Doing something ONCE but the consequences lasting FOREVER…

(I wrote a poem on the eve of the 11th anniversary of my “one and only” suicide attempt and on the 5th anniversary of a death of a beloved icon. Cause I’m old school in the digital era, I typed the poem on my email vs. meme generators, then took a picture of it with my smartphone, uploaded it to my large android tablet with keyboard, cause I find most apps as well as smartphones to be that YUCKY, but that is how I am, my outlook with others, is you just do you, boo, OK? thanks/you’re welcome)

IMPORTANT Disclaimers: This blog is to achieve more of a personal something vs. activism goal. Given most of my activism is rooted in life and death medical and mental health issues and circumstances, I do take liberties personally when talking about my OWN mental health and medical issues that I wouldn’t with another.

If serious topics sometimes not taken so seriously that are wordy and with some profanity, are a trigger to anyone, please do not read this blog.

And as always, if you or someone you know is a danger to themselves or others, please contact in person emergency services in your area.

Anyhoo, let the whatever (not sure if this will be a somewhat serious blog, fun, mayhem, crazy, super wordy(looks like wordy, as I’m over 200 words in, in just my disclaimer) probably combination of, commence…

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Sigh…

I guess this has to start somewhere, right?

And if you’re familiar with me, or my writing, ya know I digress.

A lot…

So anyhow I happened to be outside last Friday night (unusual for me, as I’m a recluse who spends 99% of time alone, in my apartment in the last 2 1/2 years) and this lady who happened to be helping my neighbor with something, on her way out, started a conversation with 2 of my neighbors and myself where we were watching construction (neverending, on my side of da Miniapple) at 9pm on a Friday night in front of our building.

Okay, I know she meant well.

She started out the conversation about keeping active and looking good for 52 and while my neighbors gave her a compliment, I didn’t. I didn’t want to explain why and say “you look good for any age” or give any thing away that could explain my former life at first.

When she asked us without verbatim of basically “how do people FUCKING end up in a really poor building in a really rich neighborhood???”, I just basically said I was a disabled non monetized blogger and my neighbors gave some version of their stuff.

I’ve gotten really good or really bad depending on how you look at it, at answering that question in the last 10 years.

If I wanted to keep guessing and on occasion when I get some form of that question, I could just say “x amount of years ago I was a size 2 Certified Personal Trainer” which I did end up saying to her is the reason why I blogged, before returning to my apartment last Friday night.

I don’t answer that way most of the time, even though the looks people give me, are nothing short of amazing, because it doesn’t do the life I had regardless of weight,  prior to 2008, absolutely any justice.

Especially the time of my life, that I was a working full time, proactive loving single mother of 2 children.

Which will always be the best time of my life, starting in 1992 when my only son was born, getting even better when his sister was born 10 1/2 years later and ENDING in August of 2008 when I gave up custody of  both of my children to my parents and tried to commit to suicide due to severe medical issues and mental health ones, 5 days later.

Today is the 11th anniversary of my “one and only” suicide attempt.

Which is in great detail in my very first blog on here, exactly 6 years ago.

Other than NOT dying, the consequences of my suicide attempt were pretty severe.

The same could be said of my gastric bypass and Mirena, my 2nd trial of Fentanyl, my 3rd trial of Topamax at different times after my gastric bypass reversal in 2010.

I’m not even going to mention all my other bizarre near death experiences outside of the realm of my control, prior to my gastric bypass in 2001, in this blog.

I started this blog for a few reasons.

Primarily, as I’ve said before, that what I went through and so unfortunately put those I love through, wasn’t in vain.

That topics that are stigmatized would be less so to help others, either in prevention of suffering or reducing it.

That my children had in my words, how much I love them, when my youngest who has no memory of my being a functional loving present mother and my oldest, who saw me at my best and worst, would have my words, if they ever needed them and I couldn’t articulate them any longer or when I’m no longer around.

But this is the mixed blessing of all of this, as 11 years later, I’m still reduced to only what I can SAY, to help others.

I’m not capable of doing the normal day to day stuff that other people do to SHOW others they love them.

I’ve said before, I don’t have a great life, even though I’m able to do some uncanny great things with these words I have.

I can help someone when they are suicidal because they have bariatric surgical regret and they want a gastric bypass reversal when it’s not medically indicated, on working through why it can’t help them.

I can help someone who NEEDS gastric bypass reversal to save their life, that they have to remain alive, if one of the fears they have is getting fat again after a reversal, for that to be an option.

I can help others who think those of us have bariatric surgery and think for those who advocate for it or against it (again I’m for it, a surgical intervention, like I am for opiates, when all other less invasive treatments have been exhausted) why people feel blessed and cursed, and for those of us who fall in the latter category, remind that bariatric surgery is supposed to enhance one’s life, not ruin it or take it away.

I don’t just stay in one lane when it comes to medical activism with bariatric surgery or with my “one and only” suicide attempt because I am much more than my own medical and mental health issues and so is everyone else and other’s health issues among many, such as cancer, need better treatment options, just like schizophrenia, does.

For someone who had to fight herself to die, 11 years ago and then had to fight so hard to stay alive less than 2 years later, I will be always be sad for what’s been really bad and grateful for what is good.

In my case I’m grateful I didn’t have a chance as not an attractive child to have preconceived notions of what my life would turn out being, I didn’t expect the extraordinary blessings and I couldn’t have in my worst nightmares think about what the bad stuff would look like.

And in the digital era that has served me well, to not want to hurt, be hurt to prepare for the unexpected, even though I will always fear it.

But this is my life and I’m more than the wordy gastric bypass reversed chick who nearly got committed for one and only suicide attempt and leads a small life that is peppered with some amazing things, circumstances and people and I’m committed to if I can’t help someone that I don’t hurt them.

Some people go their entire lives not knowing the damage they are capable of, or that they caused and/or they don’t care and while all humans hurt another, some do on a major scale without remorse.

I’m many things that I don’t particularly love, but am grateful that I’m NOT that.

And I’m not an evil coward. I help when I can and stay to myself otherwise, and that in my circumstances, has to be enough.

Even though it really isn’t.

How could it be???

But it is what it is….

Note: Anything that’s not constructive to me or anyone else, will be published.

 

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