Geek at the cool table, cool at the geek table. (aspiring2live) wrote,
Geek at the cool table, cool at the geek table.
aspiring2live

  • Music:

Everybody hurts

Don't try to reach me, I'm already dead
The pain when it grips me, for things that I've done


Yeah, another one of those.

I'm just tired probably. But it feels like more than that is going on. Sometimes I burn inside with frustration; keep reminding myself not to grit my teeth. Other times I'm too tired to experience all the emotions I can't leave there. I hope I can sleep them away, like a hangover that's just waiting for me to be awake again. I've tried that, and all I got was too much sleep, and the added depression that came with missing so much of the better part of my life; the part I don't spend at work.

Well I try to make you proud, but for crying out loud
Just give me a chance to hide away
Exhaustion takes over, will this someday be over?


Josh to my parents a few months back: [Paraphrase] All dad does is sleep, work, play on his computer, and lay on the couch.

My wife told me about that, I didn't hear it myself. So, I changed things. I do stuff with the boys more. I force myself to move and breathe, and I think most everyone believes I'm doing it without much effort. Mostly.

Work, for its part, continues to be an unending parade of tattoos and confusion, stool and agitation, combativeness and ignorance. Patch'em up and get'em back behind the wheel, or on the crotch rocket.

That's twice now for you - stabbed the last time, shot this time. Third time's the charm?

Oh, you shouldn't have to suffer with the rest of these people, right? Schlepping in and out of the dingy waiting rooms, searching for news from the doctors, and sleeping in a chair is beyond you because you're a doctor, which also means visiting hours don't apply to you. How soon till you get your daughter the next car she wrecks carelessly?

Fearful tears are running down
The pain you've laid don't speak a sound
Don't take my heart away from me
And they think I fell down... again


So you are filled with remorse over the life you lead? The life you've forced on your wife and kids for decades now? Well, don't worry, all this introspection and prayer will be overridden in about 72 hours, replaced by the paranoia and foul shouting of withdrawal. We can all hardly wait. Maybe you'll spit in someone's face! That hasn't happened in weeks.

Daddy, don't you love me?
Then why do you hit me?


23 years old seems so young to be here, shot through the nipple with a .44 magnum by the man you thought loved you. A look in your eyes says a lot about those years, though. I'm thinking the whole night about how you are just another one of "them." The trouble-makers, the problem, the drinking/drugging/cussing/conniving/manipulating...white trash. It's a mental effort not to feel hatred sometimes, to be perhaps a little too honest.


Then you write the note, because you are ventilated, yet fully alert, and can't speak.

In a few jumbled words, all my jaded misconceptions fall apart.

Your boyfriend tried to kill you, your husband doesn't have time for you, your mother has wronged you in more ways than a book could reveal. (She remarried after your father died, you were three, and your stepfather was "mean to you" by her own admission. How could you feel worth anything when your mother thought no more of you than to let that happen?)

And Momma don't you love me
Then why do you hurt me?


You never had a chance. I see that now. How arrogant of me to have not allowed for that possibility all along. We can't choose our parents, our families, or our users and abusers.

The note ends: "And I am all alone except for you nurses."

It's those few (sometimes very few) patients and family members that truly appreciate us for what we are doing that keeps us all here. It really is.

And my problems are so small; so petty and self-centered. It may be that the tension I feel is anger at myself for being so trivial while, all around me, real events are happening. Lives are changing, worlds are crumbling... Everybody hurts. All of us.

A teardrop falls from up in the heavens

Drowning the sorrow of angels on high
For the least of the helpless, the hopeless, the loveless
My Jesus, His children, He holds in His eyes

(*Lyrics in italics - "He" by Jars of Clay)




I'm gonna break my rusty cage and run...
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