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!"

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

SnapShot(3)

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.

 

Bones: The moment that I became

Wandering through my writing from the day that turned everything around – the moment I made the decision not to wait and hope for my dreams to come true, but actively make them.

I clearly remember when I was offered the choice. I had been laid of from my job a few weeks before and was overwhelmed with stress & worry – about how I would pay rent, how I would feed Bean, how I, myself, would eat.
Somewhere in the background of my mind & spirit I was happy to lose that job, as it had turned into everything I was anymore. I couldn’t have a simple conversation with *anyone* without looking solely for that moment I could turn the conversation in a direction that was focused on finding an “in” with their building manager at work…
I wasn’t paying the game anymore. I had become it. I dressed in $700 Donna Karen suits (costumes) –  and damn, I looked good in them – but regardless of how good the outside appeared, the inside was vacant, save for every day and sleepless, stress filled night, thoughts of how to become better at my job… a job I no longer wanted, but was too afraid to leave.

Too afraid to give up even that small bit of security…

In a moment of clarity, I listened to what was being suggested. This is what I wrote at the time. A couple short weeks later I was working with The Dresden Dolls in a position that seemed to be designed entirely for me, and head-over-heels in absolute love with life. Now, as I look back & see how everything from that moment has fallen so perfectly into place to get me where I am today, writing the story of an incredible life that began at the very moment written about below, I can’t help but smile at how beautiful everything is.
And I am still completely in love with this life.

November. 2004

Oh, the things we suppress. What is squirming around inside of us? What do we have that could completely stand the world on end if we let it loose – gave it breath – acknowledged its life?

 

No. Can’t do that.

 

Everyone resume the game they’re playing. Everyone pretend that nothing is happening, go about your business, and roll your dice. If you work at it hard and long enough, really put your nose to the grindstone, follow the rules, get to work on time, deny the pain and the madness and the ennui and completely lose all that you are in search of the “American Dream” that they told you to dream, you just might die with the most toys. You just might win.

 

Fuck, I’m in a strange mood.

 

I like it.

 

 

Shit. I’ll never find a job this way…

 

 

But see, there’s a catch.

(There’s always a catch.)

 

The things I want to do. Learn, travel, experience, grow, give, help, inspire…

 

Eat…

 

It comes with a price. It all comes with a price. Many things don’t necessitate one in a monetary sense, but still, many do. It’s a matter of survival. We’re caught,

 

but not defeated.

 

All there is, is to shine as brightly as we can, never losing sight of what we need to evolve. Never giving in, never handing our lives and our own dreams over wrapped in our soul in order to make it one step further to a lovely little retirement in geriatricville. Never succumbing to the temptation of personal drama in order to feel substantiated or validated – or just in order to feel. Maybe that’s what happens. We lose ourselves so completely in trying to be a “success” that we need to create situations around us simply to bring us back to life, to remind us that we’re human.

 

Fuck that.

 

Love. Breathe. Wonder. Explore. Dream. Go back to the eyes of a child. Look around and, again, and see how much beauty there is in everything with this remembered knowledge. You’ll see how everything shines so incredibly brightly, and how it’s all a part of you. You’ll walk down the street with a warmth and subtle smile, knowing that this is the only thing that truly matters. Try to remember it, because if you aren’t careful, it will be taken away again, suffocated in the mundane. Do everything you can to keep it, and give it away at each and every opportunity. Eventually, you will know. The language of your story will become true, you will repair your wings with paste and bandages, and learn to fly again.

 

That is success.

It is time to follow my dreams, regardless of how terrifying it may be at times, or the false sense of security that I must give up to do walk this path. I have lived far too long as someone else’s pawn.
It is time to live for me, to remember who I am and do what I can to help, to give, to remember how to love myself – and in doing so, perhaps inspire others to do the same.