With about an hour left in 2015 before the New Year, I must accept and admit to the reality.
While the reason I write in my various blogs – From The Cornfield, Kernels From the Cornfield, Citizen Journalists Live and here Inside My Mind – is mainly therapeutic, there is the subliminal desire that others will also read and hopefully now and then comment.
The number who view has been minimal. The number who actually comment has been even less.
A month or so ago I received a comment on Facebook. At the time, the words stung acutely. I have tried to shake off the hurt. Over the last week, the truth of what was wrote has been proven to be fact.
That comment stated that “no one reads your blogs and no one cares.” Turns out this is true.
For over the past week, I have continued to write and sharing links to my blog posts automatically with Facebook, Google Plus and Twitter. The views have been zilch. The number of comments are lying somewhere in no man’s land between nil and zed.
The reality is other than for my personal therapy, no one does care to read or comment or follow my links to view the entire article.
I will as the New Year begins to continue with my postings. I need some way to release my inner thoughts, keep the creative juices flowing, to pretend I have a connection with the outside world.
Without my writings I would have no reason to do anything other than to vegetate and wait for the inevitable.
Without my writings the inner demons would run rampant resulting in action rather than released to the swine to plunge metaphorically over the cliff.
The writing gives me a purpose to think, act and pretend as if I can contribute, have contact with the living world which has left me in the dust.
Without my writing why bother?
While no one cares and no one reads, I can pretend.
The year has had its ups and downs, but I have had much for which to be grateful. For one thing, contrary to popular opinion, my demise has yet to be. I am still here.
What will the coming year bring?
Will my health improve or will it slide down a hill faster than any sled heading toward a tree or the creek at the bottom?
After unseasonably warm weather for most of the month, December and the year ends will temperatures in the 20s. Seasonably cold weather will welcome in the first week of the new year.
Slept well overnight. Woke to the sound of the alarm at 8 a.m. In an hour and a half or so,
Susie, my Dad’s wife, will be here to take me to the credit union. With the holiday weekend, payday has come early. That also means the next payday will be an eternity before the eagle lands in February.
My health has improved since I was released from the hospital on Christmas evening. My breathing is near normal for me this cold, wet, foggy morning.
I say wet even though the rain stopped over the weekend. The lingering water on the ground has yet to dissipate.
This will be the first New Year’s Eve I have spent alone in over 25 years. I will have Chooey with me, but it will not be the same.
That’s the way it is on this last day of 2015 in Mark’s Den.
As 2014 came to an end, Iohn and I made legal our 10-year-relationship being legally wed on December 16. One year later an era came to an end when I received the final divorce decree in the mail on December 14.
The effective date of our divorce was one week earlier on December 7 – the “day that will live on in infamy”, according to Franklin Delano Roosevelt. For the first time in 26 years, I will be alone as the New Year begins.
More than half of those years were spent with my youngest son, Kev. Then for nine of the past almost 11 years I have been with Iohn.
Yes, I know, I will have Chooey with me. It is not the same. Reaction from family and friends since Iohn walked out the end of May has been restrained if at all.
No one has recognized that a 10-year-relationship has ended. No one has acted as if I was going through a divorce.
Being the first same-gender couple in Sullivan County to become lawfully united may be one for the history books, but reaction has been as though it never actually existed – we were just friends, roommates – is the way most see it.
I guess being same-gender people do not know the feelings are the same. The heartbreak is the same. The loss is the same.
Yet I have kept a stiff upper lip most of the time. I have not referred that often to the pain, the sorrow, the loss. I try to act as though I am doing fine. Yes, there have been those times I have let out the frustration, the anger, the heartache, but over all I have kept it inside.
I know no one wants to talk about it, to acknowledge its reality. Better left unsaid seems to be the general consensus.
While 2014 ended in celebration, 2015 is ending and 2016 beginning in solitude and sorrow.
Wednesday with two days left in 2015 before the New Year dawns at midnight tomorrow night.
As I look ahead to another year, I am having some concern. Concern that I may not make it into the New Year without another hospital visit.
There were a couple of times last night when breathing was labored to the point I was at last week when I had to call 911. I managed to calm down and regroup.
I slept restfully throughout the night in my bed. What is strange, however, is that when I checked my blood oxygen level it was at 95 or better. My heart rate was in the low 60s.
Yet, I had a feeling of breathlessness, inability to breathe. It is not in my chest, but rather is always around my throat as if someone is choking me.
I realize that family and friends are offering me suggestions of where to turn for help. I have tried those routes for the last 15 years or so. I always am told, “no”.
I am tired of fighting. Tire of being told I do not qualify. Tired of being told there is no help for me. Yet my family and friends keep telling me there must be when I can’t find the help. I am not being stubborn or obstinate. I am not listening nor hearing.
Even last year, 2014, when I was so bad and everyone including me thought I would be dead before the ball dropped, I was told there was no help. Iohn was with me talking to the social worker from home healthcare assigned my case.
I do not qualify.
I do not meet the “need for help”.
What am I to do?
So I retreat farther into myself.
So I hide deeper in the closet.
Will I make it to 2016?
I am not sure at this point in time.
Should I make it, will it be little more than survival, existence?
As the ball dropped in New York City’s Time Square, 2015 dawned filled with promise – promise that turned to ashes in too short of a time.
Physically and mentally, as this year began, it had an aura that this would be the best year for my over all health that I had enjoyed in well over a decade. The ebullience which ran through the corridors of mind and the hallways of my body portended a year like I had thought would never come again.
The energy, the pep, was coursing through my veins. The abyss upon which I had stood for too long seemed to melt away into a nightmare dispelled by a new day and a new year.
Then the pendulum swung violently from serenity and happiness to the extreme of full scale physical assault.
My sense of well being dissipated in an instant as unexplained supraventricular tachycardia played havoc with my body. At times I wondered if I would ever recover.
On four instances, the medical staff at Regional Hospital had to stop and restart my heart. A heart cath was not able to reveal what the problem may be.
As quickly as the pendulum swung to the dark side, it moved again this time to shades of clover and sunshine. But that was only with my physical body.
Mentally, the night continued to encroach at times as the winter gave way to spring.
At times in desperation I would voice my desire to quit, stop trying.
Then came the bombshell at the end of May. Iohn was leaving me after 10 1/2 years together.
Thanks to family and special angels I was able to finally exodus the Cornfield and find relief and strength in the Desert – at least for a few months.
For the next few months, slowly I returned to what is normal for me.
Then circumstances beyond my control made my existence in the paradise of the Desert threatening. I had no choice, but to return to the Cornfield.
Mom and other members of the family made sure I had what I needed to set up house in my new Mark’s Den.
All was looking well as 2015 was edging near to the end.
I was wrong.
On the Tuesday night/Wednesday morning before Christmas, once more I found myself in Regional Hospital.
When I was back – back for me that is – I was breathing better.
I was becoming restless. I was ready to come home.
On Friday, Christmas Day, I was released home from the hospital. Mom and Bill picked me up and took me to Mark’s Den.
I have managed now for three days and four nights to stay out of the hospital, recovering slowly.
For the past few days, I am back to breathing near normal with the use of oxygen at home.
I am taking it one day at a time.
The new year now beckons.
The desire to continue to battle on is questionable. I am tired of the fight, the struggle.
From the Cornfield, these last four years or so, I could not have made it alone.
There were some special people, esepcially this year, who have been there – often in private messages, cards sent snail mail and even phone calls – at the right moment.
These people, mostly unknown on a personal, face-to-face, level, a part of the online community, were fulll of surprise and blessing.
There was family who have been there when least expected. Family who have made sure being back in the Cornfield, I have my needs.
Without these people I could not have made it.
To them I am thankful and wish the best year to come.
Words can be powerful. Words can bring peace or war. Words can provide solace or cut deep to the core. But it is not so much what is said that matters, but rather the actions of the one speaking which really count.
At times silence can be deafening and say much more than the spoken words. Silence is tacit action by non-action. Psychologists would call this being passive-aggressive.
So it is that when someone tells you something, it may soon good to the ear and momentarily to the mind. Yet, when the actions or non-actions do not convey what is spoken, it becomes a nightmare and can be quite hurtful.
Does your life, your actions each day, match the words you speak or write? As 2016 approaches, if no one else, I resolve to insure that my actions, my daily life, matches the words that proceed from my mouth, my mind.
The phrase that best sums up the past 12 hours or so in Mark’s Den is “out of here”. Through the overnight hours the power was out of here for a few hours.
Since waking late at 9 a.m., I discovered that the electricity had gone dark. I also then discovered that the internet as well as cable access was out of here.
While the power was back on by the time I woke, the cable and internet kept coming in and going out of here for the next few hours. For the past couple of hours all is back to normal.
Called and have scheduled my follow-up after being released from the hospital on Christmas evening. I will see the doctor a week from Thursday.
Trying to maintain. Posted to family I needed someone to help me with laundry and the trash, but have had no response. I also was hoping someone could be here while I try to shower.
Dad did get me a chair to use in the shower since I cannot stand and shower. There is no bath in the new Mark’s Den.
Chooey has slowly been getting used to Daddy not being able to be as active as I was a week ago. He has proved to be a blessing. Not sure how I would cope without the little guy here to keep me company.
Chooey tends to think he is a cat as is evident from these images:
That’s the way it is this last Monday in 2015 in Mark’s Den.
And how is your first day of the last week of 2015 going?