some days...

some days i'll forget to take my meds. sometimes i run out and forget to refill them and i go without for a few days.

things they don't tell you about SSRI's like cymbalta: if you miss even two days your body will spiral into withdrawal symptoms. You will shake and be dizzy and out of breath and it will feel like needles are pricking every inch of your skin. You will feel like you are being shocked electrically. it will start in your brain and traverse your entire body, down to your feet and all the way back up. You will want to convulse your body will be exhausted and if you relax your muscles will twitch like you are seizing. You aren't. You are fine but your body will twitch. Once you take your medications again it will take two weeks of consistent daily dosing before they are working fully.

This is all legal. All of it is FDA approved.

I never come off of my meds into a manic episode. I always plummet into depression. I don't have a reason to be sad or cry. It doesn't need a reason.

I feel like there is a weight on my chest pressing down and making it harder to breathe. Harder to care. I want to curl up in the corner and be left alone forever. I feel so alone already. I cry over nothing. I cry about death.


It's summer.
May 18, 1996: the day my Grandpa Hart died. His was the first funeral I ever cried at. I was 8.

May 2nd, 2003: the day my Grandpa Dan died. I was in San Antonio on a band trip. I got the news from my cousin. The last time I saw my Grandan I had forgotten to say "I love you" as he was leaving; I thought it was no big deal and I would see him again. It was the most excruciating pain I had ever known.

June 28, 2006: the day my Grandma Hart died. She actually passed away while I was literally sitting on my Grandma Wink's couch saying how she was a fighter and she might make it.

June 21, 2007: the day my Grandma Wink died, less than a year after my Grandma Hart died. I was holding her hand when she died. I was alone in the room. The nurse asked if I was okay. I stared at her and said "No, I just watched my grandmother die. Of course I'm not okay." I sometimes still don't feel okay.



Maybe these are all excuses but I'm in a bad way right now.

Techtosterone?

*awesome techno-woman link of the day*
GenderIT

My Rant about My Lappy: The Lappia Beta Coupe

I hate Vista, just like everyone else in the world. Absolutely hate it with a fiery passion but I usually enjoy that it gives me just a little bit more information and control than either Mac or XP does. There is, however, a problem with giving me this control. I don't know enough about Vista or computers in general to be able to really successfully fix anything. I just know enough to royally fuck them up. It's kind of amazing. In the first two months I had this computer I had to wipe it and completely re-install Vista at least TWICE.

Today I was given the ultimate insult. I was shown the BLUE SCREEN OF DEATH. I didn't even have time to read the text on the screen so I have no idea what happened to trigger the dreaded BSoD. Based on my wholly uninformed opinion I'd say registry errors of a rather Hardcore kind. We're talking XXX registry errors. Not that I know what a registry error really is, but still.

The point of all this is: I need to get my computer fixed but there's a small problem. I don't agree with the way technical support is done. I've worked in Technical Support and customer service with Apple computers before and consistently encounter two problems.

1. Most people prefer to work with technical support agents who are men because they feel that men are more adept at mechanical things and logic and will therefore fix your computer faster.
   
   My main argument against this is that, as a woman, I achieved the highest customer service satisfaction rating of anyone, man or woman, in my department and it wasn't just about talking people down and keeping them happy either. I managed to resolve technical problems 94% of the time so I knew what I was doing. Why then, was I often treated like I didn't know what I was doing?
   
   
2. This question brings me to my second point which is that a majority of technical support agents are males and inherently treat female customers as slightly inferior and assume they don't know what they're doing. I expect some people to argue that I'm biased and have no basis for this opinion. On the contrary, I worked full time on the floor of my call center and as my customer satisfaction was so high I was asked to help train other employees in how to improve their customer service satisfaction. The single biggest problem I identified was a lack of respect for the customer especially in the cases of male support agents and female customers.
   
   Is it wrong to have to explain to a customer service agent that they work for the customer regardless of age, sex, location, religion, or supposed intelligence?
   Because it should be.
   

I want my computer to work but I don't want to have to fight with the people who fix it. Maybe I'll just buy a new one. Again.

Precious in the sight of the Lord are the death of his servants.

Billie Maxine Paul McKinney
1927 - 2007

     Billie Maxine Paul McKinney, 80, beloved Mother, Grandmother, Great-Grandmother, Sister and friend passed peacefully on June 21, 2007, after a valiant fight against a debilitating auto-immune disorder. Billie, nicknamed Winkie by her sister Betty for her skill playing the game of Tiddlywinks, was born in Memphis, Tennessee January 19, 1927 to Erman F. and Edna M. Paul. She moved to Las Cruces with her family in 1945, where she graduated from Las Cruces Union High School and later married Dan McKinney.
     After raising a family of three sons and one daughter, Billie and Dan divorced and Billie moved on to work as a licensed practical nurse. As a nurse, Billie served the Las Cruces community for 21 years, touching the lives of many. Upon retiring from her work at Memorial General Hospital, Billie enjoyed working at several national parks, traveling through the United States, Canada and Europe, gardening, and spending time with friends and family.
     Billie was preceded in death by her parents, sister Martha Joy Paul and former husband Dan McKinney. Billie is survived by sisters Kathryn Phaup, Betty Maluf Tver, and Nancy Aderhold and her husband Jon, son Jim McKinney and wife Elaine, son Daniel Dale "Bear" McKinney and wife Lucille, son Bill McKinney and wife Helen, daughter Barbara Streander and husband Kim, granddaughter Melissa Roetker and husband Sean, granddaughter Melanie Gonzales and husband David, grandson Dan McKinney, granddaughters Megan and Kate McKinney, granddaughters Lauren and Kristen Streander, great-granddaughters Layne Roetker and Amber Gonzales and great-grandsons Nick and Mathew Gonzales.
     Aunt Winkie leaves behind many nephews and neices. She is also survived by extended family Della McKinney, James and Sheila Richardson, Nita and Larry Cohorn, and Wade and Jodi Richardson and their children. In addition to her family, Billie leaves behind many friends in the US, Canada and Germany.
     Billie will be remembered for her strong spirit and courage that she shared, even in her final days.
     The family thanks the staff at Mesilla Valley Hospice for the caring service they provided. In lieu of flowers, the family requests memorial contributions be made to the Mesilla Valley Hospice, 299 E Montana, Las Cruces, NM 88005, Church Triumphant or a charity of your choice. A memorial service will take place Wednesday, June 27, beginning 10:30 A.M. at Church Triumphant, 2020 North Valley Drive, Las Cruces, NM 88007

I feel nothing
I feel broken and numb
Even the pain is disconnected from my reality
Nothing touches my mind

Sever the tether
I feel like my strings have been cut
Now I’m floating free
Erratic and uncontrollably

____________________________________


When she died
I was there
I was the only one there
I held her hand
And read to her
Psalms 116
As I read she opened her eyes
Eyes that had been closed
In near comatose sleep for days

She couldn't breathe
She died holding my hand
Hearing my voice

____________________________________


I have flashbacks
The clicking sound in her throat
The far off
But terrified
Look in her eyes
As she struggled to breathe
Struggled to live

Holding her hand I told her it was okay
It was okay
She could let go
Go home
Go rest
It’s over

I still feel like I have blood on my hands

She wanted to die
Chose to end treatment
Chose to enter hospice
But how can I know if in that instant she relented
Reached out her hand to live
And I simply waved as she fell away from me

____________________________________


Hour after hour I dream
Every night
Every time I close my eyes

I dream about being there
Feeding her
Massaging the cramps from her legs
Reading the bible to her
Those moments we shared in her last days

I dream about being there when she passed
Holding her hand
About having to decide whether she lives or dies
In my dreams she wants to live
And in my dreams I let her die

I dream about being alone at the funeral
Screaming at the top of my lungs
No one can hear me

I dream about death
Chasing me for hours
For miles
I have to run away from the people I love
Or death will take them too

Listening to the breathing of my family
I wait on edge
A phantasmagoria of death tainting every thought
I hear the clicking sound
Louder and more frightening than some ominous heart beat

I wait
Unable to sleep
Until morning when it is safe


____________________________________


I wake
Starting from my bed
My eyes open wide
I prepare to bolt from the house
As fast as I am capable

I have to be there
Must be there
She is waiting for me to come
To feed her
To read to her
To be with her

She is…
           …Dead

In that moment I feel it all again
I will wake like this for months
Without her there
I have no reason to wake
It feels like my purpose has been taken from me

I feel hollow
And broken
I cannot escape my mind
Never for long
The world is bittersweet and grey

With time will come the better days

____________________________________

One week
Since she passed
Thursday June 28th
One week and one year
Two mothers
One to either parent
A year for my mother
A week for my father

Precise aligning dates
The cuts are that much deeper
New wounds tracing over old scars

Death is not difficult for the dead
It is for the living
Left behind
Who feel a hole being cut in their existence
Part of them being torn away

I am one of the hollow men
What you see is a shell

You won’t find me for looking
I am gone from you
When or if I’ll return remains unseen

Take pleasure
In not having known this pain

Goodbye is the hardest word to say.

I'm not ready for her to leave this world, not ready to say goodbye, not ready to not be someone's grandchild. She is the last of her generation of parents. She has fought long and hard and done her best. I know this is her decision, but it's too soon. It will always be too soon.

When white light passes through a prism it is broken into an array of colors. When grief is filtered through an individual's perception of death, grief is broken into an array of emotions too many to name.

You can't know what this is like for me, no one can. Death is filtered through personal experiences, we all grieve in our own ways. Hold me and let me sob, need to feel safe. If only for this moment, I need to feel this pain.



Dear Winkleberry,

Some grandparents are part of a child’s life only fleetingly, there to buy presents and spoil them, or there only on special occasions and then gone with little or no communication, some are not present at all. You have been an integral part of every stage of my life, helping to raise me, to care for me, to comfort me and to teach me. You took care of my sister and me.

When our parents would leave town, you would play games with me when I was lonely; you undertook projects to make headbands and play the organ, and bake cookies at Christmas. You were willing to get dirty, to help pick “pomatoes” in the garden, to sit on the floor and play with us. You made sure we knew you love us and are proud of us.

Once you played baseball in your back yard on Calle de Rosa with an Oar and a tennis ball, another time you invited me over to look at slides and you made me a Peanut butter and Jelly sandwich. I felt like the most special person in the world because you took the time to spend time with me. I treasure all the memories of you I have.

I’ve known you for 19 years, you’ve been there to shape who I am in every way. It was from you I learned to go after what you want and not to give up until you get it, it was from you I learned to be strong, and it was from you I learned that just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I’m any less capable. Thank you for everything you have taught me.

I love you very, very much. I want you to know that I will always love you. I understand that what you’re going through right now is exhausting, painful, and scary. I want you to know that even if I don’t agree with the decisions you make, I will respect them because I respect you. I understand that if you are tired you have every right to rest.

I don’t know what’s going to happen when you are gone, no one does. But I do know that I want you to know how much you will always mean to me, and that I love you very, very much. I’m proud of you for fighting as hard as you have in everything you’ve done, you’re amazing.

Thank you, for everything. Thank you Grandma Wink.

Love you.
Kate