My friendship with Death

The first time I faced death it was with my son. He was blue and making a choking noise. I carried him into the ER and there was no one there. From the corner of the room I saw him coming towards us. I looked into his face and said, “no. Please, no.” Then I shouted for help and it was as if the ER came alive and people came from no where, swarmed me and my son and administered the medications that restored him. Death followed me back. When my son’s color was pink again I looked at him and said, “Thank you.” 

I saw him as my father-in-law passed. I knew him and I could feel he knew me. I knew my father-in-law was not going to make it. I looked at him in the corner of the room, “Today?” I asked? He shook his head “no”. “Will you stay for him then?” He nodded. It was early the next morning we got the call that he had passed. When I got to the house my darkest friend was not there. 

I didn’t see him for years. My son grew ill again but he did not visit that time. I was still very afraid, but looking back I should have known it was not his time. 

Two years ago I saw him again. Her name was Mildred and I loved her. She was a firecracker of a mean old lady. But also sweet with the most amazing life stories. I had seen him around the nursing home where I worked. He never took anyone while I was there, I’ve never seen him work. But that afternoon when I went to Mildred’s room to take her to supper he was bent over her. She was very white. Eyes open but unseeing. I pushed him off of her and threw her back onto the floor to do chest compressions, screaming, “I NEED HELP”. He shook his head sadly. And I begged. I pleaded with him. She did not breathe for me, but later at the hospital down the road they shocked life back into her. She came back to me a few days later, even more feisty. She also came back DNR. I vowed not to stand between her and him if he came again. He did not. He did come for the lady down the hall. The one who was so very sick that I sat with her and with him and begged him to take her. He didn’t take her then, but he did after I left, as if he didn’t want me to see him work. 

I work in acute care now. I see him almost every week. I feel like we are coworkers. I have a reputation in the medical world where I work. No one has ever died on me. The other day he followed me to a room. A very old man with a variety of horrible cancers lay in the bed. I was cocky. I thought I could control Death. That he would obey me. That I could continue my two year streak. So when he bent over the man I said, “No, not until I leave the hospital.” He stared at me for a long time, us both frozen there. The man struggling to breathe, agonal breaths each more horrible than the last. After a moment Death nodded once at me and backed to the corner. 

It occurred to me today though, what if Death tires of me?  What if I only had three saves? What if I need my influence but have used it all? What if I hurt him, trying to save people who had no business being saved?

I wouldn’t dare to call him, but next time I see him I will simply nod and let him do his work. Maybe I don’t want to be the special friend of Death. 

iconic!

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Came across this gem again 😂

in love

To anyone struggling

I’m not going to come out of this as a strong, body positive, recovery warrior. I’ll never be a good role model and my story isn’t a story of bravery or great triumph. I’ve been abused, raped, abandoned, and betrayed. I’ve hurt myself, I’ve starved, purged, cut, I’ve tried drugs no one should ever touch, and I’ve drank so much I’m surprised my liver still functions. I’m angry, bitter, depressed, and I often feel hopeless. I’m not posting this for sympathy or validation, I posting this because I wish someone had said it to me months ago.

My life may be messy, but I know it’s worth living. I’m not giving up. I don’t walk tall and proud, most days I can only crawl. At least I’m still moving. Rock bottom isn’t the end of my story, it’s a long, painful, difficult chapter.

If your story is sloppy and hard to read, if you relapse hundreds of times, if you’re going back to rehab once again, if you scream into your pillow at 3am because you hurt yourself again after promising your loved ones you wouldn’t, if you’ve done things you’re ashamed of no matter how severe, it’s okay. As long as you’re still moving, it’s okay. Even if you can only drag yourself a few inches across your bedroom floor, it’s okay. I know you’re trying and I’m rooting for you.

You don’t have to become the queen of avocados and yoga, nor does your recovery have to be silent and graceful. Your recovery is YOURS! Try your hardest, cry, scream, relapse, fall apart, and try again. Rock bottom isn’t the end no matter how many times you fall down, or how much time you spend there. Please keep crawling until you can walk again.

me fake flirting with everybody n realizing I only want one person at the end of the day:

Eating disorder logic

- I’m lonely I’m going to isolate myself - I’m hungry I’m going to starve - I’m full I’m going to eat - I feel enormous I’m going to binge now - I can tell I’ve lost weight I’m never eating again - I’m happy I’m going to trigger myself - I’m sad I’m going to pretend I’m fine - gum has 5 calories no - ice cream has a million calories I’m going to eat a whole 7 pints

my parents: abuse their kid relentlessly, emotionally and physically, and completely neglect to protect me from other abusers in the family

me: grows up with a fractured identity, cptsd, and a personality disorder, along with some spicy pinches of substance abuse and depression

my parents:

I still go into shutdown mode any time I hear a loud male voice.