Unbreakable
she fell today. broke her nose. it's all my fault. ok, it's not all my fault, but i was a total clod in the face of adversity. i panicked a bit before i knew what to do.
i finally got myself together and brought the car around, of course...some nice guy who looked like frank zappa helped me get her into the car. i took her to the ER and stayed even though she told me to go home.
she's ok now, sleeping i think. i know i didn't do a good enough job (she told me it was satisfactory but that i wasn't all there at first). i hate myself for not being able to hoist her up over my head, for not knowing what to do and saying, "what should i do???" instead of mobilizing forces. i hate myself for letting her fall in the first place (she told me to wait inside while she crossed the street, i should've known better).
i hate myself for letting her be in pain. most of all i hate having to WATCH her be in pain and know that this is going to go on for years and years. i feel i am sentenced to this, and that i am selfish for wanting to have my own life and feel good and flourish on my own.
what the hell?? who invented this shit anyway, these diseases? do people in less developed countries get MS? or lou gerhig's?? what IS this? i know the smart thing to do is calling the MS society or whatnot and getting support for caregivers...and i will do this...but i am not cut out to be a caregiver! (and right now, i shall panic!)
well, i worked in a human services field, but i was allowed to go HOME everyday and take care of ME, sort of. i came here to live with her because i was sick of getting beaten up by someone who refused to let me leave them gracefully. this was supposed to be a refuge. i am so selfish. all i can think of is myself, and why is this happening to ME?
the thing is i know she's in pain, i hear about the pain, i feel the pain, i can't stand her crying, it makes me want to scream and beat my head in and punch my face. she was howling today when she fell, which i think is what made me freeze. i just can't move when she cries. it almost makes me angry, it made me want to yell at the passersby, "SEE? DO YOU SEE WHY I CAN'T HANDLE THIS? DO YOU SEE THAT SHE'S NEVER GOING TO GET BETTER? DO YOU SEE THAT I AM GOING TO BE BURIED RIGHT ALONG WITH HER?????????"
people were stopping all along the street, young guys in white t-shirts, just staring. the cops drove on by. i keep replaying it over and over in my mind. she fell 2 other times, once tripping over my shoes and bruising her arm. i can't take this goddamn tragedy, there is no one else she can turn to. no aunts and uncles bringing dinner and flowers, no grandparents, no brothers or sisters to hang out with her while i go out back and eat dirt and weeds. waaah.
then there's good old phill. (if he sees this, too bad.) he's her part-time savior, her punch-in time-clock jesus. when he's here she's walking on air, and when she feels shitty he's always there to be soothing and calm and calm and soothing. but he gets to go HOME, take a break, never make a commitment. not that its his responsibility....after 5 years...but his loyalties remain rather shady and false. i'm sick of being manipulated into thinking that he will care for her someday, that he will get his thumb out of his ass and do what he says he's going to do. especially since i'm such a dangerous, harmful, crazy fuck who he needs to protect her from. right???? wouldn't that be reason enough??
shit shit shit shit shit shit. i feel so immature but i don't care. whoever you are reading this shlock, be glad for your health, both mental and physical, cuz if it goes, that's IT. and both often go at the same time. i want to do something crazy. i want to hop in our car, drive until the sun comes up. drive until i see rattlesnakes. drive with loud music on that makes me cry and let my hair blow out the window until it's a huge knot, and then i'll hack it off and bleach it, and look like madonna in the video for "open your heart." (all i need is a bustier with steel points on the boob part....then i could work at a third-rate peep show and get some cash for gas, smokes, a few burgers, the treasures i will find for when i finally reach the west coast, for the only person who understands and cares and knows.)
selfish, selfish. i would run away when she needs me the most. i'm too boring and scared to take off anyway. i've never wanted to just start running, physically sprinting, so badly. ok, maybe the time when i caught my high school boyfriend drooling all over his ex...i ran all through the hallways of the school, i felt like a track star. "stars of track and field you are beautiful people." what i would give, man! high school! lockers! a father to handle this mess and be strong for her! friends to whisk me away into diners.
her crying echoes in me, sounds like old ladies at funerals, sounds like newborn baby sobs, like raped children. i'm in the desert now. i'm pulling over on the completely flat landscape to kick the sand around with my combat boots, have a smoke, look at the cacti, look for scorpions and snakes.
there will have to be a sandstorm i can get lost in. perhaps like the ones in "dune." i won't be able to see my hand in front of me. i will be part of a sad country-western video, wearing a white slip and walking barefoot in the sand. i will be taken away in handcuffs and shown to my final nuthouse, where i will live the rest of my life.
cowboy boots, i am uma thurman hitching a ride in "even cowgirls get the blues." i am able to enjoy alcohol and pot and drink lots of vodka every night and smoke a fatty. i lie under the stars, i live in canyons and nobody is even sure if i am real or a legend. i eat peyote and see the inner-workings of the universe and grow long armpit hair. i visit my dear one at school. duck into a class when no one's looking, thinking i'm just some bedraggled girl. i laugh and learn with him and meet all his friends and heal him and me and us. kiss the sand away from his eyes. dart around like a lizard, not imposing. i would stay as long as i could, slipping out to bleed away the pain as needed until its no longer needed. then i would be an artist again, or start writing, and maybe shave my armpits.
at least there's daydreaming. at least there's ancient civilizations, the unknown societies, the books i haven't read yet and want to. there's his shining face and spirit-vessel, can't wait to have my eyes sandblasted by white-hot stars when i see them.
for now, i guess i'll just hang out. i'll get better at this care-taker stuff. won't i? either that or i will not allow phill's skinny ass to sneak on by this time. this is not the end!! this is not MY end, this will not be MY Final Exit! i will breathe until i can't. i will hate the disease, not her. i will take my post by her bedside until i am given clearance to go. i will love her the best i can, in my convoluted little mind.
i finally got myself together and brought the car around, of course...some nice guy who looked like frank zappa helped me get her into the car. i took her to the ER and stayed even though she told me to go home.
she's ok now, sleeping i think. i know i didn't do a good enough job (she told me it was satisfactory but that i wasn't all there at first). i hate myself for not being able to hoist her up over my head, for not knowing what to do and saying, "what should i do???" instead of mobilizing forces. i hate myself for letting her fall in the first place (she told me to wait inside while she crossed the street, i should've known better).
i hate myself for letting her be in pain. most of all i hate having to WATCH her be in pain and know that this is going to go on for years and years. i feel i am sentenced to this, and that i am selfish for wanting to have my own life and feel good and flourish on my own.
what the hell?? who invented this shit anyway, these diseases? do people in less developed countries get MS? or lou gerhig's?? what IS this? i know the smart thing to do is calling the MS society or whatnot and getting support for caregivers...and i will do this...but i am not cut out to be a caregiver! (and right now, i shall panic!)
well, i worked in a human services field, but i was allowed to go HOME everyday and take care of ME, sort of. i came here to live with her because i was sick of getting beaten up by someone who refused to let me leave them gracefully. this was supposed to be a refuge. i am so selfish. all i can think of is myself, and why is this happening to ME?
the thing is i know she's in pain, i hear about the pain, i feel the pain, i can't stand her crying, it makes me want to scream and beat my head in and punch my face. she was howling today when she fell, which i think is what made me freeze. i just can't move when she cries. it almost makes me angry, it made me want to yell at the passersby, "SEE? DO YOU SEE WHY I CAN'T HANDLE THIS? DO YOU SEE THAT SHE'S NEVER GOING TO GET BETTER? DO YOU SEE THAT I AM GOING TO BE BURIED RIGHT ALONG WITH HER?????????"
people were stopping all along the street, young guys in white t-shirts, just staring. the cops drove on by. i keep replaying it over and over in my mind. she fell 2 other times, once tripping over my shoes and bruising her arm. i can't take this goddamn tragedy, there is no one else she can turn to. no aunts and uncles bringing dinner and flowers, no grandparents, no brothers or sisters to hang out with her while i go out back and eat dirt and weeds. waaah.
then there's good old phill. (if he sees this, too bad.) he's her part-time savior, her punch-in time-clock jesus. when he's here she's walking on air, and when she feels shitty he's always there to be soothing and calm and calm and soothing. but he gets to go HOME, take a break, never make a commitment. not that its his responsibility....after 5 years...but his loyalties remain rather shady and false. i'm sick of being manipulated into thinking that he will care for her someday, that he will get his thumb out of his ass and do what he says he's going to do. especially since i'm such a dangerous, harmful, crazy fuck who he needs to protect her from. right???? wouldn't that be reason enough??
shit shit shit shit shit shit. i feel so immature but i don't care. whoever you are reading this shlock, be glad for your health, both mental and physical, cuz if it goes, that's IT. and both often go at the same time. i want to do something crazy. i want to hop in our car, drive until the sun comes up. drive until i see rattlesnakes. drive with loud music on that makes me cry and let my hair blow out the window until it's a huge knot, and then i'll hack it off and bleach it, and look like madonna in the video for "open your heart." (all i need is a bustier with steel points on the boob part....then i could work at a third-rate peep show and get some cash for gas, smokes, a few burgers, the treasures i will find for when i finally reach the west coast, for the only person who understands and cares and knows.)
selfish, selfish. i would run away when she needs me the most. i'm too boring and scared to take off anyway. i've never wanted to just start running, physically sprinting, so badly. ok, maybe the time when i caught my high school boyfriend drooling all over his ex...i ran all through the hallways of the school, i felt like a track star. "stars of track and field you are beautiful people." what i would give, man! high school! lockers! a father to handle this mess and be strong for her! friends to whisk me away into diners.
her crying echoes in me, sounds like old ladies at funerals, sounds like newborn baby sobs, like raped children. i'm in the desert now. i'm pulling over on the completely flat landscape to kick the sand around with my combat boots, have a smoke, look at the cacti, look for scorpions and snakes.
there will have to be a sandstorm i can get lost in. perhaps like the ones in "dune." i won't be able to see my hand in front of me. i will be part of a sad country-western video, wearing a white slip and walking barefoot in the sand. i will be taken away in handcuffs and shown to my final nuthouse, where i will live the rest of my life.
cowboy boots, i am uma thurman hitching a ride in "even cowgirls get the blues." i am able to enjoy alcohol and pot and drink lots of vodka every night and smoke a fatty. i lie under the stars, i live in canyons and nobody is even sure if i am real or a legend. i eat peyote and see the inner-workings of the universe and grow long armpit hair. i visit my dear one at school. duck into a class when no one's looking, thinking i'm just some bedraggled girl. i laugh and learn with him and meet all his friends and heal him and me and us. kiss the sand away from his eyes. dart around like a lizard, not imposing. i would stay as long as i could, slipping out to bleed away the pain as needed until its no longer needed. then i would be an artist again, or start writing, and maybe shave my armpits.
at least there's daydreaming. at least there's ancient civilizations, the unknown societies, the books i haven't read yet and want to. there's his shining face and spirit-vessel, can't wait to have my eyes sandblasted by white-hot stars when i see them.
for now, i guess i'll just hang out. i'll get better at this care-taker stuff. won't i? either that or i will not allow phill's skinny ass to sneak on by this time. this is not the end!! this is not MY end, this will not be MY Final Exit! i will breathe until i can't. i will hate the disease, not her. i will take my post by her bedside until i am given clearance to go. i will love her the best i can, in my convoluted little mind.
posted by jamie lynn at 2:02 AM
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