“Pipeweed” 

The icicle-chilled air seeps into Micah’s skin as soon as the doors of the hospital open. He shivers and pulls his coat around him before striking up a cigarette and shrugging off the rain. The sidewalk is steep and cracked as he walks toward the tree-lined path that leads him home. He wants home. He wants a hit. He wants to forget. Every conversation with Gracie began and ended with “when I die” and the words just chipped away at his heart. It’s slowly breaking and he can feel each shard falling away. 

Micah slips into the trees and pulls out a pipe. It’s a tiny thing that he flaunted in Gracie’s room. The pride flared in his eyes, as he murmured it’s his escape from the raging pain in his chest. His words and the silent begging of a beloved sibling shut Gracie’s lecture down before it started. He takes a hit and tries to forget the disappointment in her face. And another, to forget the pallor. And another to forget she’s going to leave him alone, without his lifeline. And another, because he doesn’t want to feel.

He refuses to cry.

I just did a presentation on CFS'/Fibro. Last year I did a project to raise awareness on the illnesses and I am working on another this year. It's going to be bigger, which means more work for me. But at the same time, I think I'll enjoy being busy, so long as I don't crash like I did last year. I'm starting to eat again and it's a nice feeling. I'm still blogging at the Spectator (hence why I haven't been here so much) and it's a nice position but between school and that, I don't know how I'm going to add a women studies internship and my project both this quarter.

I have emails to write and messages to return and I am tempted to disconnct from life, but some of those emails are potential dates. Weird, I know. I'm learning a lot about myself and realizing I'm too independent at times, especially times of trial. It isn't conducive to a relationship--neither is bone-dragging fatigue. Plus there is the whole issue of the fact that in a year, I may bemoving across country, or out of the country for that matter. And is it fair of me to look for a relationship knowing I'll be leaving in a year?

I'm thinking and Idon't want to. I want mindless chatter and insipidly stupid internet-bullshit.  Oh well, I'm a thinking being (as Descartes would say) and what can I do?  I'm offto attempt to be productive.  Until next time, my friends,

I've been thinking a lot, but I don't quite know what to say about it yet. A lot has been going on in life, yet nothing at all I want to go into or I want to update. I have rambling updates in private entries but I don't know if I want to share (complain) because I feel like I complain too much and I need to change that. Instead, I'll continue with updating my series of vignettes.

By the way, I have been reading. I'm sorry I haven't been commenting. I'll be better.

Below is the journal writing technique (how fitting).
 

“Normal”—An Exercise in Diary Narration

May 3^rd- Exhausted. Nauseas again. Dad says I look pale. Mom says I should see a doctor. I’m too busy to get sick. Maybe after finals.

May 5^th- For the record. ERs suck.

May 8^th- ERs really suck.

May 9^th- Scared. Terrified. I saw everything in his eyes today. He’s dad. He’s stoic, strong; the man who holds up world with drive and a dirty joke; he fixes things. And today, his eyes seethed hopelessness underneath a mask of forced comfort. He was helpless and I knew. God, I knew. Whatever this is, is far worse than a touch of dehydration.

It rages in my bones.

I wanted that look gone. So, I tried to smile, but that’s when the needle pierced my spine and he knew. It’s more than paleness and a bout of vertigo. Salty tears ran down my skin. Dad swiped a lone drop away. We knew. I may not make it out of this alive.

May 20^th- Tests-Normal.

May 23^rd- Normal. Took a leave from work and school and life. Finding the walls of my room uninteresting and when did television’s inspiration die?

June 5^th-Moved back home. Loving my parents and loathing a shared bathroom.

Mom’s hiding her worry on her sleeve. She slinks into my bedroom to listen for my breathing. She executes hazy morning wakeup calls on those days, like today, I send ice-shivers down her back. My breath is too shallow. I’m too pale. Any excuse to make sure I’ll rouse from my sleep. She lives in fear. Fear that I may not wake up.

There’ve been mornings I nearly haven’t.

I’m just trying to keep breathing.

June 13^th-Normal. I’m tired of normalcy. Find something wrong and fix me!

June 15^th-Breakdown. I am so freakin’ terrified. I tried to hold on and be strong but I just broke. I crawled into Dad’s lap and sobbed my fears out until I was limp-boned. He carried me to bed and I felt five years old again. And utterly safe.

June 24^th- Dad lost it. It was role reversal of epic proportions. Mom is fiery, letting emotions dictate her discussions. Yet Dad bellowed. He boomed “Find out what’s wrong or find someone who will!”

So, more hoops and needles to jump through and land upon.

July 4^th- Test results back.

I’m broken.

A thousand emotions and not one word to describe how I feel. Numb. I feel so much, I’ve gone numb.

I can’t write the words.

1. What would you do right now, if money were not an issue?
I'd continue to go to school, but I'd move out to my own place. If I had money, if it wasn't an issue, then I could help my parents out and still live on my own.
2. What would you do for the next three years, if money were not an issue?
Graduate, move, go to grad school and not limit my decision based on if I can get a good financial package/stipend.
3. What is bringing you the most joy right now that requires little or no money?
My cat curled up on my legs.
4. What types of things do you find enjoyable that require no money?
Reading and writing. Wow, that was simple. Usually, I'd say the weather and the flowers but neither are very pleasing at the moment.
5. Is there anything you've been meaning to do for a long time, but put off because of money?
Oh, is there. A vacation, which I need so bad, but I don't know if it'll happen. We'll see as it comes.

GRACIE’S GONE

To: Jacob.jovinsky@mchord.af.ml

From: jjsdaman@yahoo.com

Sub: GRACIE’S GONE

Hey bro,

i don’t know when you’ll get this. But dude, i wish i could talk to you. i’ve been living in the eye of a storm, and yesterday it finally hit me. Gracie left. She’s been spiraling into a shell. She’s so sick and her “I’m okay” smile died last week. i overheard her conversation. She was so resigned as she whispered “Cancer?” to her doctor. i swear i had flashbacks of Mom. i’m sorry to lay this on you. The last thing you need is flashbacks of Mom’s last days, too. You aren’t having your other flashbacks, are you? i don’t want to burden you.

Jake, she hasn’t told me. i don’t know if she’s told anyone. You know, i knew she was going to leave. i know why. It’s such a stupid reason to walk away from two years. i hate hospitals and needles and i am still haunted by pulling the plug. i’m haunted by cancer. You know how much it hurts. You’re haunted too, aren’t you?

Well, that doesn’t matter. i would have stayed with her. i would have stayed for her. Because i know. i know what she’s facing. i love her. She has to know! i’m lost, Jacob. I feel beaten by the hurricane and i just don’t know what to do.

-jj

*****

Dear Grams,

I’m sorry I’ve wilted away from life lately. I received horrible news and I haven’t quite been able to decipher it. I’m not quite ready to let the world in. Not until I’ve lined up my life. I’m sorry I’m keeping it from you, but know that, though I am ill, I’ve got the Schecter blood in my veins and I’ll be okay. In the end, I’ll be okay.

Jason and I broke up; or rather I had to finally begin to take care of my sanity as much as my body. He’s become surly and snappy. He’s half the reason I’ve turned in on myself. It’s a defense mechanism, I guess.

His mom died of cancer. He never talks about it, but I know it haunts him. He hates hospitals and doctors. He literally shudders at the word. My deterioration is a constant reminder and it’s like he’s punishing me for his mother’s passing. I’m ashamed, Grams. He shouldn’t make me ashamed of the fact that I’m ill. I cannot control it. I wish I could. I wish I was healthy and happy and back to work and school and life. I’m just tired. Tired of all of it.   

I love you and miss you terribly, Grams. And I’ll visit soon. I promise.

Gracie  

“Do Your Job”--An Exercise with Dramatic Monologue

No, let me tell you what happened. She just collapsed.  We’re walking through the store and then she says “I don’t feel well.” And before I turned around, she was on the ground, shaking.  Then, she just got so pale and the aisle was so empty. I screamed. I really did. Just no one came and she’s just been sick for so long and...

I don’t need to calm down. I’m fine. I just need to know what’s wrong. You should be in there fixing her! I should be in there with her.

What? God! Never. She hates pills. She loves her life. She loves me! She’ll only take her meds after she’s in tears. Besides, we were at the store! Listen.

No. You listen. My daughter is not suicidal. My daughter is sick. Understand? Sick. She had a seizure. And you need to, oh, I don’t know, do your job? You know, what you get paid for?

I’m aware I am her mother. I was there for all 27 hours of her labor. And I’ve been there with her the past four years of her illness. Do. Your. Job.

So, I was working on a quarter long creative writing project. I asked for memories about waking up in the morning, then my computer died and I lost the story. It was only at 800 words, but I felt a connection to what I was saying. I don't have it any longer, and I feel I need to start at the beginning to really begin the story anew. I think, now that I have a clean slate, I may approach the story from a different angle. I don't know yet. I'm going to talk to my advisor/mentor about it first to see what she thinks. But I thought I'd share the work I have saved.

The goal of the class was to read "Points of View", a book that explores the 10 different points of view used in creative writing, and then write a short vignette in that style.  I decided that I'd share what I've written. The characters are clear within my mind, yet the vignettes are merely snapshots of their lives. I have used a lot of my personal experiences in shaping the writing, and I think it is quite evident. I'll try to post one or two a day, and I'd love feedback on what you think.

Here's Internal Monologue POV.

“Marginalized”-An Exercise with the Internal Monologue Technique

 Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts. Isn’t that a lyric from a song? I don’t remember, but right now I wish I had a radio. I wish I had anything to distract me from this. It’s cold. Too cold. I need another blanket, but it seems there is never a nurse when you need one. Typical. And then they wake me right at the cusp of sleep, just to see if I’m okay. I’m not okay. I’m so tired. So, so tired. I think I’m breaking apart. Hell, I am breaking apart, downing a shot of pre-CT radium. Just slam it back. Choke it down.

I am going vomit. How much radiation can your body take?  This can’t be healthy. It tastes like sour chalk. Can it go bad? At least I’m already trapped in this bed. "Doctor, doctor!" Hold it in. Maybe I should just let it go? Then I can get another blanket, and some water. I’m thirsty. I’m so, so tired. I’m tired of the doctor and the nurse and the sweet, sweet volunteers that used to pop in with magazines and half-sympathetic, ‘I’ve seen it all, darling’ smiles. I think they forgot about me. How long has it been since I requested pain meds? 15 minutes? 30?  Oh, I want to go home! Think happy thoughts. Cuddling cats and soft mattresses. Think happy thoughts. Fireside chats and hot cocoa. Think happy thoughts; don’t let the radium come up. Think happy thoughts.