Yep, that’s right… this bitch has COVID. WTF?!? And this post is pretty dark; you’ve been warned.
So… this is what happened; I presented with a completely different problem and left with that problem semi-taken care of and the vid. I needed pain control and IV antibiotics. The pain part wasn’t exactly cured because, well…. you know… it takes time… And follow-up has to wait until I am no longer contagious, per the doc who made me ugly cry and watched me fall apart. No sleep for 48 hours, and being told I was being sent home before, I felt it was a good idea to set me off into a tear fest. The diagnosis isn’t important, but what is– health care is a disaster. Do yourself a favor and stay well. Know that the ER is its own form of a horror movie and a literal and figurative shit show. And we are all expected to fit the same mold.
The doc tried to muster up as much sympathy she possibly could as she differed in opinion with me and stuck to her plan. She didn’t want to listen. She had her mind made up and that was that. She just showed me that doctors don’t care about your story or what you know about yourself. It’s either their way or the highway. She held the power of the discharge button. It’s just one of the many reasons healthcare has become what it is. People don’t know how to empathize or listen. The whole goal was to get the infection manageable so I could get off the pain meds. Instead, I was treated like an addict because I needed something stronger than Tylenol. I was sent home to continue to pop pills to ease my pain and wait for the oral antibiotics to work.
The whole thing was just a disaster. So many breakdowns in the course of 24 hours. My name was even wrong!!! People are in such survival mode that they just don’t have the mental capacity to care. Trauma-informed care is just not a thing. Its preached, but never practiced. We all have our issues. We all react the way we do for a reason. We all need empathy and respect. We all have a need to be heard. Sometimes the patient knows better than the doctor.
Admittedly, I did freak when I realized I had what killed the Yellow Knight, and I was back at the starting point where our fates were decided. It’s super terrifying. Was it finally my time? After the calamitous encounter at the ER, I just don’t care because why should I care when no one else cares? It’s the final straw in the disaster called my life. I just realized that there is not much more to fight for. No one is ever going to care. No one respects me as a person. Everyone is in survival mode. The world is fucked. I am tired of trying and justifying why I need what I need or am what I am. Know thy self. I do! And it doesn’t matter. Nothing about my existence matters.
Just to add insult to injury, my stupid ex-husband was too tired to take me to the ER in the first place. He knows damn good and well that is not a place I want to be… ever! I was really concerned about being fatally wounded and needed help. But well… a nap mattered more. I don’t ever want to hear how much he needs me because he’s full of shit. He needs someone to be the adult because he isn’t. That part made me realize how alone I am and that I literally have no real support system. My bestie tries but fails a lot.
My fight to live is teetering between slim to none. I am just tired. Am I actively trying to end it? Am I suicidal? No, that’s not what I am saying. What I am saying is if it happens, I am not fighting to live anymore. I stopped fearing death. I stopped wanting to hold on. I have an odd peace with being done with this adventure on earth.
Prime example, I am not supposed to mix my anxiety meds with my pain meds. Cool. I can’t sleep without them. I already am not sleeping and have had periods of being awake for 48 hours or more. I finally reached a point where I didn’t care if I died because of it. I need relief and sleep; if it came at the cost of my life… so be it. That’s where I am at.
Worry not, readers… I won’t die anytime soon. Ever since the Yellow Knight died, it was made very clear that I was the chosen of the two of us to change the world. We both ended up in the ER on the same day without the other knowing. He never left the hospital, and I did. The choice of the one who was supposed to go on to do better things was me. I don’t get the luxury of just dying; he will be there to shove me back in my body and tell me to keep going. He also now has backup in the form of my grandma. So, I am stuck… miserable and immortal until my mission is complete.
As the psychology world would call it, I have a bad case of survivor’s guilt with delusions. I probably do. He was more sociable and kinder than me. He was also way more laid back, and everyone loved him. I am just an uptight bitch that everyone assumes the worst in. I am that mirror people look into and see their true and ugly selves. They don’t want to know that they are staring at their reflection, so instead, they see it in me and transfer it to me. You’d think it wouldn’t phase me by now, but it still bothers me, and I still whine about it regularly. I still feel like I borderline victim mentality when people act on it and just don’t like me for it. They don’t like themselves! I am just the scapegoat.
Just today, I was talking to my counterpart coworker about something someone did that made me not like her. Her response was “my advice is don’t bring personal feelings into work and don’t put a bounty on her head; it won’t gain any points with the rest of the team.” Like, what in the actual fuck? Seriously?!? I didn’t even ask for your advice, but thanks? I am the least vindictive person I know. I let karma do its thing the vast majority of the time. She obviously has forgotten my history or doesn’t care. I don’t treat people differently in my position of power, whether I like them or not. But, well.. integrity is something you have that no one gets to see. Apparently, I am still a monster that is out for blood– at least according to her just because I vented about how much I disliked someone and why. I don’t know why I try. She just says shitty things and completely blows everything way the hell out of proportion and fuels the belief I am a jabberwocky that needs to be slayed. But we should be friends.
Perception is reality. In most people’s reality, I am the enemy and the monster. The funny part is that I am not the actual monster; it’s them. The inner parts of them that they can’t handle. The details and insights they refuse to acknowledge about themselves. So, they say stupid, mean, and shitty things to me. They made false assumptions about me. I should stop defending myself. I should just tell them who the jabberwocky really is because it’s not me.
This whole mirror thing has always been my blessing and my curse. More curse than blessing. People are forced to see the stuff buried deep inside. I, for whatever reason, bring it to the surface. I just can’t be normal. Nope… that’s not in the cards for me.
Can I just quit yet? And there’s YK– nope not yet. You aren’t done. Fine. Whatever bruh….
Feeling defeated,
Nikki
Damsel vs Bipolar 