How do I give a fuck?

[barefootgirl69]

As usual, your words touch me, make me chuckle, and cause me to think all at once. I don't know how you do that, honestly.

I'm so sorry for your loss, Puck. Anniversaries are always hard --- and you had a load of hurt and pain and loss last year. Please know that I am thinking of you today, praying for you.

I won't fuss at you about smoking, but you do need to take care of yourself and be the best that you can be.

~bfg~

 

[Bramblethorn]

May the sun be out of your eyes and the wind at your back for a brighter tomorrow.
May all that you give be returned to you threefold.
And may you never forget to live, laugh, and love each and every day.

"We are here to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is" - Mark Vonnegut

 

[soltiera]

"We are here to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is" - Mark Vonnegut

Truer words have never been spoken.

Puck, I am truly grateful that you persevered despite your horrible year. I appreciate the courage you have shown in sharing your story with us and allowing us to form a portion of your support system. Your contributions here are not small. (In fact some of them are pretty heavy!)
In seriousness, what you have to share matters a great deal and your words are valued by more people than you realize. I've enjoyed reading your insightful posts and your stories.
Thank you for sharing them with us,
Tiera

 

[Nzerxx]

Left me speechless again BUT

As far as patience... I'm still waiting for that shit.

Count me in with that

Thinking of you

 

[ExiledWelshman]

It's been a long road. The last year has, in most ways, been the worst of my life. And, in a few cases, the best.


A year ago today, my wife slipped away from this world. (And I will neither confirm nor deny that as the clock ticked over to 0000 that I felt a wave of pain crash over and through me.)

Twenty-two days later, my step-mother joined her.

Just minutes before Father's Day, my father followed after.


Mere days ago, my baby sister told me that she'd had an emergency gall bladder removal. (Five fucking days earlier! But, that's neither here nor there.) And, when I happened to mention the neurology appointment she had been supposed to have about that time, just happened to let slip that it wasn't the MS they had been afraid it might be. (And just when the fuck did THIS become a question?!) (Yes, if she survives, I may kill her.)

There have been... a few other stumbling blocks. But, those were the big hurdles.

Back when I put on a jock strap, I was forced to run distance and hurdles. I fucking hated hurdles with a holy fervor. "Was it three steps then leap? Or four? Fuck!" *Crash*. "I'm 5 foot fucking 6, Coach! Why don't you have one of those fucking pituitary overloaded motherfuckers over six feet tall and still growing do this fucking bullshit instead of the shortest motherfucker on the team, Dumbass?!"

(And, yes. My grumpiness is not actually a product of age. Bite me.)

But, I have also had several sweet moments. Most revolving around Literotica.com and the people I've met here in the intervening year. A few outside of these digital halls.

(And let me just say that if you are reading this, you know damn well I'm talking about you. If it's even a question... *growl* Don't make us have to have a conversation that will end up making you cry. Again.)

Any road, I've picked up (or rediscovered) a few tidbits along the way.

1) The major difference between Heaven and Hell on Earth is the company facing it with you.
2) If you don't give a damn, who do you expect will?
3) A society, any society, is composed of the attitudes of its individual members. If you aren't part of the solution, you are at minimum a contributing factor to the problem.
4) You may catch more flies with honey, but there's always gonna be some sweet thing with a low taste for vinegar. (What the fuck? Seriously? I wouldn't put up with me!)
5) If you don't take care of you, you probably aren't going to be able to do jackshit when someone else needs you. If you don't care about them, then go right the fuck ahead and ignore your own self-care.
6) The surgeon general really needs to put out a warning that fucking with me about my smoking might be hazardous to your ears (at minimum). (Yes, I know what I said in #5. Bite me.)
7) Listening is important. Unless a woman is doing the talking. Then, you'd better fucking listen, watch, smell, feel, read the fucking barometer, develop ESfuckingP...
8) It ain't about waiting 'til the storm passes. It's about getting your feet wet and flipping the bird at the tornado coming.
9) It's always gonna be smarter to fight from the head than the heart.
10) Loving takes courage. Allowing yourself to feel worth being loved takes time. (More for some than others. *cough*)

Any road, I don't know. When I was a dumbass kid, I made the mistake of praying for strength, wisdom, and patience. I didn't understand at the time that to get stronger, you have to load progressively more on your shoulders until it hurts. I didn't understand at the time that true wisdom lies in knowing there is really very little you do know or the pain inherent in some discoveries. As far as patience... I'm still waiting for that shit.

I admit, I'm probably a tad bit sharper than a box of marbles at the moment. But, it felt right that I mark the year journey. And once more thank those that have had my back (or my arm) (or fucking carried me) along these miles of bad road. You know who you are. (At least you'd better, damn it.)

May the sun be out of your eyes and the wind at your back for a brighter tomorrow.
May all that you give be returned to you threefold.
And may you never forget to live, laugh, and love each and every day.

So, I got here late. And not fashionably so.

Sigh. I had that drink for you and your love last night, as I told you in PM.

And despite that fact that at one time I kinda maybe sorta wanted to hit you very hard with a blunt and heavy implement, I would be very unhappy if you weren't around.

Put the tissues away, this is no time for tears

Seriously. There have been times over the last couple of months where I would have been more lost than normal without your help, guidance, wisdom and...yes...sarcasm.

Don't change. Keep being a friend.

And I'll keep unloading a box of my shit in front of you to sort out.

Love ya, old git.

 

[Angedesoleil]

So, I got here late. And not fashionably so.

Sigh. I had that drink for you and your love last night, as I told you in PM.

And despite that fact that at one time I kinda maybe sorta wanted to hit you very hard with a blunt and heavy implement, I would be very unhappy if you weren't around.

Put the tissues away, this is no time for tears

Seriously. There have been times over the last couple of months where I would have been more lost than normal without your help, guidance, wisdom and...yes...sarcasm.

Don't change. Keep being a friend.

And I'll keep unloading a box of my shit in front of you to sort out.

Love ya, old git.

"And I'll keep unloading a box of my shit in front of you to sort out."

I resemble this remark.

"There have been times over the last couple of months where I would have been more lost than normal without your help, guidance, wisdom and...yes...sarcasm."
this one too. Yes, I even appreciate it when you point out my big giant steeming piles of ... irony.

 

[yorker85]

I'm not going to tell you my sob story as you don't need to hear it. I will offer some advice.

Get out and help people. If it's at a homeless shelter or just random people on the street that need help. Go pick up trash in your community. Volunteer your time to make the world a better place. That is the way to find purpose again. You need to go outside of yourself to rebuild the inside of yourself.

 

[Acktion]

Two Years

Back about four decades ago, my mother bought a bench to set on our front porch. I didn't know it at the time, but she got it for me. So that I could have somewhere to go sit with a girl so that we had a modicum of privacy to talk, but were still chaperoned so that we didn't do anything more than JUST talk.

I never sat on that bench. Much less with a girl.

When my wife and I got married, we were adamant that we didn't want a church or so much as renting a hall or anything. We wanted to be married as naturally as we could manage. Standing barefoot in the grass under a cathedral of stars.

The ceremony was in Mom's backyard.

My mother and Love's mother sat on that bench while everyone else stood behind them. (Hey, if I'm going to have to stand through this and she is going to have to stand through this, the rest of these motherfuckers can damn well stand through it. Except, of course, for the two women who actually did the hard work so far as we were concerned and deserved to rest a little bit now that their jobs were being turned over to someone else.)

A little while after that ceremony, Mom gave us the bench. And only then told me why she bought it in the first place.

Love was the only girl to ever sit on that bench with me. And I can only remember three times.

That bench moved from the duplex we were living in at the time where it sat on the front porch to a house that we rented where it sat on the front porch to a house that we were buying where it sat on the front porch to the duplex we washed up in when we lost the house.

At first, it sat out under the carport, for me to sit on while waiting for a taxi to show up to take me to the store, or the bank, or medical appointments.

However, one day I went out there and saw it moved over in front of the duplex next to us.

Me being me, I walked over and drug it right back where it belonged.

A few hours later, the neighbor came banging on my door, wanting to know what I was doing with his bench. I informed him in no uncertain terms that it was my bench, gave him the full history, and made him sit there as I pulled photographic proof from when I was a teenager, through our wedding, on up until just a little before we'd washed up in this rat trap.

Apparently, the couple that lived in the front half had disappeared and one of them's mother had come into town to take care of everything and take the five kids they had abandoned back with her and had told Willard that he could have the bench.

Willard and I worked it out and even became very good friends. Quite often he would celebrate holidays by bringing food from his celebration with his family to share with my wife and me until her death. And has since often brought me food, or just banged on my window to check my welfare if he hasn't seen me in a day or two.

But, we were... or at least I was... discussing my bench.

Rather than leave it out under the carport and having something happen to it, I moved it back around beside my kitchen door.

And tied Daisy's twenty-five-foot metal cable to it rather than hold it and risk her yanking me off my feet again. Many was the day when I would sit on that bench reading a book while Daisy was enjoying being outside until Love would call us inside.

The ends of my bench were wrought iron, as were the supporting braces, and all the adjoining hardware. More than few people who know their metals tried to con me out of it by offering to buy it for a hundred dollars or so. I didn't bother to explain to them that I knew damn well they were trying to rip me off since true wrought iron is a thing of the past, that the overwhelming majority of "wrought iron" sold today is actually mild steel. I just told them that the sentimental value was worth more to me than a thousand dollars. (The particularly astute should have gleaned from that that I knew very well just how much it was really worth to a collector.)

Sadly, once Love died, I was not in a very good place for far too long. Before I got sick, I'd bordered on being a gourmet cook. After I got sick, I still cooked, but typically simple fare. Once she died, I couldn't be bothered to cook just for myself and when I did deign to eat, more often than not cracked open a can of something and ate it straight from the can. House cleaning... probably the less said the better. Suffice to say, I just stepped over and around when Dogzilla turned the front room into Tokyo.

But, again, this was about my bench.

Between sitting on it, Daisy tugging on it, and a jackass doing yardwork that would yank it around and bitch and cuss about "shit in the way," the hardware loosened, and the lumber parts started to wear. Particularly at the bolt holes.

And as with so many... so very many... things that I'd once given a fuck about, while Love was alive, and had taken care of almost without conscious thought, I would tell myself I should really do something about that. But, would then bring Daisy back inside and rather than getting my tools and tending to it, would plop my fat ass down in my chair, just three feet away from where Love left, and brood. Or distract myself by trying to pretend that I was something more than a channel to switched by "friends" and others that I was unwise enough to think I was anything more.

My bench became too dilapidated for me to trust to bear my weight. But, I still left Daisy Mae's metal lead tied to it. Often messing around in the kitchen with the door open while she was out there rather than going outside with her.

I had, recently, even gone so far as to purchase a push mower and a weedeater so that I could do that portion of the yard so that asshole wouldn't have to worry about it, and wouldn't tear up my bench anymore.

But, for some strange reason, I still didn't purchase and carry back the slats to replace the boards. Even though I told myself that it was just across the street from my smoke shop, and wouldn't be much heavier to walk the mile back with it on my left shoulder than the groceries I carry every few days that same distance. (The same distance I carried a liter and a half jug of Sangria that is gone and I'm considering going back for a couple more.)

A couple of days ago, a friend that Daisy and I hadn't seen since about March showed up to check on me since my step-son had contacted her, telling her that I hadn't responded to emails and he couldn't raise me on the phone. (In my defense, the provider that I get phone, internet, and television through had been working in the area and been spotty as hell for over a week.)

Daisy got overexcited and one end of the bench gave way completely.

I left it that way for a day or two until I just couldn't take it anymore.

Rather than fix it, I dismantled it completely. And stored the pieces in my storage closet/electrical room while I try to decide if I will fix it. Or if it's time, and past time perhaps, to let go of one more piece.

For months after Love died, the abso-fucking-lutely only thing that got me up and out of the bed rather than lying there with my face turned to the wall while I waited to join her was a dog and three cats that she left me to watch over. Then, there came a period that I thought I'd made friends, and perhaps had some hope for something more. That opium dream was brought crashing down and I was once more reduced to the point that the abso-fucking-lute only thing that could make me give a fuck was, once more, the dog and three cats.

A few weeks ago, one of the cats, Coca-cola kitty died.

I had some... issues. For a few days. Auditory hallucinations, perhaps. I could hear Love's voice calling out, "Where is my Coke kitty?" as she used to when her nose count was off.

But, in many ways worse, I could remember that the year from Hell, largely documented here, started with a death I didn't record. Magic Mad Max, my twenty-three-year-old cat had died first, followed a couple of months later by my wife and then my stepmother. And then my father.

And all I could think was "Not again. I can not go through this again."

Silly, perhaps.

But, it was the way that I felt.

Only...

Only I've seen now that I can go through it and survive. And the only way through is out the other side.

It's been two years tonight. I still miss my wife.

It's been a month. I still look for Coke at feeding times until I remember.

It's been a couple of days. I still look for my bench.

When I began this journey, the question I asked was how I give a fuck. Along the way, I apparently gave those fucks away too freely to people I wanted to believe gave a fuck about me.

Another year gone by. Another lesson learned.

It's not enough to learn how to give a fuck again, if you aren't careful just what (and who) you give a fuck to.

But, this was supposed to be about our bench...

About my bench.

The bench my mother bought me to sit on with a girl (should I be lucky enough to find one interested in me) all those years ago.

I found the girl. One who will give as much a fuck about me as I do her.

Maybe it's time to let the bench go.

 

[Nzerxx]

How to go through a million emotions?

Read your posts!

I found the girl. One who will give as much a fuck about me as I do her.

This made me happy. SO happy for you

 

[AloneTooLong]

the first year I was a zombie; the second year reality hit hard. Thankfully the third year started getting better. Life will never be wonderful/great again, but at least it is bear-able. Almost 11 years now. CM

 

[Mr.G]

Losing a loved one like that sux.

I'd been with Sue for 21+ years. We had just arrived at a Christmas party (Christmas Eve) and the hostess stuck her head out of the kitchen and said," Sue, can I get you a glass of wine?" Sue hopped off my lap, went into the kitchen ... followed by a large BANG. Cerebral hemorrhage. No warning. No time to prepare. No time to say goodbye. SUX!!!

Here I am almost 20 years later and it still sucks. Not a day goes by that I don't think of her. Often I still see things through her eyes ... whether she'd find something funny, beautiful sunsets, sometimes I swear I can still taste her.

I started the TRY THIS thread and have received a LOT of pleasure and satisfaction from feed-back on that but have never really pursued that with another woman. I get through each day still. I suppose "clinically" I'm still depressed, right? Or I would have forgotten Sue and fucked myself half to death right after she died. Some people do that to forget. Not for me. It still might happen but I think I'll have to wait till my next life to have wild sex again. That's OK.

How do you get over it? You don't. You survive day to day. For me, obviously, Christmas SUCKS the most!! NOBODY who hasn't gone through this has a damn clue how we feel. They can be sympathetic but until they've joined THE club they don't know. Losing a parent? Different. I wish I could give you the good news. There isn't any. If you find another - GREAT but don't expect it. It's like a lottery at this point.

One other point. Whether you believe or not is irrelevant. Be open to "visits" You'll know when it happens. Don't ignore it or write it off the "grief psychosis" - the official term for it. It DOES HAPPEN and it's nice to hear from them and to know you are literally only a heart beat away from seeing and being with them again. What happens after that is just a guess but believe me when I say that they're right there even if you can't see them.

I hope that's no TOO depressing. We ALL go through this until you were the first to go and then I'd be maybe typing this for her. Hang in there. Try and enjoy what's left of your life. I hope you meet somebody. Try NOT to turn into a hermit.

Best

 

[Feshta]

The bench my mother bought me to sit on with a girl (should I be lucky enough to find one interested in me) all those years ago.

I found the girl. One who will give as much a fuck about me as I do her.

Maybe it's time to let the bench go.

I’ve read this thread this morning and have come to the conclusion that you seem to be dealing with your trials well. That’s not to subtract from your hardships but rather to give kudos for your ability to overcome them.

I’m really sorry I couldn’t have offered my condolences two years ago but I’m a relative noob.

I’m no stranger to loss and grief having lost my first fiancé to, of all things, pneumonia when we were both 19. We only had 4 months together but I swear she was my soulmate. 25 years on and it still hurts beyond words but I manage. I hope you continue to manage.

People say time is a great healer but in my experience it heals nothing. All it does is offer us the opportunity to find peace with our loss.

Anyway, at this point I’m teaching granny to suck eggs. I’m glad you found/remembered the details to your original account and I’m glad you’re still kicking and posting. If you need an ear to bend you are welcome to bend mine as long as it helps.

Stay strong.

Oh, and fix the bench. It’s one thing you love that you know is always going to be there!

 

[littlebirdjoy]

"When I began this journey, the question I asked was how I give a fuck. Along the way, I apparently gave those fucks away too freely to people I wanted to believe gave a fuck about me.

Another year gone by. Another lesson learned.

It's not enough to learn how to give a fuck again, if you aren't careful just what (and who) you give a fuck to." "Or distract myself by trying to pretend that I was something more than a channel to switched by "friends" and others that I was unwise enough to think I was anything more." "Then, there came a period that I thought I'd made friends, and perhaps had some hope for something more. That opium dream was brought crashing down and I was once more reduced to the point that the abso-fucking-lute only thing that could make me give a fuck was, once more, the dog and three cats."

Just acknowledging.

I'm sorry about Coke. I'm really sorry about the bench. I hope you will fix it (and I'm confused about ... something... that I wont mention here. Suffice I'm looking at you with a very raised eyebrow.

I vote for fixing it... the bench that is. I think that it, along with Love's "Bitch" collar deserve to be saved forever. I know a few more stories about that bench, one that I think only I and one other know. That bench should be repaired.

People are worth a fuck and so are you. Maybe rethink a few statements about Karma... but aside from that.

Keep on keeping on and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D8zf3-IlEqk

 

[jaF0]

I gave up.


There's simply no point.

 

[Acktion]

It's been four years today since I woke to find her gone.

Two years ago, my neighbors in the front half of my apartment were arrested. A small kitten they had gotten from somewhere was left alone in there without food and water. I got the management company to open the door and give me the kitten.

He was with me for two years.

A month ago, he was incredibly sick and I had to take him to the vet. But, it was too late. Even the almost two thousand dollar surgery couldn't save Puck.

Maybe it is the time of the year. Maybe it was not catching that he was so sick until it was too late. Maybe it was that year of hell when I lost my wife, my step-mother, and my father started with losing a twenty-three-year-old cat... But, something brought everything crashing back in.

While I do treasure the people who have come into my life and stayed, I can't help but miss those that are gone. Selfish? Certainly.

But, I think Keanu Reeves said it best;

"Grief changes shape. But, it never ends. People have a misconception that you can deal with it and say it's gone and I'm better. They're wrong! I don’t think you ever work through it. Grief and loss, those are things that don’t ever go away. They stay with you."

Four years later, with a lot of help, I'm a bit better at smiling, even laughing. But, little Puck Amok taught me that deep down that pain still resides, just waiting to be awoken again. It's been a month. Maybe it's the time of year. Maybe it's the day. Maybe I'm just not ready to pack away the memories along with the pain again...