To the Mechanics...

I am not well. I haven't been well by definition in quite some time and today is one of the worse days yet. No tantrum or fit and no argument from me...it is time. When things break they need to go in for service. I need service, so off to the "mechanics" I go. This time unhappily but willingly to try and get things fixed. I don't know how long I will be gone or what will happen to me there but at least it won't be the last place I went, of my own choice.

About two years ago, maybe longer, I went to a mental health facility to keep my daughter from having to go into the foster care system. There was no way on Hades they were ever going to let me stay in the house with her when I was admittedly suicidal and homicidal. So to prevent her from the horrid ordeal I signed myself into a facility here in town. Nothing like the Hollywood version that the starlets and idols go to where they can have cell phones and visits and get day passes. I was in a seventy-two hour lock up of my own choice, and though I was crazy for "breaking in," I was no where near as crazy as the messed up fuckers in there! This place was a babysitting place for the adults who didn't want to behave like such and/or vagrants who needed a warm bed for a few nights. There was "group" therapy and most of it was spent listening to these people whine and cry about shit I wish I had! I soon came to realize that my problems were worse than most and maybe one other person there could claim with a certainty of truth that they really were nuts compared to me. I wasn't there for what you would call the crazies, I am depressed, to the state that I don't care if I live or whom I take with me when I die, save Lobo. It was like a dysfunctional cult and they even had kool-aid and cookie time every evening like some parents do for their kids. I never was such a parent as I felt the sugar rush before bed was detrimental to the child's sleep pattern. But they felt it would "calm" the nut cases so it was standard operating procedure. I won't go back there unless it is to "take a few" fuckers out with me. Today was the first day I ever have been Baker Acted whether I wanted to or not. It was a blow to the chest and I have been like a sad little zombie all day.

My doctor kindly left me to my own recognizes, so long as I was not alone, to afford me ample time to make arrangements for my child and household. I feel like I am in a surreal cloud and going through the motions of things that I really just don't give a damn about anymore. And the only reason my ass ain't dead is because I feel this overwhelming guilt at having been the only constant in Lobo's life and my leaving will leave her alone. She saves me. But it's not good enough and that is something I cannot tell her because though she may understand, it will bother her well into her future. It is never good enough to just be saved by guilt. I stopped living and haven't been able to and been putting on a good face and all for family and friends because I am sick of all the offers of advice from the wicked and sicker than me. I need to get better. I know this. I need my oil changed and my tires aired up and my shocks replaced and so on. I don't know what will happen, if I can write or will be forced to manipulate and articulate via Crayola, but I will do what I can to keep account for you all...This is no joke kids, mobe is going away and she warned you most of this will be so real it will hurt and bring up old haunts of your own. I promised no lies or secrets so that is what you get. Tomorrow this time I will be a scared and catatonic vegetable afraid of the doctors and the patients and on hunger strike. They may adjust my medications or decide altogether to give me none (not cool considering I am on almost 20 different meds for my asthma, EPP, mental depression and organic failures) and then they will have to pry my cold dead fat ass off the floor and throw me on a gurney and wheel me down to the morgue for autopsy should their choice prove fatal.

"Patient is a 39 year old Caucasian female, 5'4", undetermined weight-morbidly obese {*I so love this phrase because it applies to so many and is non-discriminate}, asthmatic with chronic inflammatory responses. She suffered from late stage Erythropoietic Protoporphyria and exhibits physical conditions that lead to the conclusion she was not under treatment ever or only just recently as her symptomatology is well past problematic. She has multiple fractures (note: not sure how she was even mobile under the unusual circumstances) and severely malnourished despite her bloated and full state of appearance. Vitals seem normal though the parameters of normalcy for pancreatic, hepatic and endocrine functions are stretched to the farthest boundaries of acceptability. Lungs seem clear with a mild mucus build up from light smoking over the course of two and a half decades, bones are brittle and marrow is powdery and lacking of properly formed heme cells. Gastro- intestinal tract are clear and seem to respond little to stimuli suggesting metabolic failure (note: see EPP) and her heart is enlarged due to the exposure to steroids and inhaler-type medication for decades of management for her asthma. Skin is supple and edematous due to lymphatic pooling. There is a right axillary scar suggesting lymph node cancer or biopsy-benign. There are several other insignificant scars attributed to normal insect interferences and a large scar right-side abdominal suggesting appendectomy in the last decade. There are accompanying laparoscopic scars also suggesting laparoscopic aide to the appendectomy. Internal lower GI seems clear and free of tears or scarring and vaginal cavity has been altered for knife-cone biopsy of about five centimeters removing a third of the cervical wall. Patient has three permanent tattoos, right neck-bird, right scapula-tree/angel, left mammary-multiple snowflakes (note: no ink reaction of unusual scarring on the application site or surrounding tissue). No one thing can be found contributing solely to the expiration of the patient, foregoing the unusual build-up of lachrymal salts upon the cheeks and eye crevasses. One could deduce she died of a broken heart..."

makes things a little more clearer to those not in the know. I want to be well and live again. I want to come back to my blog again and my friends and my child, especially my child again. I want to function and exist beyond the grief and despair that have been my roommates for far too long. I will miss you all when I am gone but I will be worrying most about my kid and the ramifications of my poor health, though not of my own accord, and the neglect I have been made to suffer through the years. The fates willing I will be back in time to be with my mini me and my friends and laugh a little bit again.~mobe's love to her all and her all to her loves.