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| 9:54 a.m.-2003-11-02 Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror and asked that one really unaskable question? "What's going to happen to me, if my other half dies?" I haven't been sleeping very well lately. Frankly, I try not to drag my emotional dirty laundry up here for everyone to see. It's just not fun, and Diaryland is full of jackasses who scream and rant and wail and rave because the object of their current obsession is as dysfunctional as they are. But frankly, my other half is sick. And I can't afford to make him well. I can't put him on my insurance. I could study for 8 years, become a pharmacist and then MAYBE have the money to see him get the surgeries he needs done. He's sick, now. If the slightest thing goes wrong, he's sicker. Or he's dead. The surgeon that saved his life before is a good man, but apparently too poor to afford to take the state medical insurance anymore. Yes. My other half is disabled. And what am I to do about it? I can't make these idiots see, if they'd just pay to /fix/ the problem once, instead of cut and pasting every time something goes wrong, they wouldn't have to pay any more! But that's not how it works. My co-workers can't see why I won't just pay for the surgeries myself. When the doctor's office visit is $900 an hour alone...that's why I can't pay for the surgeries myself. The people I work with are good people. But frankly, they don't live in the same world I do. I'm a bottom feeder. I barely make it paycheck to paycheck. Yeah, so I started off on the bottom, worked my way up from a not quite white trash family. I screwed up a lot, as a kid, messed up my college and what could've been a stellar carreer in something that paid a lot more. I got myself into debt over and over and over again, because I didn't know the meaning of the word self control. And just as I almost get my life together again... They're all well to do, my co-workers. They all either own the house they live in, or live with their parents, who own the house that they live in. Some of the ones living with their parents are landlords, for god's sake. They work because they're bored, not because they need the job, or the money. Everyone one save me comes from a two income family. Two /professional/ incomes. They drive Mercedes, BMWs, Cadillacs, Lexuses. Only one other person there drives a used car, and she's owned it since 1979. "What's going to happen to me, if my other half dies?" By whatever god will listen, I don't want him to die. This is the happiest I've ever been in my short, pathetic life. What would happen to me? Who would I turn to, if my best friend, my confidant, my lover, my playmate, my LIFE were gone? What if I have to watch him slowly torn apart, surgery after surgery after surgery? It kills me each time he has to have the slightest thing done. Every time he goes in, I risk losing him to just the obvious. The infections, the anesthetics, a medicine mistake. I work in healthcare. I know how these things go. Worse, I have to sit here and know he's deprived of the things he wants, because I fucked around and got us into debt as a couple. He wants a house. In the country. With a wheel. And a kiln. And a dog and a horse. How hard could that fucking BE? But I've made it impossible. Impossible. I made that impossible. I can't fix what I broke, and thus have to sit here, and watch him both sick, and unhappy. And all it feels like is that I'm wallowing in my own misery. I mean really, if I were a MAN, I'd find a way to make those things happen, right? I'd work another job, if another job could be found. Hell, I worked three jobs and put myself though college at the same time. I also wound up in the hospital, but that shouldn't matter. I SHOULD be able to do these things. Have you ever sat, and known that you were the cause of your mate's misery? Not physical pain, or discomfort, but misery and inability to do anything. He sits at home now, watching court shows on TV, playing computer games. No friends, no hobbies. I'm the one that robbed him of that, by getting us into a financial straight jacket. What would happen to him, if I suddenly were gone? He'd have to move, into the slums. A sick man wouldn't last long there. A sick, lonely man would be dead, emotionally, in a matter of days, from fear. Where are our friends? We don't have any, anymore. The minute he got sick, they fled like rats. Didn't want to watch him die. Sorry, your other friends will have to look out for you, but we can't watch. But they /all/ left. Family? Mine can barely tolerate his existance, much less the fact that I'm gay. His? They're older, and his father's not exactly the sort you want to live with. Frankly, he's an old asshole who seems to get his sole pleasure from making folks miserable. Selfish old bastard. Which is what I am, really. Maybe this is all just emotional drivel, meant to help sop my feelings up, so I don't have to take responsibility for what I've done. Writing about it really won't make it any better. I could go get a job, a second job, but where? I can't drive, so I'd be dependant on making him leave the house to go get me. Or on the bus, which would steal precious time for me to sleep. I'm not as young as I used to be, though part of me keeps demanding that if I were a MAN, I could do these things. I could fix my mess, get him the help he needs, and land us in a 25 room mansion. I hate this world, and I hate this country that thinks it's ALRIGHT to deprive people of medical care. I've come to hate anyone who makes more than they need to survive. Survival of the fittest? Maybe...but I smell violence and blood in the air. I feel the fear. I feel the frustration. It's like air soaked through and through with diesel fumes. One little spark, and up it'll go. But what good would it do? Nothing... I've come to realize, there's just not justice in the world. I should've, years ago, let him go off and flirt and maybe land that doctor...but I was jealous...I did what I could to prevent it. I wanted him for myself. We fought, when he still had the health and the financial security to move on with his own life and leave me behind, but I wanted him for myself. So I kept him, and got us into financial trouble so deep, he can't go anywhere, even if he wanted to. So I have him to myself. And when you put someone into your power like that, it's your responsibility to see to their health, their welfare, their happiness. And I'm too weak, too poor, too unable to do that. I'll be honest. I know now, why folks snap and turn to murder-suicide. In its own way, it's a sort of kindness. Twisted, yes. But still a kindness. Would I? No, no I don't think I ever could. But those sorts of thoughts keep me up at night, niggling away at the base of my brain, at my self confidence, at my sanity. I'm constantly accused of being 'out there', of not being with the real world, of being detatched. That's just a defensive mechanism. If I keep looking reality in the face, day in and day out, I'll break. I have to keep thinking that something will happen. That something will come through. That somehow, I'll magically make the money I need to make to make things better, because I'm no fool. Love is grand, but money makes this world go round, and without it, you really are better off dead. Greatest country in the world my ass. $87 billion to go shove around a third world nation, but we're too poor, they protest, to take care of our own. America the Beautiful my big fat white ass. America's a hellhole, and we're just too stupid to really see it for what it is. Our schools are failing, our families are hungry, can't afford heating, can't afford medical care. Don't tell me this is because of gays, or immigrants, or abortion, or the family dissolving. This is because we're paying our Congress people to run for office, not do their jobs running the country. This is because we're busy flexing our muscle at third world nations while the rest of the civilized world tries to haul us back like a pit bull with rabies. Am I disgruntled? You sure as hell bet I am. Why can't /I/ have the American dream? Why can't we all? Why can't we make those who are supposed to be accountable, be held to account? If we spent a tenth of the money we just sent out of this country to fight a war, to fix troubles we have here at home, we'd be stronger. But we won't. We don't have the intestinal fortitude to look in that same mirror, as a country, because we're afraid of the emaciated corpse that would be looking back out at us. We'd rather wrap ourselves in our flags, make sure everyone's on the same page of the Bible while we pray, and pronounce ourselves better that everyone else. Pigshit.
 The Internet's Mood: The Captain Recommends Dogcessorize 2006-08-13 - Movie Review: Monster House 2006-08-07 - Movie Review: The Descent 2006-06-09 - Movie Review: The Omen 2006-06-03 - She's here, She's here! 2006-05-22 - Blame the Cabin-Boy for playing 50 questions.
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