Dear Nobody

I am not well.

I am always tired. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. Always tired.

The worst is mentally.

Long ago, I used to be able to read a couple of novels each week. Now I struggle to read one a month, if at all. I can only read three or four comic books in an hour. The less words and pictures there are, the faster I can read it, but I still can't read quickly.

I'm also way, way fatter than I've ever been in my life. I've always been fat (I remember when I was seven or eight being taken for a blood test to check my thyroid. I sat next to my Dad, waiting, and asked him what was going on and he explained to me that we were going to see if my thyroid was working right because it could explain why I was overweight.), but never like this. Never.

I sleep and don't feel better.

Yesterday I woke up. I did my laundry. I went back to bed. I woke up seven hours later. I ate dinner. I went back to bed.

I'm concerned about this.

I've been trying, for nearly two years, to get better.

I got a CPAP machine for sleep apnea. It hasn't worked. I keep using it, though, because when I have forgotten it on trips, my sleep is constantly interrupted. I don't wake any more rested.

Now I'm working on medication adjustment. Hoping that something will help. Hoping that a tweak will give me just a smidgeon of energy back and I'll be better able to move forward.

My doctors' don't seem so concerned about my concern, though.

They are more worried about the fleeting thoughts I have of killing myself. Fleeting because it just crosses my mind briefly a couple of times a day. No dwelling. No planning. Just a swish across my thoughts.

I keep trying to convince them that more energy would help with those thoughts. More energy would allow me to move forward with things. Work on hobbies. Write. Find healthy distractions. Be able to make decisions. Be able to think clearly.

My thinking is fuzzy. Especially after work. I put so much of my brain power into doing my job well that I have very little when the day is done. My focus isn't strong at the beginning of the day. It's pretty much non-existent at the end.

And there's no one who isn't a brain specialist who I feel like I can talk to about this.

I don't have friends. And even if I did, I wouldn't want to burden them.

Which leaves my family.

One of my brothers has cancer in his brain and it regrew earlier this year. He had surgery in May or June. He's been out of state getting radiation treatment since the end of July. He has burns on his face and is losing his hair. When he gets back, he may be back on chemo, again.

My mother is focused on my brother, his wife, and the grandkids. It's her way of coping. But it seems to make it hard for her to be elsewhere. And it makes her feel guilty that she's not doing more for others while she feels guilty for not being able to do more for my brother and his family.

My father doesn't understand because he's never been through something like this. Without first hand knowledge, he has a hard time being able to grasp the situation. In the past, I've been able to find a starting point he knows and then help him use that to lead him down a path that helps him understand. I don't have the brain power to do that right now, though.

My other brother live a long way a way. He's an Md. To be a bit cruel, I don't need anymore clinical bullshit. I don't need to hear statistics and about studies and blah blah blah. He might not do this, but he might, and I get it enough from the people I pay for help. Also, he has a family that he doesn't see enough and shouldn't be burdened with my crap.

So, that leave me. Me sitting in a shirt and underwear watching TV and clicking around the internets and playing mindless computer games. Sitting, trying not to think about being stuck. Trying not to think about faltering and sliding back into the worst. Being petrified of making decisions. Being scared of being who I am. Being scared of being who I may be. Being scared of being.