Life Is a Little Rich for My Blood

This woman (married) with whom I play music says, "Oh I feel so bad for Bob X, he is really hurting being alone".  Me--What?
"He really wants someone in his life again.  I feel sorry for him."


Me: No shit!!  So poor Bob is to be pitied for being alone?  He ran his wife off, and you are expressing pity for him, to me, of all people?  WTF?  Like I am going to commiserate with you about poor Bob.

Do you have a clue as to how much my life sucks?  How it really, really sucks?  I made it this way, so I don't deserve or want pity. Pity is an insult.  But poor Bob, he couldn't keep the old broad around and she hit the road.  She has one story and he has another.

Made me want to scream from the rooftops, "F*** YOU ALL!   I QUIT!  I CANNOT DO IT ANY MORE!  I have no hope that I will ever make it right."

Maybe the mutation happened because my body wanted to distract me from my real woes.  If there had not been any positive result on the JAK2 mutant thing, I would be sure I created all this.  I still think so.

I also think they have a close but incorrect diagnosis.  Obviously there is bone marrow disorder because the cells are screwy, even when the numbers are right.  Poor quality red blood cells.

But polycythemia is overabundance of red blood cells, and I have yet to see that.  I have too many white ones and platelets, left to my own devices.  They were sure I was bleeding out somewhere inside which kept the red ones from being too high.  I doubt it.
It is some other issue.

I'm sick of the arrogant elitist oncologist/hematologist.  I dread whenever the next appointment is.  Last time I described some symptoms and he says, "Oh that has nothing to do with this--meaning blood results and chemo to keep too many of various types of cells from being produced.

The fact is those symptoms had everything to do with "this"; blood values and drug reaction.  What a pansy.  He said that because he only wants to look at blood numbers, has zero empathy, and assumes he is far smarter and "better" than his patients.

 I did some looking and it appears he's from South Africa.  From the French speaking part, I think.  I worked with a guy like that.  That have a class system instilled which an old fashioned American can't comprehend.

That is before bears became people too, and a number of other pretenses gained purchase.

I would not have known to take this stuff I was prescribed, hydrea, but I would have know to put the dose where we are now.  And I would not have let it go three months and discounted the calls I mede after six weeks describing symptoms which I now see were clear indicators to cut the dose.

It was to a point where I was considering growing a beard, which I did not want to do, because every time I shaved I would later bleed from little dots on my face.  Just too little clotting capability because the pill had depleted things to a very risky level.

I go by what I think from now on, and just one more arrogant remark from this jerk and I let him have it and either stop the medical treatment altogether or find another person.  Everything relates and he tries to say everything I bring up is a separate issue.  Purely afraid of engaging and doing anything besides ordering labs and hiding from the patient.  As mad as I am becoming, that may a good plan for him.

I am going broke.  Really goddamed broke.

I will somehow get that hang glider/parasail, some highly potent pain and/or sleeping pills and find the highest launch point I can, and that is that.  I can't live on the street because this condition is like torture when you cannot escape the elements, heat, etc.  And I do not want to live that way.
But the rope is at the end again.  Only this time I think it really is.

I am angry at how I have botched a perfectly good life.  Even though I am angry at relatives who I think secretly hate me for being a failure and a waste, I hate myself for it, too.  But I'd never be such a prick to others about it.  But that is a good part of how it came about anyway--had to be there.

What a waste.  I should not be this way.  Too late to fix it. That sucks.  Playing some high school reunion thing on sunday afternoon.  Outdoors.  We are getting friggin 90 and 100 degree days.,  That is sure to be crazy.  I suspect they will do an abbreviated version of what they have planned and that will be that.  I am not even getting paid.  I can't afford this any more.

And I am too under the cement slab of me to be able to think or do the work to find paying gigs.
It's always darkest after I open my eyes, before the dawn or no.