Got Too Much Crap Beating Down On Top Of Me

(warning: This post contains more depressing topics than humorous ones. So please.... enjoy my hell!)



This is what's going on with me that's making me especially crazy these past few months:



* I've been having problems with my patience and my depression concerning my father's newly diagnosed vascular dementia. It falls on my sister and I to take care of him, of course, since our mother died 3 years ago. It's hard to watch him fade like this. He was, and still is, at times, strong of spirit and able to make perfect sense of things. He was always stubbornly independent and had a good sense of humor. These days, many of those traits might not be seen in him. Hard to watch. It's been a struggle getting Dad to do things, too. There's more to all of this, but that's all I'm going to say.



* Had to see a new head shrink for my depression disorder. You ever hear of BumFuck, Egypt. No? Well, ya see, it means a place that's horribly easy to get lost in, forever, while you curse like a pirate, lop off a head and shit down somebody's neck. That's where my psychiatrist has his business set up. And he's the closest one I could nab that my insurance would cover. Before this, I was able to see a therapist, only two miles away. There's more to all of this, but that's all I'm going to say. See a pattern?



* I've had my type 2 diabetes under decent control for the past 15 years. I only had to take one capsule of Metformin, each day, during that entire time. Then, as my depression ( which I have- due to several things) deepened, I let my health go to complete hell. If I lost my feet, hands or life I didn't care. I ate what I wanted, basically. My blood sugar count has been skyrocketing in the last 6 months.



Here's what I got out of that type of attitude, that I still partially have, even now:



I'm pissing every hour or so like a drunk in an ocean of beer.



My brain is sluggish because diabetes causes your blood to have the viscous quality of molasses. Duuuuuuuuuuuh.



The rare cuts and bruises I get (no, not from the wife) don't heal quickly. I've had the same light scratches on my leg from a month ago.



And I have all the energy of a slug on acid.



And so much more.



So the doctor has me on insulin now. What absolute joy to have to inject a needle in your thigh or your belly, forever. Such merry thoughts are pip-popping into mind. You must realize I'm dancing right now, singing and wishing that I stroke out, fall to the floor and flounder like the big goddam fish that I goddam am. Yayhoo and Kiss My Hairy White Ass. Girls only, though. They-are-so-lucky.



Which brings me to this:



* I've got a fat chunky hemorrhoid sticking out of my ass. Have you ever tried to push a granite like turd out of your ass and feel your asshole rip out? Well, I've done that. And now, every time I wipe, I scream. Whenever I sit, I scream. It hurts trying find your anus with the cream or the hard white capsule that's shaped with points at the ends. Why can't an angel suddenly appear and gently rub a dollop of "heavenly whipped cream" or something in my crack every minute or so? Tinkerbell comes to mind.


Yeah, I know. She's not an angel. But I bet her hands are nice and soft.