The desire to live

During the darkest parts of the wheel I feel most comfortable, normally, but this year has been especially difficult for me. Now tragic events, no deaths of someone close to me since this summer, but still, an awkwardness living inside this body that I strangely chose as I prepared for my birth this time around. If I could communicate with the soul that is me I think that would be the first question. Why did we choose such hardship in a physical form. I'm not even talking about the hardships that came with life, the normal stuff that a disfunctional family bestows apon a happless woman as she grows up. I wouldn't even ask about why it has always been so hard to feel like I belong somewhere, even in times when it's obvious that people have liked me, or got my humor, or even wanted to marry me. No, I would only ask why our mind is so much alive and vital while the body decays and breaks down so slowly that it only seems a waiting game.
During this season I have had an internal struggle, going back and forth between happiness for what I have and this deep dispair of what life could be like without all of this nonsense of my health. Here is what gets me. Just two days ago I was ready to give up. I don't mean suicide, for I think that option should be left to others. What I mean is simply laying down on my bed or couch and making a decision to just stop fighting the cause. It's a bit more complicated than for the normal person. When I say laying down and giving up it's not just a typical rant and rave and a big long nap. I mean that every day is a challenge for me to get up and take my numerous meds, make myself drink nutritional drinks that give me some energy, eat something small just to feel normal, fight with doctors who don't understand all of my disease processes, and put on a happy face as much as possible, all the while I've got an inner dialog that's saying, "Just do it Kismet, just do it." It would be all so easy to just stop.
I wonder every day why I'm still here and what my purpose is and what it is that I'm supposed to do here before I die. Yes, it's morbid, but I'm kinda like that anyway. I try and try to figure out what I'm doing to make this Earth a better place to be in. One of my sisterwitches texted me a message a few months back with some very wise and intuitive insight. She said that maybe I was here (here, being in my community and my coven) to teach my sisters about life and death. I thought that was cool. Maybe my whole process is to teach them about life, love, and death, and that I'm just the vehicle. I could handle that, I really could. And I would like them to learn that you have to live hard and love hard and then die with a bang.
But I regress. I wanted to talk about today and the lesson that I learned, but still only partly understand. I had one hell of a low bloodsugar today around noon. I tested and my meter said I was at 61. My first thought was that I was so happy that I could feel the symptoms when I wasn't in emergency mode. This should have been my first clue. What ended up happening was I treated myself for a 61, when actually I was dropping much farther and at a very fast pace. After eatting something I laid down to wait out the icky feeling that you get. I don't know how long I was laying there but I had dropped so low that I was unable to help myself. The only thing I could do was call out to the livingroom for help. My son came in with juice and candy ( he still thinks that candy is sugar, therefore eat candy). My husband caught on and came running. Once afuckinggain Tim saved my life. My bloodsugar was below 20. I was shaking and sweating and talking crazy talk, like I always do when I'm killing off braincells with a low. Afterwards I had to sleep off the day due to exhaustion and the messed upedness that happens to my body afterwards. Tim would come in periodically to test my blood and tell me to give myself more insulin as it was needed. I'm now a complete ragdoll, but at least it's over until the next one.
The big lesson is I realized that during these episodes where it's do or die I am fighting to live. I have gastroparesis so it's hard to get sugar absorbed fastly so it's always a gamble whether or not I'll end up passing out and twitching before anything gets processed. During these times, and especially today, I was fighting to stay alive. This coming two days after I was thinking that it wouldn't be so hard to just stop. Huh, maybe there's something in there that I need to probe deeper to get to. Well, I plan on doing just that next year. I have someone who loves me very much (she says so) who is willing to take time out of her enormously busy life, to help me deal with all of my internal struggles. How cool is that?
So for now, I just try to have things to look forward to...something that I can see in the horizon that keeps me excited to live. I have Amazon stuff to do, I'm going to see Wicked in May, and Monica Richards asked in an email to me if we could meet up when she comes to San Francisco on tour next year. I've also got the job of making my son think I'm strange and weird and all that good stuff. He asked me yesterday why I couldn't just act like a mom. I replied that I was, I was acting like HIS mom. Maybe he will someday be asking his soul why he chose such a freaky mom. lol