Disclaimer: This is going to be a rant. An angry rant. At times, an unfocused, angry, bitter rant. I know that breaks certain cardinal rules of blogging, and I know that it might cost me a few readers, but I have some things that I need to get off my chest. So hold on, because Hurricane BBW is a category 5 bitch of a storm.
So, just 16 days ago, I declared September to be my month. I was going to focus on me, make life improvements, and maybe try to clean my house a little. Well, so far NO good. And that is not because I gave up alcohol.
It is because I received some very unfortunate, but not totally unexpected news. I was not initially going to blog about it here, because my desire has been to keep the personal stuff light and airy since this is supposed to be a humor and lifestyle blog. Well f*** that.
I am grieving--all five stages all at once. I am in denial that this is really happening. I am pissy pissy angry. I do not understand why I cannot use this very expensive legal education to propose an equitable bargain with God for a reprieve (more proof that I wasted three years on law school). I have been depressed for so long, it feels normal. Alas, I accept the reality of things...what choice do I have?
But the situation still sucks, I hate it and the only way I know how to truly express my feelings is to write. I would normally write a rant like this on the Cafe blog, but then I never post them...so languishing in a blog purgatory are at least six unpublished ravings about some cosmic injustice that has been visited upon me or someone I know.
Like the classmate from high school who lost her young daughter. Or the classmate from college who lost her mother to cancer. Or the line sisters who lost their fathers this Spring. Or the former co-worker who just lost her mother. Or the college friend whose family lost everything in a tornado. Or the friends who have lost jobs or have marriages on the rocks. Or the classmate from high school who died unexpectedly. Or the husband and in-laws who lost their mother/grandmother/sister. Now, I can add myself--the woman who just found out that her mother probably has an incurable progressive neurological disorder.
So yes, I am pissed. And I'll start with God. To all of my brothers and sisters in ministry who might want to offer me some holy admonition not to break any commandments...don't bother. I am not exactly on speaking terms with the Lord right now, so no names taken in vain.
I'm angry at every single MD/PhD/EdD/JD edumacated friend of mine who offered up alternative diagnoses to keep me from obsessing over the worse case scenario. I know you were just trying to be helpful because you know that I am an over-reactor and probably a hypochondriac. But that is not the damn point! I needed to you listen to what my instincts were telling me and even if you disagreed, I needed your support. Look, it isn't like I asked any of you to tell me if I looked fat or ugly in a particular outfit. And here is the big rotten cherry on top: You. Were. WRONG!
I am angry at my family. Some of you are just as bad as my friends. I am angry at my mother's friends and former coworkers...where the hell have you been? And I am beyond pissed and angry and disappointed in myself. I should have pushed harder. I should have been stronger. I should have been a better daughter.
Is there anyone left? Well, if I want to express my anger at the political system, then I am angry with any person who believes that certain kinds of biomedical research is unethical. I am angry at anyone who feels no compassion for the jobless or under-employed person whose medication might cost upwards of $300 per month without health insurance. I am angry at the guy who opened his pie hole during the GOP debate the other night to suggest that it was ok to let some sick people die. I am angry at Pat Robertson for speaking. Ditto for Ron Paul and Michele Bachmann.
I hate every form of cancer. I hate Parkinson's disease. I hate AIDS and HIV. I hate Alzheimer's and dementia. I hate Lou Gerig's disease. I hate hypertension, high cholesterol, and other forms of heart disease. I hate diabetes. I hate lupus. I hate multiple sclerosis. I hate congenital birth defects. I hate muscular dystrophy. I hate post-traumatic stress disorder. I hate depression. I hate bipolar disorder. I hate autism. If there is some additional devastating disease I missed, trust that I hate it as well!
But now to the acceptance part...life happens. I am not special nor exempt from any of the bad or the ugly. A few paragraphs earlier, I listed all of the recent tragedies that have befallen people I know, so I am not alone. My blues may not be like your blues, but it is all in the same color family, right?
Well since there is no bargaining chip left to cash in, I'll just have to use my anger to fire my passion to advocate, raise money (or donate when I can), to VOTE, to educate myself, to take better care of myself, and to be relentless.
Thank you for allowing me to vent. While I cannot promise that I will not address or reference this same topic in future articles, I do promise that it will not be a recurrent theme. Busy people take on challenges and just deal with them, so I expect that is how I will proceed.