I don’t complain too much. I try not to, anyway, but sometimes I do. That’s what this blog post is going to be, because I need to get a few things out of my soul or off my chest or out of my head and on paper so it doesn’t choke the life out of me. And so I can write the way I want to write and not be stuck in this dark and depressing place.

Lynn’s been gone for months. RT’s been gone for longer. It doesn’t matter that that both are coming back, both are gone right now and that makes me feel lonely.COVID sucks. Isolation sucks even worse. Jake is dead. Pattie is dead. Kat is dead. Kay is dead. Jim is dead. Kirby is dead. Who else, Universe? Who else can you kill off without thinking of the people left behind.

It’s harder and harder ever day to believe in any type of order or structure to the universe. Yes, I’m talking about a God–not THE God because I don’t believe in THE God, but I want to believe there is something bigger than we are, somethin more than all there is. Maybe there’s not. Maybe I’m wrong.

But I know none of my prayers have come to pass for me. People tell me if your prayer doesn’t come true for you, then God said no–then what’s the fucking point in praying in the first place? I realize stating publicly that I’m an atheist means I’ll likely lose some friends over this simple fact. Screw the fact I’m a good person, I try my best to be kind to everyone I meet. I think how we act IN THIS LIFE is more important than anything because it’s the one life ya got. Make the best and most of it.

I haven’t always felt this way.

BUT I ALMOST DIED THREE TIMES THIS PAST YEAR 1/2….. and that makes a person think about things differently. When I was in a coma for three days, I went to this pace in my mind I called the waiting room. It was bright but not glaring. It was warm,, but not hot, cool but not cold. Comfortable. There was no pain there. I wanted to stay there forever with no pain.

But these voices–familiar voices of people who loved me…. they kept calling me back. I couldn’t shake them. I’d almost come to for a moment and then I’d slip back into the waiting room. I wanted to stay there forever. I was told things in the waiting room, with a voice that wasn’t a voice but was more like a thought in my head, a voice that was timeless, genderless, eternal — and full of love and peace. So much love and acceptance and did I mention no pain at all?

I was told I could stay as long as I wanted to stay–or I could go back or move on. The choice was mine. It was always my choice to stay or go. The voices called to me again and again. I could hear them talking to me and about me… I heard her say, “This isn’t right–something isn’t right.” I heard another her say, “MIchelle, we need you to wake up and come be with us…” I felt lights in  my eyes and pain in my broken leg. I wanted to go back to the waiting room. Let me go back to the peace and the quiet and the pain free. Let me go back to where there is no pain.

Eventually, I woke up. I chose somewhere along the path to come back and now I stand both in awe and fear of the ‘waiting room’. Is that death for me? Is that just a coma state for me and it was all a construct of my mind?

Is there more than just THIS?

And I just don’t know.

But I do know that I don’t believe in the God of the Judea/Christian construct and if I did I find him wholly unworthy of being worshipped. But this voice in the waiting room–it loved me unconditionally and with such overflowing emotion that I tear up when I think about how it felt.

What I do know is that I live at an 8. On a scale of one to ten, pain level, I’m always at an 8 and sometimes it’s so bad that all I can do is curl up in a ball on the bed and sleep it through. I can’t shower easily–it takes so much effort that I can’t do much of anything else after, so I only shower every few days now instead of ever day like I used to–sometimes more than once per day.. I would love to get in the shower every time I do physical therapy but I’m literally too tired to do that safely.

Physical therapy is hard. It’s damned hard and it hurts so bad. I can’t walk. I can shuffle along with my walker for short distances but I can’t walk. I can stand and pivot, but that took months to be able to do. I fear I’ll never be able to walk again. My  hands  tremble so badly typing is painful and slow. I find no pleasure in typing any  more which makes writing hard. The strokes after my surgery took so much from me. I often look like a parkinson’s patient, that’s how badly I twitch and jerk sometimes.

I hate being like that. I try to hate nothing but I do I do I do hate this. I hate it. I’m so angry and I’m bitter and that is not who I am at all. It’s not who I want to be at all.

I learned that Facebook is one of those things that keeps me going. I  notice that people are living their lives and complaining about things too, and I don’t feel so alone, and people say kind things to me when I really need them. And I swear I have the absolute best facebook friends. Katt & Shella and a couple of others I don’t know as well but still love who have given me their numbers and told me to call any time day or night and they mean it. Rissa who is both an online and offline friend now–I just adore her so and she understands dealing with the health issues after bouts with at least FOUR different cancers. Pattie was a good friend I loved dearly but she passed a while back and it shattered my world. Before her cancer diagnosis, we had planned to meet when I took my RV tour of the country. I hope I’ll ever be healthy enough to do that and instead I can meet her daughter, who is a lovely person.

There are so many wonderful people, Arielle, Aimee, Angel, Amy, Amanda, Becky, well, I could go on all day naming the wonderful friends I have. But I think about you all so often. I wonder about what’s going on in your days. I look forward to talking to people and I do get a high from likes and comments. I’m a total addict.

Facebook has destroyed my writing forum. Everyone comments there. Even on this blog, I’ll post a link to it to Facebook and people comment on the link, not on the blog. Facebook has its positives and its negatives.

But overall, I get something I need from it. When the world gets too tough to take, I get something that keeps me going from you guys.

So what was supposed to be me complaining turned into a rambling mess of all sorts of stuff. I’ll complain some other time I’m sure. Life isn’t easy right now so I have plenty of negatives to purge. But I guess what keeps me going is that there are all these positives going on in my life too. You guys are one one of many of the positives going on.

So thank you for that.

I love and need you all.

Love and stuf,

Michy