A guest post by the FABULOUS GeeGee Curtained from the blog Two Fat Cows & A Bottle of Goose.
We started doing this fucked up little dance almost 5 years ago and I ignored you for months. You obviously had no idea how good I am at sailing on that river called denial which is probably why you decided to drop me like a sack of shit when I was in the shower 4 years ago with that lovely shotgun headache. Fine, so I lay there like a drowned rat for ages and finally dragged my wet ass to my bed, popped 6 Myprodol’s and went on with my day. There was no way in hell I was going to be found with my nekkid ass out for all to see which is why you didn’t kill me, even though you were supposed to. When they found the tumour it finally explained why my constant companion Irene was around, especially when I was having a few toots and we could entertain ourselves for hours on end. She was a crazy bitch but I loved her. Irene, rest her soul, ended her days in a medical incinerator and I was left with a very sexy titanium plate to remind me that she existed.
When you didn’t manage to kill me outright, you did your best to make me have a melt-down by having me diagnosed while Himself was away on a trip to the UK. On the plus side, once I got over the shock I was quite relieved that I wasn’t losing my mind. For months I’d felt like the song ‘Crazy’ by Gnarls Barkley was playing softly in the background while I went about my day. Waking up spooning my Doberman in his bed with no idea how I got there, going shopping and coming home empty handed having left all the packages gawd only knows where... the list goes on and on. People thought I was mad when I insisted on getting completely plastered with a few close friends before I went to hospital but the way I saw it I was about to iron my wings and wanted to have one for the road. What a party that was!! We had so many liquid cocaine shooters our pee was blue for 2 days... It’s also the only time I wore all my diamond and sapphire jewellery that I still haven’t been at a fancy enough occasion to wear.
So I was wearing jeans and a hoodie at the time, so fucken what. Can’t see anything wrong with that... Was I supposed to curl up in a little ball and have a pity party? Sorry!! That’s not in my nature... Hell, I even got annoyed at other people feeling sorry for me. If I’m going to buy the farm I’m going to do it with grace and I’ll be fucked if my son remembers me as a wet snivelling snot nosed heap of fear. The hardest part was being wheeled into that elevator to surgery like a lamb to slaughter and being convinced it’s the last time I’d be laying eyes on my boys. I felt like my heart was being ripped into pieces but there was no way in hell I was going to show it and I gave my husband and son a smile because that’s how I wanted them to remember me. Nobody was more surprised than I was when I woke up in ICU – even the doctor couldn’t believe that I came out of a medically induced coma but I did. Because I was being bed-bathed. With a cake of Lux soap! And a fucken blue kitchen cloth... ‘Nuff said.
Ok, so I survived and I don’t think you liked that very much so you decided to make me a codeine addict. Almost 9 months sitting on the sofa looking like a drooling Bride of Frankenstein with my shaved head and another 2 years of being lost in a lovely bubble of prescription drugs. You knew I wouldn’t go to rehab but you didn’t count on me going cold turkey, did you? 4 months of wanting to crawl out of my own skin but I made it. 3 months ago you woke me up in the middle of the night and I thought the time had finally come. What worried me the most was that I had Bridget Jones comfy knickers on (what? who sleeps in a bloody g-string??) and I hadn’t had a wax or a pedicure. Death? Nah, not so much.
I’ve bumped my head so many times you can serve soup in the dent it’s created but what’s a spaz like me to do? Walk around with a helmet on all day? My neurosurgeon said I’m never allowed to do contact sports again and the look on his face when I asked him if rough sex counts was priceless! I couldn’t resist, the poor man... Serves him right really – I mean, do I look like the type of person who does Sport?? Oh, and that fugly snow hat I have to wear in bed in the winter to keep my plate from giving me brain freeze? I’ve learnt to ROCK it you motherfucker!
I know the ‘kill shot’ can come any day, any time BUT I’ve made my peace, so do your worst... Just make sure it’s fast. I’m NOT going back for more surgery. Never again. That’s why I’m almost a year overdue on my annual MRI, I mean what’s the point? I already got rid of everything I don’t want people to find when I’m dead, I’ve planned my memorial (my boys know who’s banned and that the pyramid of shot glasses on top of my ashes better reach the Rabbit Hole ceiling), I’ve learnt what’s important in life and I’m content.
You’ve taught me a lot Constant Headache, and I thank you for it. I know the ‘pain scale’ better than I should. A constant 3 out of 10? Bitch puuuhleeze! After experiencing the loveliness called bleeding on the brain that’s nothing! You taught me that I’m tough, that I can feel like I’m bleeding from my eyeballs and still won’t give up but most importantly – you’ve put a built-in blood pressure monitor in my head which has helped me get rid of the dead weight in my life. The assholes that drained me and never gave anything back, not even loyalty, and even though it’s been hard it’s been worth it!
A lot of people think I’ve become a complete bitch from hell but I couldn’t give a flying fuck through a rolling doughnut to be honest. If I’m going to die tonight or tomorrow I’m sure as hell not wasting any more time on fucktards and users. So what if I happen to be related to some of them? I’ll explain myself when I get to the pearly gates. And if I go downstairs instead? They better have vodka there, and poker games, that’s all I’m saying.... And you know what? Irene might have gone up in a ball of flames but GeeGee was born out of the ashes like a motherfucking Phoenix and she’s growing on me. You’ve been getting quite bad again so I gave in and took the one kind of pill my doctor said I must never stop taking and boy, did I regret it! I was as dumb as fuck for days and when I stopped I could’ve slit my wrists with a spoon. So fuck you dear Constant Headache, you’re not getting the better of me, no matter how hard you try. I’m done with pills and I’m done with you...