The Nightmare Fizzled (Harry Potter story lines involved)

There I was sitting in what seemed like a college course on the verge of failing yet again. It was some sort of critical writing course and I was behind in some unspecified way. The teacher seemed to shift between two of the teachers I've admired most in my life so I wasn't just failing. I was failing them personally which counts for more in the honor system I adopted over the years. It replaced pleasing my parents as the measuring stick when pleasing them became impossible. As these admired teachers did on occasion, the class incorporated both the conventional and the contemporary.  We were given a final assignment involving a paper on the Harry Potter books from a scholarly perspective and we were expected to incorporate elements of the movie about the last book. (Obviously, my brain decided to overlook the fact that the final book was divided in two for movie purposes.) In typical nightmarish fashion, the entire paper was due the next day despite the fact that it required scoring tickets to a midnight showing of the movie.

Normally, this is when dream me starts squealing like a pig, considering suicide as a top option and dreading my parents above all else. Oddly enough, my brain just went into overdrive this time. I found myself comparing the original "Star Wars" trilogy with the Harry Potter books and found the compare/contrast topic that I wanted to use. Along with the scholarly materials I wouldn't have had time to find, this would have been my college strategy for writing a paper. I have thought of the original "Star Wars" trilogy as "The Redemption of Anakin Skywalker" for years. Make that decades. The Harry Potter books could have been seen as "The Redemption of Severus Snape" in a fairly similar way. We have our compare and contrast topic.

There is a scene in the next to last book where Rowling does an expert job of both setting the hook to convince us that Snape has been nothing more than a traitor yet leaves herself plenty of room to write her way out of it. Harry catches up to the retreating Death Eaters who have just killed Dumbledore and Snape lags behind to deal with him personally. At that moment, Snape does a masterful job of defending himself yet avoids killing (for good reason) or capturing Harry. In fact, Snape seems to be delivering his final lesson in the subject of how it is all but impossible to fight someone who can anticipate your every move flawlessly.

You can compare that to the Luke/Vader duel in "The Empire Strikes Back." Vader is so superior with the lightsaber and general use of the Force that he might have killed Luke at any moment. Director Spielberg does a great job of making sure that, each time Vader withholds a blow, it seems to serve the ultimate purpose of the Dark Side. Even Vader's declaration of twisted fatherly love seems more likely to serve a Dark Side plot. Then Vader withholds the death blow even after delivering this final ultimatum and having it refused.

Similarly, the seemingly cruel Dumbledore/Snape strategy of withholding crucial information from Harry Potter makes perfect sense in the world where Voldemort can read the mind of all but the most talented, bravest and most experienced wizards. In the end of Half Blood Prince, Snape holds himself back from killing Harry because it's the one action that serves both masters (Dumbledore and Voldemort) equally. Harry must be able to do something completely unexpected against Voldemort without knowing exactly how it will help him reach ultimate victory.

The paper was nearly written in my head before the class and dream ended. Of course, this isn't a literary blog so I am coming to a point though not without the help of one Stephen Reeder Donaldson. Donaldson's best known character, Thomas Covenant, escapes the fate of being god-like Lord Foul's tool in destroying the universe by "do[ing] something unexpected." Like me but to an exponentially greater degree, Covenant finds himself caught in traps woven largely from the consequences of his own sins. I find myself paralyzed by the urge to give up and let the world come down on my head at the precise moments when decisive actions could get me out of all trouble. Covenant is goaded by the frustration of being mocked by the nearly god-like Foul whereas I face the memories of mockery from my merely mortal father. Covenant is motivated by his loves for the Land and, later, Linden Avery.

I've been trying to fight off the feeling that my father is right about me being hopeless at dealing with the "real world" for weeks now. This nightmare is part of the healing process. In the past, I would awaken thinking about how I deserved to die. This time, I woke angry that I keep facing these dreams and repeated a mantra in my head. I graduated. I know I graduated. I could go look at my degree certificate if I chose. I received that certificate by some sort of signature required mail delivery in very early 2002. After looking at it for a moment, I called some important University office and asked/begged/demanded that the person who answered the phone look up my records for me. I needed reassurance that the ordeal was in the past and that they couldn't take it back. I was given that reassurance but I was feeling like a failure within 24 hours for needing a decade in and out of school to finish.

More than a decade has passed since that miserable night. At 28, a decade seemed like a shameful eternity that would never allow me to take pride in my work. At 40 and looking at a lifetime of pain, a decade is something far less. I can only compare it to the school year as a child. Each school year seemed impossibly long while adults tried to console me that only so many months remained. Each of those years was a significant portion of my entire time on the Earth. Now, a year can only be compared to my current lifetime by using fractions and decimal points. After I graduated, one of the most admirable role models in my life confessed to me that he or she took a decade to graduate.

So, I wrote a Facebook post about my property tax situation that might have read an awful lot like giving up. It's actually part of my survival strategy. Let's take the worst case scenario and look it in the eye. I don't mean the eventual worst case that includes failing tests I haven't even seen yet. I examine the worst case scenario until I can say that I have a practical plan for dealing with it. While I am doing that, I don't look as closely at solutions to avoid the worst case. I used to surround myself with people who had extensive experience intervening in the problems of others and they knew that my first answer is always some form of no. I have to remember that those old veterans of previous struggles have moved on. Like me, they took too many wounds or even saw their efforts make someone else's problems worse. I'm retired from being an unsolicited helper.

Two people (so far), have offered me practical solutions that I rejected like whoever the most dominant center in today's NBA might be. I have yet to thank them and note that their suggestions will be part of the eventual plan. Since I'd like to carry it out in the next 24/48 hours, it's time to move past rejecting solutions entirely and mentioning specific flaws. As usual, those specific flaws are all found within me. There is the damage from a lifetime of being told that I fail to apply myself to anything that matters. There are the specifics of my disability and my knowledge of what it is that stresses my team the most. I hate to ask people to help do things that will cause them stress.

Tempus Fugit. The attempt can be made. Extreme pain can be endured as so many of us know. I'm still recovering from a pain doc appointment with unexpected complications so there's no dodging the pain. I can't make myself numb before speaking to government officials so... Well, tempus effing fugit. (In case my translation skills are worse than I thought, I'm using it in the colloquial sense that time is passing and running out.)

Late addition: Some of you may have seen or heard me compare my father to Darth Vader over the years. The metaphor holds as he grabbed his metaphorical Imperial side and jumped into the shaft for me. My feelings are difficult to express. I feel thankful for the ultimate gesture of stepping out of my life for good. He made the right decision. It doesn't make up for a lifetime of poisoning my mind but he did do the right thing. He had backed me into a situation that I couldn't escape on my own and then went away taking the danger with him. It was the one time in my adult life when I looked at the worst case scenario and saw no way out. He both created and relieved my ultimate nightmare.

The Reset Button

It is my fervent hope that this excerpt will be published in similar form someday as part of a much larger work. Therefore, I might have to yank this post away for legal reasons someday. However, I cannot hold back everything I think of just in case it might snow in Hell or some savvy publisher might make my dreams come true.

This is another one of those concepts that might seem funny until you need it. It’s a metaphor for dealing with the cumulative effect of stress on the body and mind. Since you’re bound to feel intense guilt for many irrational reasons, you’re going to overreact from time to time. You might even have a classic “John Stapleford is sorry for living” moment. Just think stereotypical teenage girl and you come close.

You’re going to feel all of the classic emotions that help us all get into trouble but I started with guilt because it feels like a cleaner emotion to me. I’m supposed to feel guilty, after all. That downward spiral was interrupted by my use of the reset button in my head. I’m not going to explain how or why I tend to feel that guilt is cleaner somehow because that could be a multi-page tangent. Yeah. I could have deleted the whole thing but this is what they call a teachable moment.

Instead, I’m going to move on as if nothing happened. When dealing with close friends and family, healthy people run up emotional debts all the time. When you have chronic pain and face isolation among other things, you’re going to have the urge to fall on your knees and beg forgiveness at least once a week. Oddly enough, I’ve discovered that this irritates a lot of people along with the predictable knee issues.

Those people who stick with you over the years are going to expect outbursts and roll with it or else they would not have made it this far. The best thing to do after an outburst is to do what you must to end it. I’m not the creative sort but kids learning to cope with disability while being taught to respect elders might benefit from having a sign to raise with something like “Sorry…running off the rails” written on it to hold up. Both children and adults can benefit from having a timeout. For me, it’s a quiet and dimly lit room and a cold pack or damp towel.

Upon returning from your timeout, don’t mention the reason why you left. As I mentioned before, people who know you and have stuck with you don’t need an explanation. They might actually appreciate you not interrupting some pleasant activity with another overly emotional apology. Other times, you need to depend on your life coach to explain the chronic pain or other symptom to relative newcomers. If you get yourself in real trouble with someone in law enforcement for example, you might want to print something small like a business card stating that you suffer from something that makes overly emotional responses more likely. Especially in a law enforcement setting, you should also include the number to your doctor’s office presuming that your doctor has agreed to this and will back you up.

Obviously, you should try to behave yourself in the first place. Every outburst is a potential breaking point in your relationships. Those who refrain from following you off the rails are the sort of treasures you should value over worldly goods and so on. If someone follows you off the rails, you should offer them the same consideration that they offer you. Press that reset button and move on.

Sometimes, this will not work or it has been done too many times. Not every relationship is going to make it and that’s a hard lesson whether you are healthy or not.

The Most Important Resource for a Disabled Person: Friends

When I broke down far enough to admit that I was struggling, a number of people jumped to my aid. They couldn't offer aid in paying my tax bill or in paying off doctors but this isn't about what they can do. These people offered me their faith in me, their belief that my pain in all of its forms is real and their acceptance that disabled is a part of my identity. This isn't something that shall pass like a little nagging case of pneumonia. (Just throw in any serious and miserable acute illness that could kill under the wrong circumstances and you can see my point.) Unlike what my mother once believed, this isn't some illness that the right medicine or surgery will cure. I'm disabled and I will never get, as I like to say "Big B Better." There will be improvements and setbacks along the way but I will remain disabled.

There is a bias in this nation against anyone who can't slap a Band-Aid on whatever the problem is and get right back to work. Thanks to my friends, I've been forced to accept that I have a certain intrinsic value from just being a fellow human being. Those friends forced me to accept that I can be pleasant to be around and that a number of people choose to be around me. Some people recognize my work as a disability advocate and a fiction writer as doing something worthwhile. I don't have to make something of myself because I'm there already. Yes, I have further to go but I'm in the trenches right now trying to make it happen.

I wonder if you can imagine the pushback in my own mind against these positive thoughts. Obviously, the rest of the world can't be wrong so there must be some way to recover from this fully. My doctors must be wrong or I must have misunderstood them hundreds of times. Melissa must have misunderstood them the same way and the laws of reality must be off kilter because not getting better has to be the result of me being lazy as always. It helps to make fun of these irrational feelings but they don't go away. I was taught my strengths and weaknesses while I was young so being sick is a moral failure somehow.

Then again, people I consider to be exceptionally strong have told me that I have surpassed them somehow. Thank you, guys. I doubt that I have surpassed you but I'm proud to be considered in your neighborhood. Those of you I believe should be eligible for sainthood regardless of your specific religious beliefs think I'm a good person? You don't just say that so you can move on to my flaws in the same sentence?

Some of my victories are difficult to dispute even for me. "I'm still alive!" When the wolves seem to gather at the door every day as the vultures circle overhead, it reminds me that it didn't have to end up this way. I will try to continue to take pride in surviving until the day when I don't. Until then, I hope to continue having such good friends. Thanks to our histories, I can believe that the clicking of a thumbs up button actually means something.

Despair and a Strange Hope

I am very sorry, guys. I've been trying to improve myself while in pain that words cannot describe. I fell back on drinking anything considered safe for humans to dull the pain but I kept needing more. While I threw all of my energy into coping, the rest of life crashed in on me. I have failed so many people and tasks in so many ways because the pain trapped me in a place where time seemed to stop. I wanted to make it through that night or day and not worry about the rest of it.

No matter how much I rail at the circumstances that put me into a sweet deal that I was never healthy enough to handle, I am the one who is failing and flailing. Melissa has been promoted at work and I trap her between a rock and a hard place regularly. I am in hideous pain, she can see it plain as day and she does what she can to help me numb myself. It isn't even the pain that will force the next crisis. I failed to hold on to money needed to pay for homeowners' association fees and property taxes. I'm not even sure that I paid the sewer bill this year no matter how much I thought I did.

For the longest time, I was able to concentrate well enough to keep the lights and other utilities on. When I started to fail at that, I did my best at idiot proofing the process having bills sent directly to my tablet where I could pay them, make a personal record of payment and then keep copies of their acknowledgements. The things I'm failing at now are intermittent costs. Doctors have to submit their bills to Medicare and then I get billed a portion of what's left. Simple enough for someone who is watching the mail perhaps but I do poorly enough just around the house.

Maybe as recently as a year ago, I would have told you that I could handle this just fine. Negotiating favorable terms in good faith is something I was able to do very well. That's before I got this sick. No matter what wonderful plans I make to pay back every cent, the pain will hit me and I will buckle. I will take a large bottle of whiskey, water it heavily and suck it down until I'm numb enough to relax and get the rest that the pain keeps from me. The longer I try to hold out at the start, the more I need to suck down to take the edge off so other methods might work. I don't even get to enjoy being intoxicated because I'm so tired that relief brings sleep.

At some point, someone will have to take a stand about me owing them money though I don't know exactly how that will work. I'm sure it will be fast and painful in the literal sense for me. The bigger problem is how hard whatever will happen will be on Melissa. She's going to stand by me and try to shield me. Every plan we have to cope under extreme circumstances has severe problems. Our escape route to New York has been cut off by circumstances beyond the control of our New York family. They have their own problems and the once inviting idea of getting rid of this house and finding some way to live up there was never very practical. Yes, Melissa's employer has stores up there but they are not linked closely enough to the Delaware stores for favors earned here to matter. Someone might start her at the bottom if we got lucky. The only reason why my regular symptoms don't crush me even without the tooth and other bone pain is the fact that I am on very heavy doses of powerful and dangerous medications. No other doctor would be able to start me off so far up the scale. My treatment here is threatened by the claws of the law.

Originally, I had this dream where Melissa and I could move to New York living close to our New York family and help them out. They have their own problems that I wanted to help them solve or, at least, hold out longer. They are the ultimate survivors up there long since putting me to shame so I don't intend to start a calamity watch (That's just meant to be a slightly less overly dramatic way of talking about a figurative death watch.) for no reason and jinx somebody. They should never have to be exposed to my failures in life right now.

If you glanced at any room in my house, you would think I'm some sort of hoarder but that's not the case. I am threatened on all sides by piles of things that need to be thrown away but I have no problem seeing the trash as such. My problem comes from the walk out to the dumpster. With walking from my chair to the kitchen being too much effort most days, there is almost never a time when I could walk bags of trash out to the dumpster. This has led to me neglecting my poor kitties in ways I'm too squeamish to discuss at the moment.

Somehow, I've wedged myself into a situation where I'm too sick to handle my current situation yet also too sick to do anything about it. I'm between a rock and a hard place yet no one has to worry about me killing myself. In a metaphorical sense, I would take too many people with me. (One is too many but it's more than one person.) I try my best to leave a positive footprint on the world so yanking that away would be wrong. Of course, I'm losing the argument about not using a permanent solution for a temporary problem. I will keep getting worse and nothing can be done about that. At best, I will be a worsening burden on the lives of others.

I've come to the end of this little essay for sure because I'm twitching too hard to type well. Things seem even more hopeless than usual. The next step will involve reclining and feeling the startling hard gut twitches of an anxiety attack. It would be easier to handle with a glass of something flammable but it's not in the cards. Don't feel sorry for me. Resent me because it's all my fault yet I complain anyway.

Oops. I forgot the strange hope. Some of it was practical but I was able to think of ways doctors and the Association could bring the pain. All that it left is this feeling that I've been through worse. I'm not sure if my experience will help at all anyway.