Yeah. This is something serious. Dad.
This is way more serious than skipping some fucking school to see my boyfriend.
Every time I have an emotional meltdown, I have a thoroughly incapacitating migraine the next morning.
And it lasts all day.
And all night.
And apparently, even into the next day.
Because that's where I am right now.
My head still hurts. And I'm still nauseous. And it's been a good twenty-four hours, if not more.
And it's REALLY a bitch because I'm so fucking depressed right now, I have emotional meltdowns about once a week.
I'm so tired.
But I can't sleep because of the intense pain jarring all senses.
Some people just have to face misery. Not that I'm saying I go through more misery than anyone else. God, I know that much.
But some people just have to go through shit just because it happens.
Maybe I do deserve it.
I don't really know what I did wrong to deserve it. I mean, I do stupid teenage stuff, but so do all stupid teenagers. I've never done anything really tremendously terrible.
Oh, yeah. So Dad. I hope you read this.
I hope you read this because I don't lie on here. I may lie to your face, but I won't lie to my own personal journal.
I have never. Ever. Skipped. School.
I think maybe I did once.
When I was eight.
And it was because it was my birthday. Or something of that nature.
I have never drank.
I have never even seen pot.
I've never smoked a cigarette.
Never injected any addictive toxin into my bloodstream.
I guess you do have me pinned on the sex thing. With my boyfriend who I've been dating for a year and a half almost. Gosh. Ya caught me.
I. Have. Never. Skipped. School.
When I stay home, it's because I'm like this. Throwing up five times a day. On average. One time it reached seven. And then there was another time when I was throwing up once about every twenty minutes, so my mom took me to the ER.
But you remember that.
That was when you sat there and antagonized me as I choked on my own stomach acid.
"Maybe you can take your finals in summer school since you obviously don't have enough credit to pass your sophomore year."
Yes. You said that.
You probably won't remember saying it, but I remember hearing it.
I've come to discover that despite the fact that you are a good man and you love me, something about verbal abuse gets you off.
Well, Dad.
I hope you don't take out your anger on Shelley, now that I'm gone. Because she can leave you too. But she won't feel the need to come back like I do.
The truth? I really miss you guys.
I really, really do.
But I can't live with you.
Apparently I can't even visit because the last time I spent with you, you just stressed me out into tears after you left.
"No, this medical absence might come in handy if you have to go to summer school."
I hate that part of you, Dad. The part that has to say mean things to people.
Oh. And yesterday wasn't a Tuesday. By the way.
AND BRIAN DIDN'T COME OVER.
He doesn't even have enough money to come over that often. If you recall, he's paying his way through college without any help from his parents.
If my depression is this bad, I don't even want to know how you feel all the time. At least I don't feel compelled to talk to my own flesh and blood family members like they don't matter. At least I'm nice to people.
I've thought of suicide, but I don't think I could ever actually do it. I have too many people that care about me. Plus Razia's Shadow. I have to see it through.
But those are the only two things stopping me from losing it.
This is no cry for sympathy from some washed-out emo.
This is the truth.
And I can only pray to whatever deity is up there that you see that.
I stayed home from school yesterday. I'm staying home today, too.
My head hurts. So. Bad.
In reality, when does it NOT hurt?
I can't even function anymore. You wanna know how many times I threw up bile yesterday?
Five.
Five times I staggered to a toilet, vomited myself to near unconscious, staggered back to the couch, and collapsed while the sensitive fabric absorbed my cold sweat.
Except one of those five times was outside in the grass because my mom still had to come home and take me to my psychologist appointment, and she had to take me because I obviously couldn't drive myself. Oh, and the appointment is next week.
And another one of those five times was in my mom's car, in a huge water bottle she has in there. I had to hide it in a stray bag so my mom wouldn't get grossed out.
Yeah. This is something serious. Dad.
This is way more serious than skipping some fucking school to see my boyfriend.
Every time I have an emotional meltdown, I have a thoroughly incapacitating migraine the next morning.
And it lasts all day.
And all night.
And apparently, even into the next day.
Because that's where I am right now.
My head still hurts. And I'm still nauseous. And it's been a good twenty-four hours, if not more.
And it's REALLY a bitch because I'm so fucking depressed right now, I have emotional meltdowns about once a week.
I'm so tired.
But I can't sleep because of the intense pain jarring all senses.
Some people just have to face misery. Not that I'm saying I go through more misery than anyone else. God, I know that much.
But some people just have to go through shit just because it happens.
Maybe I do deserve it.
I don't really know what I did wrong to deserve it. I mean, I do stupid teenage stuff, but so do all stupid teenagers. I've never done anything really tremendously terrible.
Oh, yeah. So Dad. I hope you read this.
I hope you read this because I don't lie on here. I may lie to your face, but I won't lie to my own personal journal.
I have never. Ever. Skipped. School.
I think maybe I did once.
When I was eight.
And it was because it was my birthday. Or something of that nature.
I have never drank.
I have never even seen pot.
I've never smoked a cigarette.
Never injected any addictive toxin into my bloodstream.
I guess you do have me pinned on the sex thing. With my boyfriend who I've been dating for a year and a half almost. Gosh. Ya caught me.
I. Have. Never. Skipped. School.
When I stay home, it's because I'm like this. Throwing up five times a day. On average. One time it reached seven. And then there was another time when I was throwing up once about every twenty minutes, so my mom took me to the ER.
But you remember that.
That was when you sat there and antagonized me as I choked on my own stomach acid.
"Maybe you can take your finals in summer school since you obviously don't have enough credit to pass your sophomore year."
Yes. You said that.
You probably won't remember saying it, but I remember hearing it.
I've come to discover that despite the fact that you are a good man and you love me, something about verbal abuse gets you off.
Well, Dad.
I hope you don't take out your anger on Shelley, now that I'm gone. Because she can leave you too. But she won't feel the need to come back like I do.
The truth? I really miss you guys.
I really, really do.
But I can't live with you.
Apparently I can't even visit because the last time I spent with you, you just stressed me out into tears after you left.
"No, this medical absence might come in handy if you have to go to summer school."
I hate that part of you, Dad. The part that has to say mean things to people.
Oh. And yesterday wasn't a Tuesday. By the way.
AND BRIAN DIDN'T COME OVER.
He doesn't even have enough money to come over that often. If you recall, he's paying his way through college without any help from his parents.
If my depression is this bad, I don't even want to know how you feel all the time. At least I don't feel compelled to talk to my own flesh and blood family members like they don't matter. At least I'm nice to people.
I've thought of suicide, but I don't think I could ever actually do it. I have too many people that care about me. Plus Razia's Shadow. I have to see it through.
But those are the only two things stopping me from losing it.
This is no cry for sympathy from some washed-out emo.
This is the truth.
And I can only pray to whatever deity is up there that you see that.
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