Posts filed under ‘Pain’

The “countdown” begins

The first meaning would be what “Type 7 or VII” is.  The countdown mentioned is to the usual timeframe; over 64 hrs old, that type of Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, very close to 0% chance that I’ll live longer, especially due to the combination of weakness and being unable to even partially ‘defend’ myself because ‘it’s not a very serious disease (especially since it’s from so long ago).  The ‘defense’ failed utterly. And it actually is a better idea to take care of someone younger first.

 

I’m also taking ‘antidepressants’.  For bipolar, right?  No.

For epilepsy (also often also used for the treatment of depression).

April 17, 2018 at 5:33 pm Leave a comment

intimations

intimations

See, here, this
bed where she lay
(sometimes she laid)
with me, with me: i think
she has just gone, it’s still
warm from her body, she
must be near
must be quite near…

ii

And recall
you’ve left, to not
return.
Still, you’re scarcely gone.

__________________________________________________________________________

“Real.  Long ago.  I’ve nothing to add.”  …

October 5, 2017 at 2:29 pm 1 comment

sooths

sooths

the old woman sits sighing
half-shaded from the sun: all
her springs have run dry, she lives

for the Sunday promenade
and muttered lines with old
friends (the summers of 50
years ago…)

her husband died
ten years ago–to be sure, at times,
she addresses him: but yet knows
he’s really become

only a part of herself, a reflection
of the labrynthine passages
of loneliness, memory, frustration.
her senses have, yes, dimmed: she’s unsure

what the young man looks like
who’s lived two trailers down,
for eight months. if he’s spoken
to her, she hasn’t heard…

her body has become a prison, covering
a self only she can remember.
sighing in the hot sun,

the old woman sits, hardly
knowing Now, telling her memories
like a bitter rosary: to
no god at all.

____________________________________________________________________________________

Real.  Long ago.  I’ve nothing to add.

 

October 5, 2017 at 2:25 pm Leave a comment

spring

spring

in this early
drought-promising Spring,
seeing echoes
of your face and others, and

other failed dreams, i
know there shall be other
hellos and other foreknown
goodbyes;

that, quite certainly,
in some sudden tomorrow, pride
and need and pain
will combine somehow with loneliness
to make another illusion
of love and untimely kisses
not so much begun as

recognized…i know
o dream truly dies, and there’s
the rub of’t. i dream
without belief.

in this too-early, dry
Spring, reviewing
past loves and past mistakes, i have
no great hopes for Summer.

_________________________________________________________________________________

*of’t=of it=abandoned contraction, also a pun on ‘oft’, which would actually require a preceding comma

 

It was written long ago.  My dreams now are often of the relief of ending, rather than constant and constantly increasing pain, while fighting desperately to keep on walking, and trying not to talk of pain.  I haven’t been succeeding in that lately, but I have managed to increasingly approach nearer to silence in my personal life.

September 29, 2017 at 9:42 pm Leave a comment

after cavafy

after cavafy

chewing the dry bone
of ancient desire
and self-betrayal,
i shudder with a sudden rage.

–but if you walked
through the door again?

two years absent,
in another country, some
other man’s lover, i yet

think to recognize you
in every passer-by.
__________________________________________
I became acquainted with Cavafy after reading The Alexandria Quartet (A Study of Love) by Lawrence Durrell.  As far as a comment upon the poem, I can’t–except that it’s drawn from experience–and about ‘Caroline’ yet again.

September 24, 2017 at 5:55 pm Leave a comment

mistakes

 

mistakes

say no more, i beg you
(but you cannot listen)
we’ve said all this before, too many far too many
times.

we humans
mistake love for lust, and grief
for anger. you suffered
my touch and i your absence

till absence overtook touching.
now you long
for my reassurance, and i’ve
none, at all, to give.

things change: people change:
and feelings die.
i’ve nothing to say or lend.

in a way i suppose that’s appropriate. we know words
by silence:
before, and after.

___________________________________________________________________

Indeed.

September 24, 2017 at 2:56 pm Leave a comment

Me

The impetus here is fairly simple.  I have an EEG coming up next week.  An electroencephalogram is just a measurement of the brain waves, right?  A strobe goes with it.  I’m epileptic.  I’ll get to why in a minute.  The thing here is that if I have a grand mal, I’m going to have a heart attack.  So they’ll anesthetize me.  And every time until I manage to find the way back, every time they bring me out of anesthesia I’ll seize and have a heart attack.  I have deliberately exposed myself to strobes, and accidentally.  Multiple cop cars at night can’t do it.  I can turn away.  When I was driving by the cops, I retained everything.

 

I was behaviorally programmed to be a multiple personality in my childhood.  That’s where the epilepsy came in.  I had a neat plan to come out of it all when I could get out of the household where my adopted mother had PTSD–her father was a pedophile–my adopted father had PTSD–Korean war veteran–my adopted sister/first cousin was the one fondled by him and nearly certainly …[she had children, one a boy]…my adopted brother was a pedophile with his children and showed many of the traits when I was child.  Fortunately he was gone soon.  I was intelligent enough to frighten them.  I was also illegitimate, and my adopted mother was trying to assuage her guilt at having given her two illegitimate children to an orphanage as well as trying to “save” me.  Which had to be impossible according to her religion.  I was intelligent enough to frighten every teacher I had from thirteen on at least (I got into school at 5; my adopted parents wouldn’t allow me to go to college because I wasn’t sufficiently socialized–no one including teachers knew WTF I was talking about).

 

I had one seizure in childhood.  Then I figured out how to do something.  Can’t explain that one.

 

I take deadly poison every day.

Carbamazepine (Tegretol-XR [extended relief] tablet) 400 mg twice daily.  This is the one that’s finally starting to kill me because of what it does to the (whole) digestive tract. Causes balding, deafness, tinnitus (ringing in the ears), leaches calcium from the bones, causes vitamin deficits.

Divalproex/Depakote/valproic acid 500 mg 4 tablets twice daily.

 

Levetiracetam/Keppra 750 mg twice daily.

 

My liver is fine.  Still (it can’t be but whatever).  Bleeding internally.  Oh, I forgot the anorexia.  Oh, and the fact that Carbamazepine is directly a narcotic antagonist!! I have a medical marijuana card. It helps amplify the painkillers and actually doesn’t do a damned thing for my appetite, usually.

 

It should have killed me about five years ago.  Liver damage most of all, because almost everything has acetaminophen in it.  You can’t get high on this stuff, incidentally.

 

Bone density is fine.  I just took the Carbamazepine and it’s exiting my stomach and going into the colon, which is nearly unbearable.  If I take food with it I tend to associate the taste of those terrible medicines with food.

 

–I always had problems with sprained ankles and wrists.  Right now I’m wearing 4 braces to walk, Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome.  The VA wants to say it’s III, which means hyperextension only.  Look up the symptoms of VII if you’re into horror stories.  I can see b better in the dark than practically anything except a cat, though.  It’s a double recessive.  A mild case (Type III) is–double-jointed!  That’s what Trump has, by the way, if you look at his thumbs.  From what I can tell everyone in his cabinet has hyperextension as well (they can bend fingers in odd ways and tends to be true of at least some joints) as if he placed some dorky value on it.

That’s why the Percocet/oxycodone.  They tried me on Ibuprofen, which is actually poisonous with the combination above (the VA) and I went for it.  Started puking up the anti-seizure pills.  I don’t want to wake up with half a mind in a bed, with holes in it to be slowly recovered.   I quit.  I’ve been in constant  pain since I was 30, I’m 63.  I remember clearly because when I was 32 I finally asked my mother if everyone was always in pain all the time.

 

I believe I’ve more or less synthesized the personalities. Sort of.  Different writing styles.  Different handwriting.  Different accents.  Dress the same.  I even  had the differing names, forced on  me.

 

Ever heard the Chinese curse “May you live in interesting times”?

 

I do know I was about to figure out a way out, and I was forced into a job with a Top Secret crypto clearance that meant I couldn’t talk to anyone about what I knew.  For eight years.  It became a habit not to talk.

 

I tried to commit suicide in order to prevent this stage.  I say ‘more or less synthesized’  but from everything I know it won’t  be complete.  I even have one episode from my childhood that I deliberately hid from myself.

 

Less than  a year after I entered the Navy at 17 I was proofreading the message that told C0mmander Pacific Fleet the current info on the Vietnam war, that went to JCS, that went directly to the president (Nixon’s could possibly have been edited a bit, and that might have been when someone thought of how to implement complete deniability).

 

–The rest I still can’t tell about that.  I’m positive that was what set the lock.  If I can pass the EEG I can control the  process.  I don’t know.

 

The worst part, you see, is that a seizure is a psychedelic trip, for me at least, and my brain likes…   I must move motionlessly, and speak without words.  At the moment of the test I must be able to confine my consciousness to itself.  Sound like nonsense?  For many years I could only work at a call center because of epilepsy.  So I’d have a seizure–a bad petit mal–I WOULD FINISH A PHONE CALL, generally holding off a seizure, sometimes working through it–and I would drive home, mercifully less than three miles.  It’s been ten years.  I have fought off even the vestiges of beginning a seizure.

 

 

If I don’t do that, the Carbamazepine looks likely to kill me shortly.  I have to get the meds from the VA, check the price on them without insurance and remember who’s president.

 

Hard one to write, actually.

I forgot to add that: when I went aboard ComSeventhFlt’s ship (Oklahoma City CLG-5 [specify that to look at her; she’s full fathom five now, having been a US gunnery target] I was immediately offered a scholarship to Annapolis, which would have obligated me for 11 years; for a 18 year old hard to swallow.  They pressured me while I was on to transfer to the United Kingdom Navy for some reason. Getting out they offered me a passage on the Navy oceanographic vessel for two years, civvies and $50 a day per diem.  When I got out I immediately had a job, went back the next day to start and the NSA had scared them out of it.  Shortly thereafter I got my job offer from the CIA.

 

Got more current information last century from someone, who was NSA but got brain cancer.  Pretty sure he’s dead.  Odd thing, though.  He’s still following me, and he had already blocked me by the time I found out he’d become my Twitter follower–blocked me, that is, from communicating with him directly, and didn’t answer the one generalized tweet.  He has five followers.  We verified each other by–common knowledge that was actually above Top Secret.

 

I’m hoping they follow me now.  I now try to disseminate information, and I simply don’t know if I can organize and type that fast.

 

The solution used to solve Vietnam AND Mao ran out in 2012.  Brunner forecast 2000, Kissinger approximately 2035, the US government said 2050+.  I was the one who said 2012.  China got the Gulf of Tonkin oil and Mao got the chief spy, his best friend.  They had currency and energy, although Mao couldn’t be seen advocating trade with the free world.  Did I mention I was reading The Writings of Chairman Mao in Radioman “A” school, and that it required a Secret clearance?  Oddly enough, there was someone there the very day I was done with the book (I’d been seen making notes in it, and had been questioned about it) who wanted it.  I’d been  openly investigated by the Secret Service.

 

Finally, I got angry, the beginning of this century.  I wasn’t supposed to be given that job at my age and rank.  It was in fact illegal.  When I got out I knew what to verify and I did.  The people I told you about, my grandfather and adopted father?…and therefore the family members?…why, they (we) were all vetted for security clearances.  That was what truly tied that Gordian knot that I am trying to untie or better follow Damocles with a sword of sorts.  If I succeed I shan’t be precisely the same; however, I am managing to remember things between…what ever you call personalities aware of each other.

 

But we can’t directly relate. The least is muscle spasms.  I can’t allow the insane anger that my biological father and brother shared and share to take control again–I attempt balance.

 

At least I’m recovering more of my (current) memory than I thought I could.

February 3, 2017 at 4:31 am Leave a comment

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