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The new year can go to hell

It's only been 5 and a half hours and already I hate the new year. Fuck 2010. Fuck, how did I find myself in this situation? I see these people, people on Facebook, people I used to go to high school with, college, and they all have good jobs, real careers, they have babies and SHIT they have fucking babies already. And they have so many friends, they all look so bloody happy. I can't hate them, I once loved some of them, so very much. But when I watched Anderson Cooper and Kathy Griffin on CNN's New Years countdown I just thought about how funny and so silly they were together. And how healthy they looked. How many fucking friends they had, how much money they make. And sure, they are famous - but regular people have good careers, have friends, lead normal lives or even exciting lives. My best friend didn't even visit me when I was in the hospital. And I realized sometime soon afterward that I had just lost my best college buddy, and my very last friend. As I watched that stupid ball drop I realized that I'm starting 2010 with no job, no friends, and an expensive new disease. Without Ben and my mom to help me I surely would never have survived such blows. But here I sit, in a quiet house I do not own, with a housemate who is never home, my husband asleep in the bedroom...and it's just me. This is me during the nights. During the days I waste away in my bed, trying to stave off reality with my dreams, until Ben comes home from work. Then I get up, take my medicine, watch TV or sit on the computer with him, eat, take my medicine, he goes to sleep, I stay up on the computer, and before bed I take some more medicine. I look at all of these people I used to know, and in almost every way I'm a failure. My husband is the only island I have in a stormy, tumultuous sea - but I still feel so alone. There is no one to talk to in my quiet house except for myself. My silent house. I thought Matt would understand, he has diabetes type 1 for fuck's sake. He, of all people, should know what it's like to go through a diagnosis of an incurable disease that will cause me future pain, hospital visits and surgery for the REST OF MY LIFE. Why is it that it's still so fresh in my mind? How humiliating it was to be unable to walk the 8 steps from the bathroom to my bed. I had to crawl. CRAWL - because I was too weak to stand. At one point all I could do was lay on the bathroom floor in agony until Ben got me hydrocodone. Or how I called the doctor at 6am to beg him to give me anything, absolutely ANYTHING for the pain. Or how I begged and cried as the nurse in the hospital gave me the IV dilaudid. How, when the nurse asked me how many times I'd gone to the bathroom, I told her about 20 and she looked like she didn't believe me. How, every time I DID go to the bathroom all I could see was blood. And 97 pounds...I have never in my teen or adult life weighed 97 pounds.
All I could think of this new years eve was how happy every body has sounded, how happy they all looked on the tv, how happy all of my former peers seem to look online. I tried to quell it, to be happy with my husband, but it just didn't help. How did I fail so miserably? How can I not have a single friend? Not even one. nobody but my parents and Ben saw me in the hospital. I remember trying to sleep the second night there, alone, the dilaudid made my body spasm and I had nightmarish trips instead of dreams. The trips, they felt like I was moving very quickly face-first through a dark room with my head sweeping spasmodically from side to side. The speed at which I felt I was moving combined with the spasms created a simple image, yet a hideous feeling. But I needed the dilaudid - because my insides were bleeding and I've never known a pain so intense in my life. The IV pumped saline into me all day and all night for 6 days, along with the Flagyl. And of course there was the CT liquid I had to drink which made me almost vomit, as well as all of the other various differently colored and bitterly flavored liquids I had to drink. One nurse decided to draw blood from the middle of my forearm - that left a massive bruise. I guess she figured the crook of my elbow had been bruised enough already.

As I sit here, I think about how I'm supposed to be positive, I'm supposed to try hard - for my grandmother, my mother, my husband. But I feel so alone, I feel such failure, and such guilt. Guilt for everything. Even guilt for feeling this badly. Ben doesn't want to see me upset, so I feel guilty. Ben said he wants me to break this powerful cycle of guilt I have going. I want to, but there are so many things beyond my control. And things I can exert very little control over. I feel so alone, and so, so very incredibly helpless. And so tonight I simply cried, I sat on the computer and read stuff and just randomly cried. I cry on the outside, but inside my head it's a wail. An ear-piercing, mournful wail.

I mourn the death of the person I once was
I have yet to accept the person I have become.

So I am in a strange limbo of sorts, one that has lasted since June of 2009. And I throw pity-parties for myself, but I do not care. It's the look in their eyes every time the same pharmacists fill my $150 prescriptions, it's the fucking LOOK they give me. The same look they give me when they *know*, and now somehow I'm *different*. I'm to be pitied. But it's something else too. There is something else in their eyes that others don't have when they look at me. I can't pinpoint it, perhaps someday I will be able to.

So it's a new decade
And here I sit
alone
in a cold house
a silent house
jobless
friendless
diseased

feeling helpless.

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