THE TRUTH IS MESSIE…

My e-journal, all the nitty-gritty, overly-emotional, sappy stuff…

Should’ve, Would’ve, Could’ve… January 29, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — MESSIE @ 9:15 pm
Tags: , ,

A Poem.

Tell me something,
won’t you pretty please?
If I were lying there, bleeding,
Hand outstretched and pleading—
Would you just keep walking?
Keep on leaving?
If you saw me on the street,
A day, a week, a year from now.
Would you say hello,
Say anything at all?
If I showed up unannounced,
Would you slam the door and tell me to get out?
If I came to you with the truth,
Would you hate me for waiting so long?
For not telling you until now?
Would you even believe the words from my mouth?
Tell me something, pretty please.
If the walls came tumbling down and I lost it all,
Would you be there to catch me–should I fall?
If I told you I was sorry,
Would you say that you’re sorry too—
That you never meant to be so cruel?
If we could, would you rewind time?
Reminisce with me, of what might have been?
And all that will never be again?
Tell me, would you? If you could?
Because I’m not so sure I would…
even if I could.

xoxo MESSIE

 

Rhyme-Time Goodbyes… January 24, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — MESSIE @ 3:03 am
Tags: , ,

(Said The Pot To The Kettle)
A Poem…

Tell me…what makes them think they have the right?
To criticize my mistakes?
To tell me how to live my life?
Tell me…who died and made them God?
It’s not their place,
and it’s definitely not their job–
To decide for ME what’s right or wrong.
Tell me…what made him think he had the right?
To break my heart and wreck my life?
When he damn well knew he had no right
Asking me to go with him that night.
The one regret I’ll carry with me the rest of my life.
If I’d just stayed home, I’d be alright.
I’d be okay.
I wouldn’t feel this lost,
Or be in this much pain.
Tell me…was it worth it?
To see the tears fall down my face?
And know that you’re to blame?
Tell me…don’t you feel even the least bit ashamed?
When you’re out there walking around, slandering my name?
This is my LIFE, you know.
It isn’t a game.
I gave you what you wanted.
The out you were so damn desperate for…
But it wasn’t enough,
You just had to have more.
Tell me…why can’t you see?
That I’ve grown up,
That I’ve moved on.
That I’m not the girl I used to be.
Please, just let it go.
Set me free.
Can’t take one more day of your inflicted misery.
God knows, I’ve been doing my best,
Just to try to forget.
No, I don’t want to reminisce.
I just want to end this.
So I can have closure,
And finally some peace.
Once and for all.
I deserve that, at least.
Don’t you think?

xoxo MESSIE

 

It’s A Big, Big World… January 22, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — MESSIE @ 10:23 pm
Tags: , ,

A Poem…

So out-of-place. So out of touch.
Where do I fit? Where do I belong?
My life’s just one long, sad song.
Can’t tell anymore what’s right and wrong.
It’s gone on for far too long.
Gotta break away,
Free myself from all these heavy chains.
Can’t keep waiting for someday.
All I have is today.
Gotta run away.
Say goodbye to all those yesterdays.
Sick of lying. Sick of crying.
God knows, I’m sick of trying.
Inside I’m slowly dying. So I’m giving up this fight,
Seems the only way to make this right–
Is to let the truth come to light.
And let the pieces fall where they might.
For even if I lose it all and fall—
I know that I’ll have given it my all.
Starting to realize, for a while now–
That sometimes living just isn’t worth the fight—
And no matter how hard you try,
or how many tears you cry.
It’ll never be alright.
It’ll never be okay.
You saw to that when you walked away,
and left me with these words:
The ones I never got to say.

xoxo MESSIE

 

Break The Rules… January 19, 2012

I hadn’t planned on posting anything today, but all that changed when I started my computer and read a news article from my internet home page. It was about a 3-year-old little girl in New Jersey who’s need for a kidney transplant has sparked a highly controversial national debate. According to the article, the issue began last week when the parents of 3-year-old Amelia, were told by a doctor on the transplant committee at The Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia that their daughter does not meet the eligibility criteria for the transplant because…GET THIS…because she is “mentally retarded”. The little girl was born with a rare genetic defect called Wolf-Hirschhorn syndrome, which can cause mental and physical disabilities. After the encounter, the little girl’s outraged (and rightly so) mother posted the details of that meeting on her personal blog, which in turn was shared nationally by thousands of complete strangers–eliciting an online petition against the hospital and the transplant committee’s rules and regulations and sparking a great deal of controversy/media coverage. You can read the mother’s blog post for yourself here:

http://www.wolfhirschhorn.org/2012/01/amelia/brick-walls/ and the news article here: http://start.toshiba.com/news/read.php?rip_id=%3CD9SBIE3G1%40news.ap.org%3E&ps=1011&page=1.

It’s unbelievable. I’ve re-read both at least half a dozen times already and each time, I just get more and more angry. And disgusted at the narrow-minded-ness of not just the medical world, but of humanity itself. The mother was completely justified in every thing she said in her blog post and to be honest, I don’t know how she managed to get through that conversation and that meeting at all. If that had been me, I probably would have crossed that conference table and punched that doctor and that social worker both right in the face. I really would have. Especially the social worker for saying what she did. To hell with them just doing their jobs or that they have rules they have to follow–to hell with all of it. As a doctor–as someone who takes an oath to “do no harm” and to preserve life–how do you sit there and tell someone that their child is “ineligible” to have a life-saving transplant simply because she is, through no fault of her own for that matter, developmentally delayed? HOW DO YOU DO THAT??!!! It’s absolutely unfathomable to me how anyone–doctor or not–could say that. Or that how regulations and rules like that can even be decided or made in the first place. It’s unreal. It’s cruel. And its just plain wrong.

I don’t know that little girl. Or her parents. And aside from a few words in an article and a blog post that I’ve read–I don’t know her story. So why, then, am I so emotional over this? After all, it’s not personal, right? Except that it is. IT IS PERSONAL. It’s personal because, in a lot of ways, that little girl is my niece. My beautiful, amazing little 6-year-old niece Emma. She’s the face I pictured as I read that mother’s blog post. The reason I can relate so easily to that mother’s outrage and absolute contempt–is because I’ve seen and felt the same injustice, on more occasions that I can count, happen to my niece.

My niece was born premature, weighing only 3 lbs. 14 oz. She almost didn’t make it. As small and as underdeveloped as she was, there was a great deal of doubt as to whether she would or not. Initially, I don’t think the doctors expected her to make it through the first 48 hours, let alone longer. But as she so often does, she surprised us all by pulling through. It was touch and go for a while there. Her condition would start improving and then– just like that– she’d stop gaining weight and breathing on her own and it was machines and tubes everywhere again. It was utter hell. The kind of hell that you would think unimaginable–but it was. It was real. And it was absolutely terrifying. To watch a baby that small–niece or not– have to suffer that way and have to stand there completely helpless–it’s devastating. But when it’s someone you love–it literally just tears you apart. It truly does. Going through that–it changes you. It changes your whole perception of the world, you know. Makes you rethink what you thought you knew, and question your beliefs. Religiously speaking–it really made me think. Standing there in that NICU–I couldn’t help but wonder whether there really is a God or not. Part of me thought that there must be, seeing that she was a miracle in that she existed at all. At the same time, I just couldn’t understand how anyone or anything–how God–could be that cruel…to let an innocent little baby suffer like that. I couldn’t find the answers then. And I still don’t have them. It’s difficult to believe–especially when I see nearly every day–evidence to the contrary. Whether it’s something to do with my niece or like today, with the blog post and news article–there’s always something.

We were thrilled beyond belief and of course, relieved when the hospital finally let her come home–a little more than a month after she was born. I don’t think any of us expected or could have imagined at the time that the hard part was in fact, yet to come. No one could have predicted what all that we have been faced with since. That she has been faced with. I think that because she was so little and the fact that she almost didn’t make it–it made us all over-protective of her. Since all that really mattered was that she was okay–we didn’t really notice the small things that–had we paid closer attention, we would have noticed–that just weren’t quite right. She didn’t crawl, walk, or talk at the time that babies her age should have. The doctors didn’t seem to think it was an issue, therefore we didn’t either. They just kept telling us to be patient and that she was a little behind because she was a preemie–that she’d catch up in time.

But the doctors were wrong. They screwed up and wasted a lot of time by playing the concerns down to nothing. My niece was barely a year old when she had her first seizure. Still, just a baby. It scared the hell out of everyone, it really did. The doctors down-played it, of course–using the excuse that she’d had the seizure because she’d been running a high fever at the time. “It happens” was what we were told. Then it happened again. And again. It was scary because she’d be completely fine and then out of nowhere, she’d spike a fever of 104 or higher and have a seizure. After she’d had about 3 or 4 of them, her pediatrician started calling them “febrile seizures” or fever seizures. He basically told us that there was nothing we could do about them, except to be prepared for if and when the time came. So that’s what we did. We did nothing and we waited. Every time she’d spike a fever, we’d have this little routine of ours that we’d do. We’d piggy-back the Tylenol and Motrin, give her a tepid bath, and wrap her in wet, cool towels. After that, all we could do was sit there and hold her and wait for her temp to come down–and just hope that she didn’t have a seizure while we waited for that to happen. It was horrible and scary and more than anything–frustrating. It was maddening as hell to have the doctor shrug and say it was no big deal every time. “She’ll grow out of them by the time she’s 5” he told us. Again, he was wrong.

It took a lot of insisting on our part to finally convince her doctor that something was wrong and to persuade him to at least run some tests–which was total bs if you ask me. We shouldn’t have had to insist on anything–he’s the doctor–he should’ve known that something just wasn’t right. But of course he had a medical degree, so there as no way he could have been wrong. Uh huh. Anyhow, after a boatload of tests, our concerns were validated. As it turned out, she has a rare genetic defect that has to do with one of her chromosomes. There’s not a lot that is known about it because it’s so rare, so the doctors could only tell us what may or might become an issue–based on the cases that have presented so far. Basically, we were given a list of possible medical issues that my niece might end up having. The list included developmental disabilities–which accounted for why she was a little behind for her age. Epilepsy was also on that list–which explained the seizures. As upsetting as it was to hear the final diagnosis, we were relieved to finally have some answers.

Since then, it hasn’t exactly been an easy journey. Not for anyone-but Emma especially. It’s been hard on her. It still is. She’s got a whole string of different specialists that she has to see. She’s got a neurologist, cardiologist, urologist–and half a dozen other -ists. She has frequent check-ups and doctor visits and tests. It’s unreal. It’s heartbreaking each and every day, knowing there’s nothing anyone can do. Because of the developmental delays associated with the genetic issue, she has learning disabilities. She goes to school, but she’s in a special needs class and has to have one-on-one teaching and care. She doesn’t really understand what is happening or why things are the way that they are. She’s on anticonvulsants meds for her epilepsy that she has to take everyday–the side effects of which make her very aggressive. She’s constantly hitting and throwing tantrums and yelling–all of which has taken a toll on everyone around her. It’s hard because you can try to tell her to not hit or be mean or to not do something until you’re blue in the face—but she will. And even though we know that it’s the meds and that she can’t help it–that she doesn’t understand that what she’s doing is wrong–we still crack under the pressure sometimes. She’s a handful, that’s for sure.

Despite it all—I still think she is perfect in her own unique little way. She’s amazing. She’s smart and willful and determined and strong. She’s gone through so much, but it hasn’t dampened her spirits one bit. Not one bit. She’s one of the happiest little girls I know. She’s always smiling–even when she’s smacking you in the face. She’s sweet and loving and has a huge heart.

It’s for that reason that I’m so angry about this 3-year-old little girl in New Jersey. What’s happening isn’t fair and it sure as hell isn’t right. She has just as much of a right to be treated and have the transplant she needs as anyone else does. For some doctor or committee somewhere to say that she doesn’t simply because she has disabilities– is totally screwed up. For them to assume or even comment on the girl’s “quality of life”– it isn’t right. It’s like what the mother said–they don’t know her. They don’t know what she’s been through, or how it’s affected the lives of those around her. Just like the doctors and teachers associated with my niece don’t know. They don’t know my niece and the amazing little girl that she is. They don’t know how hard it is on her to have to go through all that she has gone through–and all that she will continue to go through. They don’t know how difficult it is for those taking care of her–how stressful and frustrating it can be or how hopeless it may seem sometimes. They don’t know anything. That said, they have no right to say what kind of life she or that little girl in NJ or any other child with disabilities for that matter, should or will have. No right whatsoever.

So, those are my thoughts on the matter. Hopefully it will all work out for that little girl and her family. And hopefully, humanity will get better. I hope.

xoxo MESSIE

 

Funny-isms In Lyric Format… January 12, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — MESSIE @ 11:10 pm
Tags: , ,

Okay, so my sister gives me a CD the other day and tells me that I just have to listen to one of the tracks on it–and that I’m going to absolutely love it. I just now got around to listening to it and well…she was right. At first, the lyrics had me thinking it was one of those songs that falls under what I call “that stupid God music.” (No offense God :)) Anyhow, the lyrics turned around quickly and by the second verse, I just couldn’t stop laughing. The lyrics are so bad–in that they’re pretty mean–but they’re hilarious as hell. Soooo, I thought I’d share them and give you all a good laugh…

ARTIST: Jaron and The Long Road to Love

TRACK: I’ll Pray For You”

VERSE:

I haven’t been to church, since I don’t remember when.

Things were goin’ great, ’til they fell apart again.

So I listened to the preacher as he told me what to do–

He said you can’t go hatin’ others who have done wrong to you.

Sometimes we get angry, but we must not condemn.

Let the good Lord do His job, and you just pray for them.

CHORUS:

I pray your brakes go out runnin’ down a hill.

I pray a flowerpot falls from a window sill,

and knocks you in the head like I’d like to.

I pray your birthday comes and nobody calls.

I pray you’re flyin’ high when your engine stalls.

I pray all your dreams never come true.

Just know wherever you are honey, I pray for you.

VERSE:

I’m really glad I found my way to church.

‘Cause I’m already feelin’ better, and I thank God for the words.

Yeah I’m gonna take the high road,

And do what the preacher told me to do.

You keep messin’ up, and I’ll keep prayin’ for you

I pray your tire blows out at 110.

I pray you pass out drunk with your best friend,

and wake up with his and her tattoos.

Just know wherever you are, near or far, in your house or in your car,

wherever you are honey, I pray for you.

I pray for you.

**I know, I know—I’m horrible. I can’t help myself. 🙂 But you have to admit, it’s pretty funny. People amaze me with what they come up with sometimes, they really do.

Andddd on that note, I’m going to head to bed. ‘Night all.

xoxo MESSIE

 

Wish You Were Here… January 8, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — MESSIE @ 5:01 am
Tags: , , ,

Hello all. Can’t sleep. Just got home from work a couple of hours ago, so of course here it is nearly 5am and I’m all hyped up. Nice. Anyhow, as I was driving home, I was looking at this little laminated photo I have of my grandfather sitting on the dash of my car–and so I couldn’t help but start to think about him. It’ll be 13 years this July that he’s been gone, but I still miss him. I just wish he was here, you know? I know it’s the reality of things–death and all that–but still, I feel cheated out of so much. As did he, for that matter. It just doesn’t seem fair. But then, of course, there’s little in this world that is.

I was only 9 or 10 when he was diagnosed with cancer. I forget the specific type at the moment, but it was a rare and very aggressive blood cancer. Naturally, I was too young at the time to really understand what it all meant and what was happening. All I knew was that he was really sick. It didn’t register that he was dying. But he was. I remember that it was horrible. And that he gave a good fight. Which he did. So very much so. I remember the frequent doctor visits and the various hospital stays–especially towards the end. I remember him looking so exhausted and just plain run-down that there were times he looked as if he didn’t even have the strength to stand. He must have been in excruciating pain, but he refused to show it. He was too proud for that.

Despite it all, he was there. Every game, concert–everything–he was there. No matter what. He was selfless like that. He loved us grand-kids more than anything–something he proved time and time again. There’s one memory in particular that I recall every time I think of him. It was about a couple of weeks before my 12th birthday and before he died. At the time, Beanie Babies were pretty popular. I was an avid collector and so I’d buy them all the time. That is, my grandfather would buy them for me. Including the exclusive ones that were always the hardest ones to find. Somehow, he’d find them and surprise me with them. When he heard that there was going to be a sort-of Beanie Baby trade show at this local vendor, he decided to take me. When we got there, the line was rediculous and stretched for what seemed like miles–a couple at least–around the length of the building. Instead of saying ixnay to that, he insisted we stay. And so we did. We stood in that line for hours. All day, in fact. Which wasn’t at all good for his circulation, but he did it anyway. And when it was finally our time, he was absolutely thrilled when he bought me those exclusive Beanies we’d waited forever for. For him, it was all about my happiness. Along with everyone else’s. Never his. Since it wasn’t too long after that that he died, I blamed myself–thinking that making him stand in that line all that time had contributed to his death in some way.

I remember the night he died as clearly as if were yesterday. It was horrible. I remember it was really late when my grandmother got the call to come quick to the hospital. So she got us all in the car and we went up. I remember that it was raining so hard and that she was driving really fast to get that. I remember that there was this dead silence the entire way there and that my grandmother just had tears streaming down her face. I remember how scary and sad it was when we got there and had to walk down this long hallway to his room. Everyone was there–my aunts and uncle and cousins–and we all just piled into that one room to say our goodbyes. He was barely hanging on and just barely conscious. I remember standing back a little, terrified of how intense the atmosphere in the room was. I remember my grandmother nudging me forward and telling me to say goodbye to him and to give him a hug. He was so pale and looked so different that I was scared to even do that. And when it was over, I remember just feeling numb. Everyone around me was crying but I wasn’t. I didn’t cry. Not that day anyway. I cried after though. A lot.

When I get to thinking about him these days, it’s all just so bittersweet. On the one hand, I know and I’m happy that he’s not suffering anymore, but on the other–I miss him. I wish he was here. I can’t help but wonder where he’d be today if he were still alive. How things would be. While I’m not entirely certain whether there’s a heaven or hell, I still like to think that he’s still here somehow–that he’s still watching. Which makes me wonder whether he’d be proud or not of the woman that I’ve become. There’s so much that he wasn’t and won’t be able to see. He wasn’t there for my high school graduation or for when I got accepted into an Ivy League school or to see all that I’ve accomplished. He never met his great-grandchildren–which he would have loved and absolutely adored like crazy I think. Growing up, he was the only real father figure my siblings and I had–what with my father having remarried, moving out-of-state, and starting another family that didn’t inclus us kids much if at all. Because of that, I always pictured of having him–my grandfather–walking me down the aisle and my wedding and giving me away. Him, not my father–HIM. It just seemed right, I guess. How it should be. And the fact that he won’t be here to do that–well, it hurts. More than I can ever put into words.

He’s gone, so all I can do is try to live a life that he and I can be proud of I guess.

So here’s to you Papa. I love and miss you XOXO

This song says it all:

ARTIST: Kenny Chesney

TRACK: “Who You’d Be Today”

VERSE:

Sunny days seem to hurt the most.

I wear the pain like a heavy coat.

I feel you everywhere I go.

I see your smile, I see your face,

I hear you laughin’ in the rain.

I still can’t believe you’re gone.

CHORUS:

And it ain’t fair: you died too young,

Like the story that had just begun,

But death tore the pages all away.

God knows how I miss you,

All the hell that I’ve been through,

Just knowin’ no-one could take your place.

And sometimes I wonder,

Who’d you be today?

VERSE:

The only thing that gives me hope,

Is I know I’ll see you again some day.

Some day, some day, some day.

–MESSIE

 

Pretense And Lying Cards….A Poem January 4, 2012

Filed under: POETRY — MESSIE @ 11:19 pm

Why the pretense? 

Why the act?

Is it worth it, they ask.

Having to live this way—

Consumed with so much pain and regret?

When all those words you wish you’d said,

Keep playing over and over in your head.

How do you get through, they ask.

When life is cruel to you?

They make it seem so easy—this moving on and letting go.

But I can’t tell them, and they don’t know.

It’s not that easy…moving on. 

And it’s harder than you think..letting go.

What I wouldn’t give to go back.

To have a second chance.

A chance to make things right,

To stop all the deceiving

And simply just keep breathing.

I may have survived,

but I don’t feel alive.

I feel empty and hollow.

A unfinished life filled with far too much sorrow.

I feel so lost, so dead inside.

It’s been this way now, for quite some time.

Well, I’m sick and tired of carrying the brunt of the blame;

Of floating aimlessly in a sea of guilt and shame.

Scared to see and scared to know–

Holding on tightly, too damn scared to let go.

It’s for the best, that’s what they said.

This is how it has to be.

This is the way it goes.

Even in the light of day,

So much still therein lies uncertain.

The fear of the unknown;

Doomed from the start.

Fool that I am, I let him inside.

It’s my fault for thinking he was one of the good guys.

And I still don’t know why.

All I know is that I’d rather die,

Than keep living this lie—

Pretending to be happy, when I’m really not.

I tried. I really did. I gave it my best shot,

But I’m living in hell, and there’s no way out. 

I don’t want to fight this war—

Or do this anymore.

And to think, I could have saved myself the trouble—

If only I had known from the start

If only I’d said no.

Now I’m here, gasping for air.

Wondering why life had to be so damn unfair. 

xoxo, MESSIE

 

 
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