Journal

I’m not coping well.

Scott is so far away, and time seems to be telescoping out so that every achey moment is an aeon.

The meds aren’t working: don’t even have a real diagnosis, and I’m paying about $200 a month for treatments that aren’t really affecting me for the better. I had more function on the codeine, even if I had to keep upping the dosages.

The biggest issue I feel is that no one really cares. The level of inconsideration I am feeling is huge. I get lipservice, from just about everyone, roomies and sister on down to the doctors, and I can’t really talk to anyone about the pain and the fear and the anger and the helplessness, because it’s all whining.

Mostly, I am feeling a huge loss a gaping chasm of hopelessness. My youth is long gone, and my old age is already here, and I have nothing to show for it. A life mostly wasted. I’m so close to the edge of just saying I’ll survive till my kids don’t need me anymore, and then I’m kissing off.

I am dreamless, sleepwalking through my days and submerged in my nights.