If I'm Living on Borrowed Time, Do You Think I'm Gonna Waste My Time Conforming?

Current age: 62 and has no memories of his accomplishments or his family and friends.
Age at onset of dementia: 55 (and fuck you, Universe)

Lewy Body Dementia discovered post-suicide Age: 63

The Real Cie's aunt: probable Lewy Body Dementia, age of diagnosis: 72

Me: Age 49, will be 50 on February 15.

TRIGGER WARNING: DISCUSSION OF SUICIDE IDEATION

Here's what I'm noticing. This kind of shit seems to be happening in younger and younger people. I'm not a scientist. Nor am I particularly given to believing in conspiracy theories. The Illumin-Naughty seem as likely to exist as the Illuminati, as far as I'm concerned. But I do see a pattern.

I think our world is polluted as fuck, and it's killing us in various and horrible ways. I think all the people succumbing to these shitty forms of dementia have been poisoned by our toxic environment, and it isn't going to get any better anytime soon.

I evidently have a genetic trigger for this shit, and I have been thinking. I may be living on borrowed time. And if I am, I'm going to off myself when I get the diagnosis. I've taken care of people with dementia for all but five years since 1988. I am not putting myself or my son through that shit.

Given that there's a fair possibility that I'm living on borrowed time, do you know what the fuck I'm not going to do?

Care about a bunch of rules set down by a bunch of stodgy, imagination-impaired, heartless, inflexible assholes. 

Believe as I do. Don't believe as I do. I really don't care. But don't fucking tell me how to think and feel. I was never going to conform to your standards anyway. Given that I may only have five or ten years left, I'm going to conform to them even less.

I have an open mind about metaphysical possibilities. I'm not going to close my mind because my beliefs make some people uncomfortable.

I love what and who I love. If you have a problem with that, take a look in the damn mirror as you point your finger at me. Then take a look at the three fingers pointing back at you.

I'm actually not afraid of this possibility. I'm pretty stoic about it. I've had suicide ideation pretty much all my life. I'm not afraid to die. My life hasn't been an easy one. Sometimes I think the easiest thing in the world would be to down a whole bunch of pills with a butt ton of alcohol and just let the world fuck off at last. I'm sick and tired of hearing what a fuckup I am echoing in my damn head all the time.

I'm not doing it today. So don't get your hackles up searching my URL to try and find out where I'm located. This isn't a "right now" suicide note. This is a "if I'm diagnosed with dementia I'm offing myself" note. Because fuck that shit.

So anyway, if I believe in the possibility of ghosts and incarnate people communicating with each other and maybe even becoming friends or falling in love, who the fuck is anyone else to tell me I can't believe that? 

If I believe the personality survives the death of the body, who the fuck is anyone to tell me I can't believe that?

If I believe in an afterlife, but not an afterlife that adheres to some particular set of dogma created by a bunch of stodgy old fucks to control the masses, well, that is what I believe. If it brings you comfort to think of me frying in a fiery pit because of my beliefs, perhaps you're the sick fuck, not me. 

If I believe in reincarnation, how the fuck is that hurting you?

People are always so all-fired hot to tell other people what they should and shouldn't think and feel. I've had it up to here with that shit. None of us knows for sure what happens after we die. My theories are as valid as anyone else's. More to the point, I don't shove them down anybody's throat. 

I guess my point is this. I don't know if I'm living on borrowed time or not, but I damn well could be. Do you think I'm gonna waste that time trying to please anybody by conforming to their particular reality? I can't live your damn reality, nor do I want to. I can only live my own. 

Stop trying to tell other people what to believe, think and feel. As long as what you're doing isn't hurting anybody else, it's nobody's damn business.

One thing I aim to do. When I do get to the other side, whenever that is, I am going to give both of the dudes pictured a great big warm hug, because they both touched my life for the better and both pulled me through when I was a very sad, lonely, and bullied teenager. I wished both of them could be my friends.

I totally shipped "Mork" as my best platonic friend back in the day, and you will never guess which band was Mork's and my favorite. When you're a sad and miserable twelve or thirteen year old, that kind of thing can mean a lot.

When people judge another person's reality based on their own set of experiences, they do the person they're judging a great disservice.

Both Malcolm Young and Robin Williams taught me a lot. The biggest thing they taught me is that having compassion is the most important thing. As neither of them are conventionally attractive, they also taught me that true beauty is in the soul. Not that either of them are ugly, but neither of them would ever be considered "hunky" by any stretch of the imagination.

Both of them struggled with depression and addiction issues. These are certainly things to which I can relate. 

These are beautiful people--truly beautiful people, not Hollywood hyped beautiful on the outside hollow on the inside glamour seeking glory grabbers. If I do end up being one of the many succumbing to the horror of dementia, at least I will know I am in glorious company. I love you Mal, and I love you Robin. And I do not give one single fuck what anyone thinks of that statement.

I guess I've said what I need to say. It pretty well boils down to this. Quit fucking judging. You do not know what another person is going through or what they have been through. Since you haven't experienced their life, you aren't qualified to judge it.

I can't live as if there's no tomorrow, because my Last Day may be here sooner than I ever would have imagined. I have to get what I can done in what time I may have left. I'm not wasting that time conforming to anyone else's bullshit standards.

~Cie~

Cross-posting everywhere because:

3 in 1 Massage Candle

I never heard of these before. It might be something to try.

~Ellie~

If I Only Could...

The Daily Post asks: What if you could go back and rewrite history? Then postulates that I could.

The one thing that I would do is somehow go in and tweak the brain of the sweet, smart, talented, beautiful creature in the picture above so that it wasn't deteriorating on him and leaving him so he doesn't remember his life, can't remember how to play the guitar, can't remember his children and the younger brother with whom he was apparently able to communicate telepathically, and doesn't even really know who he is.

(Note: the given link is safe. However, it is on a blog that should be considered NSFW as it contains explicit erotic material, including some explicit images.)

If I could make this happen, almost everything I've written in the past two months would disappear. The wonderful, life-altering metaphysical experiences I've had during this time would cease to exist, and I would be back to being the way I was before, which was pretty well dead inside with my world being nothing but shades of gray and a long, slow walk to the grave. I would knowingly do it, just like I would give birth to my son again, full well knowing how much pain it would cause me. (I nearly died giving birth to my son, and I have never known such severe pain.)

Malcolm's physical brain is being eradicated by a horrific disease, but his soul never can be. His soul is resplendent and powerful. Still, I also know he's felt terror during the times when he knew that his mind was being destroyed. No-one should ever have to feel such a thing. I would like to take that from him. If I could, I would switch places with him, even knowing that my life would become hell. He is far more important than I ever could be.

What would I could do if I could rewrite history?

Cure Malcolm Young.

I wish it were as simple as it sounds.

He saved my life when I was a troubled and bullied teenager by giving me the knowledge that there were people out there who cared about people like me. More recently, he brought color to my world when his soul touched mine in an attempt to comfort me because my grief over his illness was so great, but I would give that back in a heartbeat to make him well.

He is angelic and divine in nature and should not be destroyed. That such a horrible thing could happen makes me sick and proves to me that the physical plane is a place of torture and sorrow. I wish I had the power to rewrite the history at the end of his life and save him

I know how what I've written makes me seem to those with a narrow perspective.

I don't care.

 

~Cie~

 

It's a poor substitute for giving him back his mind and his life, but damn it, he will not be forgotten easily.



Fuck you, Lewy Body Dementia.

Diseases of this nature are proof that evil exists.

If I only could, I'd make a deal with God
And get him to swap our places

Cross-Posted to:

Dream About Me, Sweet Brother

(Blog is NSFW. Contains explicit gay slash erotica)

One Love

(Blog may regarded as safe for work)

Rattling Bones Undead Musician Magazine

(Blog contains NSFW elements, mostly strong language and adult themes)

 

Brother Polight Dropping Knowledge

He needs a platform besides the bus. He's saying things that people need to hear.

~Koni~