Medicate Me

Cory, my beloved, my dear sweet chicken (yes, at my house poultry are highly favored and being called a chicken or a turkey is to be held in the highest of regards), used to do something that drove me absolutely nuts.  She couldn't help doing it, no more than I could help being irritated by it.  What was it?  Sometimes she would start crying, and she literally couldn't stop.

I think it irritated me most because there was nothing I could do to help her.  When these jags first began, I didn't know a lot about her mental illness, and only knew that past a certain age, most people are able to self-soothe.

Well, Cory, my love, I get it.  For the last couple days, I have only been able to stop crying or lesson the feeling that I must cry by taking meds...really, really often.  It was in doing so that I discovered another dilemma my girl faced:  if you don't take the meds, you feel like shit, if you do take them, you fall asleep.  So, basically, suffering on one hand and missing out on life around you on the other.  Wow...some choices, huh?

A couple of weeks ago, I wanted to die.  I just wanted to not hurt anymore.  The only way I could see to not hurt anymore was to not be here.  I scared myself enough to go get some help and within a few days, I was feeling better.

Now the holidays are looming, and I am feeling just wretched again.  Last night, I laid with my head on my pillow and my body tense as images ricocheted back and forth, one for another:  Cory laying in the casket, Cory's arm twisted unnaturally on the road-back and forth, back and forth...casket, road, casket, road.  It was a wrestling match to get my brain on something else, and I couldn't get a leg up to save my life.  Finally, I got up and took another Ativan in hopes it would knock me out, which it mercifully did.

So yeah, I'm taking the meds.  They don't take the horror away; they only dilute it.  And as a bonus, I get to look half-stoned (or "slow on the uptake" as a good friend told me today) at my workplace.

But Cory had it so much worse.  I wish she were here so I could hug her and tell her how strong she was.  I am finding out more and more about her everyday.

These holidays will come and go, regardless of my wishes, pointed out same said friend.  Yes, this I know.  But I also know I have no desire to participate.  Joyful?  Hardly.  Togetherness?  How?
 I thought and thought of a way I could include Cory in the season without sitting in a roomful of family members without her, sick with jealousy.

Cory collected nutcrackers.  Every Christmas, Santa left one under the tree for her.  I will take one out and put it in front of her monument.

For now, that's all I've got.