A Platter of Shit, A Bottle of Pain

55cm. of a blood clot in the head, a failing kidney with lots of cyst in it, and a half-paralyzed body — that was the proverbial menu of the day.

It wasn’t a surprise to me because I know the chef has been cooking it for quite some time now. I smelled it in the kitchen for years, needless to say, I had it coming.

My only choice at that moment is to eat the main course of traumatic shit and drink it away with the bottle of pain because, well, I still gotta eat. Unfortunately, that was the only dish on the menu. Life is one hell of a chef — that’s a compliment.

Every teardrop is a waterfall.

She died. My mom.

Respiratory failure due to hereditary kidney disease, it was a complication. She underwent tumultuous dialysis for just about a year. I thought she still has 5 years left in her (at least that’s how long most patients last once they go through dialysis) obviously, that’s not the case.

Of course I’m going to eventually “move on,” of course the pain will “go away,” of course the tears will dry up, of course, things will get better, of course, people will stop giving a fuck, of course, it won’t matter a few years from now, of course I have no choice but to “accept and let go,” of course the world will still turn, and life will go on as if nothing happened — that’s how the “system” works. But of course, it will take lots of tissue papers, lots of listening to Coldplay’s “Fix You” on a loop, and fucking depression in between.

Apparently, literally dying is way better than losing someone you love. If I had a choice, I’ll take the death pill in a heartbeat over the bottle of pain and the shitty dish, it’ll be easier that way.

But nothing in life comes easy as what wise-ass people always say.

You gotta fucking taste its bitterness, you have to feel the sting on your throat and you have to drown yourself in it, in the hopes that you’ll throw it all up, so that you can feel better. Then there’s the aftertaste, then there’s the hangover…

…And then you bleed

Losing a beloved physically hurts. It literally feels like someone pierced your heart with a bread knife — and left it there to dry.

No, it doesn’t have to be sharp because getting stabbed is not the painful part, it’s the knife that was stuck in your heart that hurts, and the more you try to pull it, the more you’ll bleed.

It’s been 1 year and nearly 3 months since I last saw her. And I’m here to report that I successfully removed (a quarter of) the knife, ate the platter full of shit and am now somewhat sober from the bottle of pain that came with it.

Bon Appétit!

Of course, I know “the chef” is cooking something special again. I’m told it gets less shitty than the first, who knows? It could be even worse. The next thing you know, somebody has already poured a boiling soup over you. Life sucks when it comes to customer service, I know.

But, if there’s one thing I could take away from getting stabbed while eating the shitty meal that life served me with, it is this — you either enjoy it or you don’t, either way, you’re still going to eat it because there are no other “restaurants” around. You either eat the shit or you starve to death.

Eat the shit...

…and try to enjoy it.

Take it from me, you’re not going to like the bitter taste, but that’s what the bottle of pain is for. So go and get drunk with it. Let it wash over you. Then throw it all up in the morning!

Pain is Inevitable, Suffering is Optional

- Some guy called Buddha

Eat the shit again, drink the pain, and then throw up. Repeat 100 x until you get addicted, until you officially become part of the alcoholic club of pain, until the hangovers begin to suck, until you realize you need to be sober at some point, until you can’t afford to buy another roll of tissue anymore, until you get used to the shitty taste, until you realize you’ve already pulled a quarter of the knife — and you didn’t even feel a single thing.

Wait, what? I got stabbed?

Holy shit…blood!!!

THAT’S when you know you’re sober.

The bread knife is going to hurt like hell like you wish you’re just the one who died instead of being left behind. But then again, that’s what the bottle of pain is for. Take the pain. Take the suffering. There’s more to come.

Oh and by the way, pull the knife. You need it to eat the shitty meal.

God doesn’t waste any pain.

Maybe your shitty meal comes with bread or steak. Just pull the knife. See what it’s for, life won’t stab you in the first place if you don’t need it.

And to echo the infamous words of the ruthless Ramsay Bolton on
Game of Thrones:

“If you think this has a happy ending, you haven’t been paying attention.”

Here’s to eternal life. May Life Never Stop You.