Hi there! I’m Maggie.
I’m turning 30 dangerously soon and I thought as a birthday present to myself, I would revamp my blog I started when things in my life were beginning to nose dive into darkness.
I was in active addiction. I was drinking daily to drown the darkness, but no matter how much I consumed, I never got what I wanted. No amount of alcohol would make me or anyone else love me. No one was coming to save me.
My father died. Or actually how I see it, he was murdered by our healthcare system. The negligence of the doctors and other healthcare professionals who cared for my father, and other veterans like him, is absolutely disgusting. My father deserved the best treatment and respect, but these “doctors” didn’t even want to listen to him as he described to them, choking back fearful tears, the symptoms he was suffering from. It was shortly after they finally listened and referred him to the campus medical center, that we discovered he only had months to live. They diagnosed him with stage four colon cancer. I remember his shaking, sobbing voice on the phone as he told me he was going to fight this. He was afraid. The strongest man in my life was afraid of dying. I’ll never forget the night he died, the house was filled with the smell of Christmas and chattering family were scattered around the kitchen and living room where my father lay in his bed sleeping, but the expression on his face was anything but restful. He looked pained and like he was fighting for his life. I sat next to him off and on that night, not really sure what to say, but just wanting to be next to him because I knew it was almost time. I remember he opened his eyes briefly just a tiny bit, enough to see his grey, blue eyes one last time. Somehow with whatever strength he had left, motioned me with his left hand. I brought my ear to his face, wondering what he needed to tell me, and when I did he reached his arm around me and whispered in his raspy, dying voice something I’ll remember for the rest of my life, “I love you sissy”.
Now those are normal words to the average person but those spoken to me by my dad was my life breath for so long. I used to love hearing him say that over the phone when I called and he realized who it was. He would always answer the phone because he was always watching tv in the living room. Just like when I was a kid and we would be the first ones up in the morning. Him with his coffee and me with my cereal with my favorite spoon. We would watch Bob Ross or cartoons together and sometimes he would watch racing and grown up stuff I thought was boring and looked too dangerous to be fun.
He died the night of December third in the same living room he said goodbye to me in.
I wish it ended her, but it gets worse. I’m so sorry.
The guy I was dating just over a year broke up with me after I had just uprooted my whole life to be with him in another state hours away from home. This breakup was the worse pain I’ve ever felt in my entire life. And that’s saying a lot for me with the life that I’ve been given, but I digress. It’s been over a year since I was forced to pack up everything I could in my Accord, including my two screaming, scared cats, and drive four hours back home to start over in the house I watched my father die in.
After months of severe therapy, prescribed medications, and several hospital stays, I finally feel comfortable enough to tell my story. I found sobriety and I’m starting to see clearly and feel more myself. This powerful, new found clarity is helping me realize the abuse I suffered from by the hands of others. The people in my life I thought really cared about me. I tell my therapist I’m in my villian phase now, which means everyone is on my hitlist; and if you think you’re off the hook, you’re wrong, and if you think I’m staying silent, like you all want me to be, I’m coming for you.