“friends”

Saturday morning, 7am. What I’m doing up at this hour I have no idea, but since I’m here, may as well write.

I’ve recently come back to it, to the pen, the laptop, to the words that have been sitting inside of me and denied an outlet. I’ve been unfair to them – and so now they’re making me pay, trying to remember where they go so what I want to say is said.
It’s fair.

I’ve been writing again, and fuck, it feels good – almost like seeing an old friend you love dearly but haven’t seen for a while, but better. The writing comes almost whenever I call it, never too busy, knows that the words “Hey, want to hang out? Maybe get coffee?” mean so much more than that. The words know that sometimes, I’m drowning in loneliness and I’m so fucking weary of being the one who has to call you over & over again just to see your face and enjoy your presence for a brief amount of time while on this side the phone remains silent..

So you’ll understand if I choose my words over you, right?

I sent out a private message to someone a few weeks ago, again asking for help to get the herbs I need and explaining why – as well as briefly, what was going on in my life.
I got a message back – “That’s so much to read – do you need money?”
It would have taken maybe four minutes to read, and took everything I had not to tell this person to go fuck themselves but my health depended on it and I can barely afford bills much less my herbs so I leaned against a building’s wall as I wiped a tear or two of anger & frustration out of my eye and simply replied “yes.”

I’ve been writing a lot lately, and some of it has been good as I find my way back…
but I’ll be damned if I post it. If you don’t care, why the fuck should I bother.

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Another Day

He looks at the blank page, the cursor blinking more & more impatiently it seems as it sits there, unmoving, unwanted, unused, just hoping for someone to come along and remind it what it is there for.

He thinks a bit, feels a strange yet familiar empathy with the cursor, as if it were alive.
As if he was.

He knows that this is the one single thing that he can go to when he feels this way; when he’s so weary of the daily fight to live that over & done with sounds so inviting. What would it matter if he just let go?
What would it matter if he just stopped fighting?

The days have become harder. The support that was there isn’t anymore, and he can’t get what he needs to live. It wasn’t so much the money though without it nothing else would matter and there would be nothing left for *him* to give.,
but with every dollar came just a glimmer of light back into his heart. The shine from every gift of gold stopped by his spirit and there, it took hold.

Not afraid of death, the greatest terror is the weeks that would lead up to it – again watching his body shut down, smelling his own flesh rotting away… but he’s planned for this. Bottles of Morphine in his drawers & hidden away in tight containers, and half of any one would do the trick. Hell, he probably even has enough in the pill thing on his keychain to easily step off this train…

But no. This is just fantasy, something that needs to be written out from time to time to scrub this poison from his mind and go on with the day to day to day, and maybe just maybe, today…

everything will be, at the very least, just okay.

Far more than one life…

They didn’t think it could be done. That I could live.

They tried, though. Gods, how they tried – but after the drugs that didn’t help, all the lotions & prescriptions & visits from some of the Nations best specialists, all there was left was changing the dressings, tons of morphine, and the sadness & frustration & saw behind their smiles.

Sept. 13, 2010

unconscious for nearly two weeks. Hooked up to All of the fancy machines, and the one that goes “BEEP!”

– Then, we took over. Me – and all of you. Not willing to die, having so much more I dreamed of doing, I decided to fight – but knew there was no way I could do it alone. I found friends who believed in me, who kept me fighting even during the numerous times I wanted to give up.
When I was up to my nostrils sinking in the thickness of the swamp, you threw me a rope – and we all pulled as hard as we could.

The financial support you sent so I could afford the herbs & nutritious foods I needed was always SO much more than that to me – far more than just money. It was a gift of love, of belief that I *could* win, and every single contribution I have received from that time has never failed to fill my heart & renew my spirit. Every single gift was another strong pull on the rope to help release me from the pit that, without you, I would have died in by now.

One of the beautiful beings that kept me alive, The photo was sent all the way from New Zealand (!!!) by Meredith Yayanos.

I can never thank you enough for what you have done, and gods, we have come SO incredibly close to pulling me free! The fight now isn’t to pull me through the molasses-thick sludge of the swamp, but with a few more pulls finally lift me on to solid land – finally *curing* the cirrhosis – and with it, all of the symptoms I’ve been fighting from pulling me back down…

But the fight has been going on a long time. I’ve been pulling like hell, as you have – and we’re both tired, I know… but it seems as if nearly everyone who was helping to pull decided that it wasn’t worth the effort, dropped the rope, and walked away – except for a couple people, and of course, myself.

I’ve fought like fucking hell, every single day for six years & one month to get this far – and as exhausted as I am, solid land and *health* – and finally after all this time being able to live a nearly normal (for me) life again is within reach, and closer than it has EVER been – but the fight is still as hard as it was in the beginning, and I still need your support – otherwise all the effort we have put in will have been for nothing.
WE CAN STILL WIN, and it’s SO incredibly close – but I still need you.
So again, I plead with you: pick up the rope, and pull for me.

I won’t let go. I can’t. It’s my health and my LIFE that I am fighting for

Thank you so VERY much for all you have done so far – we’ve done what the Doctors didn’t believe was possible already by cheating death – so let’s show them how strong we REALLY are, and reverse my cirrhosis. When we do – then I can show others how to do the same, and save their lives.

Paypal: ksea@culturefluxmagazine.com
PLEASE.
Love,
~ Casey

A decision that could either kill or heal…

(Five minute read.)

Something needs to change.
There are many nights, laying in the same room, same bed for the past four years… many nights, after I close my book & turn off the light, before I shut my eyes and I give myself over to randomness of thought, it’s at these times when it all seems so unreal and it feels as if I’m only a rough sketch, indiscernible, an extra in the life I once starred in.
I seem to have forgotten who I am again. Who I was. Who I want to be.
The fight drains out of me, the passion for life I once had has been lost along the way, replaced by the fight not to die. They’re not the same in any way, I’ve found.

One keeps the mind engaged, excited, learning how to get past the challenges and constantly growing, becoming more, creating anything out of nothing.

The other is just fighting to stay well – being reminded that I’m sick every single time I need to ask for help, seldom being able to escape that as the focus of my primary existence.

Each morning and night I do a meditation, one that focuses on repairing my liver & giving thanks for another day. This meditation helps – I am certain beyond doubt that is what played a large role in surviving when I was in the hospice…
Yet each time I have to ask for financial help to get herbs, it rips that apart and I need to spend days building up the nerve to ask again, all the while thinking of what will happen if I don’t ask.

But having to ask, having to focus all my thoughts on what is killing me, is perhaps the main reason that it’s taking so long to get better, to get *well* – so after this, I won’t be asking anymore.

There’s a vicious battle inside of me each time the herbs begin to run out and I want more than anything to simply be able to throw them all away or give them to someone else, and as I begin to die again I have this vision, this dream of finally being able to live life, even if only for a short time. No research on what would keep me healthy because it wouldn’t matter anymore, finding the passion I once had to LIVE and make every minute count, knowing that they were quickly ticking off…

But I can’t do that. I made commitments – to myself, and a very few of my older friends – the people that shared parts of my life besides just occasionally, accidentally seeing me “out”…
Now, the battle is with myself. I need to figure out how to make life feel real again – and I know exactly where to start.

The cirrhosis is what is killing me – the cause of every symptom, from the swelling to the anemia to the severe lack of energy, and all the pain & discomfort those bring. There are herbs that, if taken regularly, will be able to reduce the cirrhosis to the point where my liver does what naturally comes to it & rebuild itself, repair itself – but those are the herbs I can’t regularly afford.
I’m slowly dying for one reason and one reason alone – I can’t afford to live.

But – I can’t ask for your help anymore either.

In no way does this mean I won’t continue to need the herbs and your help just as much – but I also know the power the mind has over the body, and my mind has to think thoughts of getting well again instead of describing over & over to you what will happen without the herbs I need in hopes to inspire you to help me.

To put it simply, one last time – without the herbs to keep the cirrhosis from getting worse, without the herbs taken on a strict, regular basis to help heal it – I will die.

unconscious for nearly two weeks. Hooked up to All of the fancy machines, and the one that goes “BEEP!”

I will still desperately need your help – it’s what HAS kept me alive this entire time – well, that and the shitload of will I have inside of me *not* to die – you just aren’t going to hear about it anymore.
I can’t expect to get better when all I do is whine about being sick, in pain, and terrified… so I leave it up to you now. You won’t hear anymore from me regarding being sick after this. I’m putting myself in a fragile position, but I can’t help but think it is for the best. For all of us.

One more time, My Paypal address: kSea@CultureFluxMagazine.com

The GoFundMe page a friend set up is at: https://www.gofundme.com/fightingkflux 

So finally, I will be writing about other things again. The things I used to write about. The beauty I see, the magick all around us, and yes, silly observations about daily life in general.
I’m looking forward to that.

I love you – be well…
And PLEASE, Share this – and if you can, support this goal I have of getting well, not just… not just not dying.

Until again,
~ Casey

P.S. – To those who have written me privately or commented on posts saying that I inspire them to fight through their illness, please keep doing so. Continue to ask me questions, continue to stay in contact, and above all, continue to fight – but the above is the best advice I think I can give to anyone; focus on your LIFE, not what is preventing you from living it in the fullest way you can.