in silent screams

I leave one message for her, then another after a few days, a week… then twenty, thirty over the months. After a short while I find I’m talking to her answering machine, having almost conversations, telling it what I’ve been up to, how my day was, my week. It’s silent as I tell it that I think I’m getting better, that I wish she could meet some of the amazing people who are helping to keep me alive…

but it’s never her.

It must be around eight months now, maybe nine since I’ve heard my Mother’s voice – or heard from her at all. There’s been some amazing news that I told her answering machine; I’ve met my Blood Father with whom, on that fated New Years Eve of ’66/’67, she created me. The last time we talked, when he & I were only barely beginning to plan it, I asked her how she felt about me meeting him, & she said she was completely cool with it – “He’s a really sweet man.”, She said. He is… I was in & out of the hospital, been cured of Hep-C.
My Birthday has long since come & gone. The day she watched as I took my first breath… the day that only after we met meant anything to me slid by without a word from her.

I went to a small party which only by coincidence was the same day – dusted off & put on the well-practiced smile that hides everything else churning & twisting beneath the surface so that no one knew & it didn’t dampen the moods of my friends.
Hell, over this lifetime its gotten to the point where even I believe the mask I wear for those moments,,, until I get home, check the mailbox and again find it empty.

Maybe everything is broken, and she’s not getting any of my messages. Maybe she doesn’t check them. Maybe it is just too much for her and she has left me with nothing but silence, confusion, – and far too few beautiful memories of the times we had together… just like the others.
Maybe I did something wrong.

Maybe… this was a mistake. Maybe there was something past the smile that I never saw, the few times I was able to get up there to see her. An uncertainty, a fear…
Maybe I planted myself in her life too quickly and grew up too fast in the 47 years since she last saw me, one day a baby fresh from her womb, and the next, a man who has already lived a full life that she wasn’t allowed to be a part of.
Maybe, I did something wrong.

Nov. 23, 2013

Maybe… I’m broken.

I’ve sent two letters now, another one will arrive for her shortly after thanksgiving. I’m thinking of sending a stamped & addressed envelope in this one. Maybe with a note to me with multiple choice answers.

Hi Casey!
Great to get your letters. I’m doing a)great b)pretty good c) busy, and I/I’m a)VERY sorry b) insanely busy with work c) have been feeling kind of down, but/and meant to write/call…

…

My ½ sister – her daughter, who I talk to about mom every month or so when we go to the archery range or dog park says not to worry; that maybe mom is feeling bad because she wasn’t able to be here for me, and she’s been a bit depressed lately anyways, not really being able to get around due to her recent hip transplants, or….or….

If I had a car I would have been up there long ago – maybe.
Probably. I understand the need & desire to be alone, but this has gotten to the point where it has just fucking become selfish.

It’s been 2 years & 6 days since the first time in my life I saw my Mother’s face. Could hold her in my arms. Could, at last, after 46 years… feel wanted. I found the heart that I belonged in.

I think of her every day, miss her – especially now, with the holidays here & looming, a time when we should be together – if even only through a phone call.

She always seemed so excited to see me in the few times I’ve been able to get up there.
Maybe she had a change of heart, and closed the part where I seemed to fit so perfectly before.
Maybe there will be a beautiful letter in a plain white envelope waiting for me in my mailbox tomorrow.

I don’t know.
Her answering machine ain’t talking.

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Four Years Later I Again Meet Death at the Table – and Laugh.

So incredibly thankful EVERY day, *for* every day. Not just when they tell me to be on this gluttonous holiday farce.
So overwhelmingly grateful for *you*…

I have a tremendous amount to be thankful for, and each day – each *breath*, it grows.
I must admit though – at this very moment, there is a bit of apprehension sticking it’s fingers into the sockets of my synapses, as with the recent change from the prescription poison diuretics to purely herbs, I’m going through the herbs VERY quickly, don’t have $ for more *or* the specific foods I need that help – and they will take at (usually) a couple weeks to catch up to full force.

(I stopped the prescriptions because my promise to take them during the hep-c drug was fulfilled, but during that time they ripped iron from my anemic blood, gave me the gift of all the cramping & hellish sleepless nights, and jus generally – not good stuff.)

Getting Back into the Swing of Things & wiping the nervous sweat from my brow…

Since 11/17, I’ve gained 19.4lbs in fluid, mostly in my abdomen, and though I *do* have some milder herbs I was taking with the script pills – I need to get the things that will help me step the hell up.
This is what I was talking about in all of those overly verbose posts that I can’t blame you for not reading – lack of stability. This is the time when it is the most fragile. Where every single action I take – or don’t – could either bring it out on the other side healthy, shining, & ready to take back the world… or end it.

Thumbing my nose at Death

Soon, the FurBeast & I are off to Victoria’s (Cowboygirl) sis’s house for a semi-small gathering, and if her sister is anything like her – I suspect a huge, “take care of everyone” feasting.
In the front of my mind is the last time I spent TG with Vic, at her house. Four years ago.

On November 27th, 2011, the very next day, I was in the ER, intubated,  & on partial life support, jacked with a chemical paralytic … and unconscious for a week or more.

It’s completely foolish to even toy with the idea of it happening again, but with the sudden weight gain & fluid retention, swelling, and need for new abdominal truss’s/binders (my old ones served me well, but have hit their “planned obsolescence” point, I guess) – there is a lot that can go wrong… but just because I’m doing nearly the exact same thing doesn’t mean that it will, of course.

Still, I’m frightened… but I think it’s time to walk through it & laugh it off – after all, the more I focus on being *sick* instead of getting better…

I still need your help – PLEASE, if you can. Getting past this is, I believe, the final *known* hurdle – there won’t be any more drugs started or stopped, and I just need the herbs & overpriced tools to keep my insides from falling out.

My Paypal addy is ksea@culturefluxmagazine.com – and once again, I really need you. A 20 POUND GAIN in 9 days is not good, and I KNOW how to get it off – I just need the things to do it with.

It’s going to be an OUTSTANDING evening, and I’m going to stop entertaining such absurd fears NOW. (But ya gotta admit – it *does* fit far too well for a repeat!)

To each and every one of you – I LOVE YOU, and that gratitude I feel for having you in my life… is purely overwhelming at times.
Most of the time.
In so many ways, you *continue* to keep me alive… though I must admit, I do a bit of work along those lines as well. wink emoticon

Paypal: ksea@culturefluxmagaxine.com – *or* you can help fight through the link to the GoFundMe campaign that a friend set up if you wish, but that takes longer & they take *much* more out.

I love you, dearly.
Thank you.

consequences

In the past week alone, I’ve heard of three separate people who have recently passed from Hep-C complications. Without you, I would have been one of them four years ago. That doesn’t mean, however, that I’m in the clear. It’s still a daily battle, closely monitoring everything about my body, doing special exercises, tending to wounds and doing what I need to to keep from getting sick again.

I don’t just “get sick”. If I neglect to do anything & my health goes south, I end up in the hospital, to face an even harder fight if I get out.

But I also need to think of the consequences. The swollen legs & splitting skin, the distended abdomen, the crippling pain – you think just the thought of that would be enough for me to push aside my fear that you’ll end up despising me, or at the very worst, ignoring me. Scorning me, my words…

 

Every single day I fight like hell to never go back to this…

But your financial help is the ONLY way that I can get the various herbs, foods, and other things I need to avoid being hospitalized and fighting to stay alive. Especially because right now, thanks to you, I AM getting better, and feeling more of the person I was before all of this… but I’m out of money, and a few days away from being out of some of the herbs I need.

Because I was afraid of what you might think of me, I got myself into a somewhat terrifying bind.

There is no other option I have, and as much as I loathe having to keep doing it – I’m the guy who goes through complete hell if, like last time, I don’t try every option I can think of, and there aren’t too many.

Therefore I ask again, and will until we either have won the fight, or I end up in the hospital again, wondering if just returning to the same fight is worth it.

And thank you, for everything. With all of my heart, with all of my hope & spirit, thank you. 

I love you.

~ Casey