Tag: books

Evening Saturday Blog

For the first time in the last two weeks, I missed my afternoon dose of trilafon. I am kind of beating myself up about it but there is nothing I can do about it unless my symptoms come back in full attack. They haven’t so I think I am okay with just taking 4 mg tonight. It was one of those, yea I will take it in a minute and then forgot when the minute passed. I do the same thing with my blood pressure meds, which is why I have an app that reminds me to take my meds.

I usually take my first dose of trilafon a few hours after waking up, usually after or while I am having my coffee. I figure if I take it with the coffee it fights off the drowsy effect. Today I had two cups of coffee and I was still tired by the end of the baseball game. I pretty much watched it from beginning to end, well, watched a couple of innings and then listened to the rest of the game. I am happy they beat the Skankees again. When Sandy Leon was batting, I just had a feeling he was going to hit a homerun. I didn’t say anything because that jinxes it. And when I heard Joe Castig say that ball is gone, I was whooping up and down on my bed. It was so sweet. That made it 5-1 at the time. The final score was 5-2. It was a good game.

I finally finished one of the books that I started but my Kindle ran out of juice. That is the only problem with technology, needing power. A regular book doesn’t need that kind of power. You just have to remember to carry it with you. I had already finished the single but at the end it had the beginning chapter of another Keller series. I think I already read it as it sounded familiar. The book is written by my favorite author Lawrence Block. Keller is one of his characters that I like. He plays a professional assassin. Block’s first book that I got hooked on was “Eight million ways to die”. He had this series by another one of his characters called Matt Scudder. I just fell in love with Matt when I was 15. He was struggling with his issues with alcohol and I was struggling to stay alive with my suicidal thoughts. Block’s books gave me the much needed distraction to keep going. I feel like I should write to him, but I don’t want to sound corny. I do have his email address because what I have to say will be longer than 140 characters in a tweet. I am not that tactful.

Now I am trying to get into a Scudder-like mystery/crime novel written by Robert Galbraith aka JK Rowling. I read the first chapter this morning and it was so meh. It was just so ordinary. It reminded me of a book by Block, “out the window”. I know that I shouldn’t be judging this like a Block book but when that is all you have read for the past two decades, you kind of have a standard. But this book, “The Cuckoo’s Calling” was a National Bestseller so who am I to judge it.

I have been reading my blog from two years ago. Seems like almost every day I wrote more about my pain than about the suicidality I was feeling. My blog has taken such a turn from being about my suicidality to chronic pain that I had to change the brief description as it was more about my physical pain than my psychache. I know I don’t write about my suicidal thoughts that much anymore. I still get them when my pain is off the charts. But it’s mostly my physical pain that is off the charts lately. My psychache seems to be in check. I guess being on an antidepressant has benefitted me the last few months. There was a time back in September 2015 after my New York Times article was published that my depression got worse. I am so used to it that I hardly remember when the episodes start and when things get worse is usually when things start clicking that something is wrong. It’s rare that I get physical symptoms of depression. But that is how bad things got. I just wish the weight I lost was more significant than it was. Only because I gained it all back, sadly. I was so damn close to losing my ideal weight but nope, it wasn’t meant to be. I am just grateful that my NP isn’t a big weight freak like my PCP was. It was really stressing me out and actually caused me to gain weight than lose it.

I have no idea where my writing is going. I have thought about it a million times but nothing comes to mind about what I want to write. It’s been months since I wrote something. The only thing that I did write while I was in the hospital was the first hour of my father’s home visit before he died. He lived only two hours after bringing him home from the nursing home. I still haven’t written it up. Nor did I finish it. The last hour was difficult to write without having PTSD symptoms. I never wrote it. Tonight I was thinking about the last time I saw him before he died. It wasn’t as painful as it once was. I also wrote a lot about him in 2014 in the blogs that I read. That was when he had a GI bleed and his hydrocele surgery. I didn’t write in detail about his illnesses because it is my blog and feel that I should be writing more about my feelings than him. He was the source of my suicidality for a long time. Now that he is gone, I am less suicidal. Don’t get me wrong, I still get suicidal. It’s just that his joking and torturing that made me want to die is gone. He just made you feel like a nobody. And that is how I felt whenever he was around. I also felt like I didn’t matter, that his needs were more important than mine, because they were. He had to come first and if he didn’t, he got so mad. That was how he was. And unfortunately, I miss the bastard.