Six Days On, En'it?

Today has been a good and peaceful Sunday, 31 October 2010. After having been down in a post-vertigo-attack sleep of well over one hundred hours, I felt awake this morning, and was really not going back to bed. The certainty of this carried on with me the remainder of the day and am now well into the night.

With the back and at him's, that I am up and at 'em...the gloom and despair stirs and surrounds my very being with this draining of my energy, as when water drains into a gutter...I am exhausted yet my body pushes me on. I press rewind on my mind's VCR and watch and listen to the life I have had for the past three years...lots of other stuff has stirred too. I am trying to be so positive, but this bad medicine is sickening.

...I called the 211, last night. I don't remember the time. I just knew I needed to connect with some other human/person/spirit and listen to a different voice of reason. My bride was sound asleep, as were my daughters. I am not comfortable with the idea of waking them for Daddy's Issues, dig? Amy, thank you for listening.

Even though today is Sunday, I called both my therapist and my psychiatrist. Was able to speak with my therapist, Sir Dude. Listening and hearing his voice disengaged some energies growing uglier by the minute within. That's so not me...I am the one folks call whenever their lives hit pot holes on the Trail! Anyways, Sir Dude will call me in the morning to go over openings for a quick git'er done! I know it's the right thing to do. Just as it is the same with seeing my Dr. Psych. Sir Dude, thanks for listening!

My P.T. Lady called and confirmed tomorrow's therapy for the "physical" me. Exercise and balance/coordination exercises. I am looking very forward to this visit. Last week's vertigo attack was the first to erase an entire week of appointments. For this I am embarrassed. What is there for me to say? Are my utterances even heard? ...

Before I type much more, let me share a memory with you, real quick. I failed my first year of Grade Two. Right here in Tampa. I was diagnosed as being a "hyper-active" child...and sedated. Immediately. A real live child on adult medications. It was also right about this time I developed asthma, which required daily injections and pills and tablets...

...See, this whole process is something that runs through my veins...the poisoning began bleeding decades ago. Look, folks back then didn't communicate too fucking much. Or read, because I must have been a pretty good candidate for the Boy Poster Child with respect to being the sexually abused/raped/incested child that was screaming for help. But no one listened...no body heard, because these folks did not have ears. Nor eyes, because I dared not speak it; but shit, I sure was a silent screamer...had to be, you see.

I bring up the medicines of early childhood because I think it important to see how far I have not come from childhood. I never took pills/tabs/capsules for recreation. I didn't have to. I begin to open up about the life I have lived and am living and the life I want to live, because I suspect somehow, maybe even on a DNA level, all of this is related, somehow connected. Yes, I do.

Today was a wonderful day to be alive and it would've been just as wonderful a day to die.

I'm just being honest, en'he?

Walking The Path...

What about now?

Was stirred at five forty-five late afternoon...I know that if I were to return to bed I would sleep. Sleep so deep I dream...

Have slept more hours than I care to think about right now, so I won't.

It's deep in here right now...in my dream world, in my world when awake...it's dark up in the matter of brain where my thoughts of beliefs and love and understandings and memories reside...where I live.

Attached...detached...distracted...dark...

Okay, right about now?

May I Wake Up Now?

I ask if it might be okay for me to wake up for a spell. Have slept so much that I am exhausted and want to go back to sleep. Am I sleeping myself to death? Am I going to hell?

Today is Friday, 29 October, 2010. Have slept so much it would require that I grab my golden calculator to add or multiply or divide or figure what would the square root of too much be...it would inform me I have slept well over sixty hours. Is this a sin? Should I be punished? Am I going to hell? Remember the movie "Seven"?

Woke up just a few minutes ago. It is 12:25 p.m. Am thinking I should return to my Safe Place and return to sleep...so I don't have to be awake to feel these symptoms or think of these things dashing through my brain/mind or listen to anything/anyone/anyhow/anyway.

NO! I DON'T WANT TO GO BACK TO SLEEP!! YES, I DO! NO, I DON'T!!

SHHHHHHHHIT!!! SHHHHHHHHHit!!! Shhhhhit!! Shhit! Shit! Shit! shit...

Meniere's Disease, Psyche Manifest Psychosis, Part IV

Have been asleep and disconnected, for the majority of Life since Monday...forty plus hours. This Meniere's Disease is so damned stupid...

...My body, muscles, joints and knuckles feel pained and ache as if I have just been beaten up good and proper...as in an old fashioned ass-whooping that I deserve...Karma?

Woke up this afternoon by the recorded voice of a politician who made an ass of himself on The CNN...must have been something that turned me all sideways, because it was then that I decided to get up from that mattress, even if but for a few minutes...say greetings to them reading these words. Have grown weary of the Cyber-Socials...I suspect a change approaches. But then, I don't know how much longer or lesser a duration... these cyber-social places have helped me keep in touch with folks. I hate this separation! This exile! Wait, how about the medications?...pills, capsules, tabs and chemicals....my memory serves me far too well...even with the scars of these thousands of pills and medications.

...My Path has had similar forks come my way before. So many...whether it was to be as it was to be or not...I kept on walking. I had to.

As a wee little boy being taught how to do things unrelated to being a wee little shit, being taken to baseball practice and baseball games by a man who made me do things unrelated to baseball for years. He lived two doors down from us...as a 9 year old, being approached from behind by a cigar smoking old son-of-a-bitch, at the Casino in Ybor City. The rape and sexual abuse from childhood stopped in 1978. It had to. My memories still serve me just too damn well...

...back in the 1980s when I was diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa and at the time, being the only male on record with this disorder, in all of Miami. The therapies, the pills, and such...then the Bulimia, in the late 80s and early 90s to help ease my way back. Oh, it was so damn painful and dreadful to see myself gain back so much weight so fast...

Then the years of self abuse...putting myself in harm's way in so many different ways, sex, herbs, and hashish while in Germany, some rock and roll - not much though, and subjecting myself to punishments that I thought fitting...for someone like me.

...All of this preceded the coming out of the sexual abuse I mentioned earlier... which brought along with it the memories, therapy and groups...a whole new set of them medications, pills, syrups and such...yes, damnit, my memory serves me far to fucking well...


A little self-observation please; I have noticed that my ego and I visit very bleak and dark places post-vertigo attack. My Dear Lord.

...have slept approximately forty hours since Monday...I must return.

Whatever has been written, has been written. I am sorry for being here. I am sorry for going there...I just wonder how much stronger can I be? I am so sorry because I must say, I wish you a blessed and peaceful day...knowing I'm about to eat some pills and go back to sleep.

It's just me and my Psyche Manifest Psychosis, Ole, Mario.

p.s There is not an instruction book that accompanies me on my Path. I walk forward with my face upright. Forks and roundabouts are part of my journey here on Earth Mother. I know I have fought many battles and many a war from within, it is as a piece of thread to connect a piece of fabric to another...my life before my eye orbs and my right-good-bad-ear reminds me I am a Survivor and a Warrior. So, I move on. Please, you all don't fret none. It's just me and my memories.

Vertigo Attack on a Monday Afternoon.

Seems like it has been several hours ago, six or so, when this nausea, noises, dizziness, bad sweats and holding on to my innards came about...I am certain and reckon I did have a vertigo attack earlier this afternoon. Have slept a larger portion of today than I would like to share, but then this appears to be my Meniere's MO.

I had full left-ear sensations earlier today, which just does not make sense. There are none of the parts that could create this symptom. My right ear has been swelling and popping as if I had been swimming...for hours and yet, have not been in the pool for weeks. Yet, still another oddity...the last surgery was to have assisted me with these full right ear sensations. I wait.

I did revert to an ole eating disorder secret I had years ago, in attempt to curb this bleeding nausea. I failed. The nausea is present with urgency.

As is the dizziness. I feel a band of dizziness around my inner head...a constant reminder to watch every step...navigate every turn on purpose...keep the night lights on. A dizzy person?

I feel the perspiration slide down my back...I am still and can see the wet spots on my grey t-shirt. I am in an air-conditioned house and am sweating as if exposed to the humid night out of doors. I have perspired more today than I have in a spell. If this does not ease up...I am uncertain as to what to do. Call and hold hands with my doctor or his assistant. I eat the pills, capsules and chemicals.

"Oh, isn't he such a fine patient." "Always so kind."...while all along, I look in the mirror...every day and see the who-I-was then to the what-the-fuck? today...damn near every-damn-day.

I am listening to crow-sized Cicadas in my right ear...so loud! So obnoxiously loud! I want to scream! If I scream loud enough will I stop hearing these foiken cicadas! If it was not for my Bride and hounds all asleep I would try. Think I'll yell and scream later...in the morn!

Have noticed that if I keep my mouth closed about these things, folks tend to leave me be. I am alone right now. Down right lonely too. Maybe if I stop talking about this disease and what the fuck it does to me...maybe folks go on and just leave me alone.

Yeah, I know...

...nesting...

As Fall ever so slowly approaches us here in the Deep South, I have this emerging urge to nest. Please don't ask and I don't know...

I have gotten on my hands and knees to scrub the tub AND toilet in mine and Brenda's cave...scrubbed the sink and vanity(yes, I did say vanity). What? Wiped down my too large of a collection of oils and scents, gathered and packed all unneeded medical supplies and medications. Well, actually, I bagged them...but anyways, I have purged myself of "stuff" that is simply not needed or not used. Honey yes, I have a To Be Donated box open and ready...we donate to the ACRC. I hope no one gets pissed that I should say who I donate to, and if I have pissed someone off, oops, it's Happy Hour down at the pub. Lawdy, I digress! I have one of those huge garden bags just about full of rubbish. Questions...Does a house lose weight when purged of excess? Does dust reproduce? No. Really. I've seen spots here that the dust has become some sort of community. Folks politicizing here with their little posters...

Look, I don't know why I'm nesting. I don't understand. No, I'm not pregnant, not to the best of my knowledge anyways. Kinfolks would say and think I had one just because my niece just had a baby boy this week...may be I just want to help my bride, maybe I feel the want to tidy and task, maybe it's the wish to purge...to eliminate...I don't know. Yet.

This is what I do know, I now return to the task and tidy...prepare for the Winter ahead...soon it comes. It's going to be a cold one...

peace, love and understanding,
It's me, Mario!

p.s. Pushing The Envelope!!

...here comes the night...

The night is thick with darkness out of doors. The bright stars and soon-to-be full Moon provide the only light here on the preserve. The night bird sings her song of sorrow and I ache for her in my Spirits...it is said the night is darkest right before sunrise...tonight, I'm not so sure.

Sometimes, after I have swallowed my p.m. medications--the ones with barbs, thorns and tacks--I can taste the flavour of mein own blood and drink it as I would a Bloody Mary with extra hot sauce to make my throat scream for mercy. How many different medications am I eating? I forget. Some work - some do not - all have some sort of broken glass or something sharp attached.

On occasion, one of these medications--the one with the double-edged razors, the one that is prescribed to ease the noises in my head--fails me. So I listen. Tonight, I listen to the Brazilian Rain Forest, with crickets that sound as if these are the size of the panthers that roam the forest floor...there is a 727 parked in my back yard that has been prepared for take off the past hour or so, but it goes nowhere. Like the helicopters last night and the HONK!! and blasting of a cruise ship anchored in my pool...all are my guests, you see. All are guests...

The noises in my left ear are so clear and are what I perceive to be audible; yet are all some sort of false feedback from a prior time...a time when I did listen and hear with it. Today, I still do, but I don't really.

I want to smoke a cigarette, but I don't smoke.

My dear doctor has informed me that hearing voices is something that some patients with Meniere's disease deal with, that it is not unheard of, and patients have been known to hear entire conversations. Yet, my dear doctor does advise that I do mention it to my Mental Health Care professionals. So I will. Hearing and listening to voices in between my ears is nothing new for me...talking about it is.

By the way, no, I do not conversate with myself.

Really?