There’s a song that talks about the opposite of a cloudy day, that when we are young cloudy days mean we can go out and play, but then as we grow older we realize that cloudy days mean rain and rain waters the garden.
I understand that song now. At least I think I do.
My love, I’ve been wondering what to write here and I’ve come up with with this. You see me. You see me everyday. You see that I am old and my hair has fallen out. I was told that surgery does that, that your hair falls out and it turns grey. Do you think maybe you could think back and remember me, as I was? Not now, not of my twisted spine, not now of my dry, brittle body, not make of how my skin sags and bags.
Darling, think back to when we first met. When I was young, when we were youthful. Think of me before I hurt, do you remember when I didn’t live with pain. I can’t write this without crying. I am so broken. Do you remember when I was happy, when we were happy? Do you remember when laughing didn’t make me wince? When singing didn’t remind me of sorrow. I could dance for hours. Pain controls my life now. Ulcers, spine fusions. Diabetes, gastroparisis, bad skin, gluten free, dairy free, dentures and neuropathy. My body is gaunt and I am withering.
I guess I’ve been wondering for awhile how to write this. I’m so sorry.
I’m sorry you had to find me like this, I’m sorry I wasn’t better for you. I’m sorry I am intense. icsm too serious, everyone says it and it turns people off. I don’t know how not to be like this, I hurt all the time. It’s constant. Over 8 years of pain medication. I’m not an addict. I have a tolerance. I go thru 130 oxycodone a month, that’s with me saying no to the 50mg of fentanyl patches . That’s me telling them I’ll live with some pain, that’s me saying no to morphine. Perhaps I should have agreed to it. I’m getting off topic. I just want you to know that I’m sorry this took me so long to write. I’m sorry that I will leave before you.
Physics pain, loneliness - I have no hopes. No dreams and it’s slipping away.
I talk to you. I talk to my mom andno one talks to me. It’s pathetic how desperate I’ve become for human interaction. Attention.
The older I get the more worthless I become. I’ll rewrite this later.
God, I am so painfully lonely.
Fucking Pathetic.
