Pre-op thoughts

I'm doing better.
I saw a Mexican celebrity (Gloria Trevi. Looking back on older entries, I get agitated as fuck over my vagueness on some posts. I guess I swore I'd always have the good memory to remember what the fuck or who the fuck I was talking about. Plot twist: I fucking don't. Pregnancy stole that away from me... my good memory, that is. Now it's a good day when I fucking remember what my husband told me two hours ago. It feels like garbage... a horrible loss I can't put into words because I just find myself crying over how torturous it feels to have very little memory, and having it NOT return to me like so many people promised me it would... it's not coming back, guys... it's not fucking coming back) talking about how a few days after receiving her COVID vaccine she had horrible depression, but it only lasted a few days.
I went ahead and finally got vaccinated on the 10th of this month. I then struggled with a very intense case of depression... suicidal... for about a week. I don't know... it just sort of makes sense.

I hate having people telling me my "sadness" will go away. I hate people being angry at me because I admit that motherhood is... weird to me... that it isn't, it wasn't, my ultimate goal in life... how it didn't even rank as a goal... and now I'm here with two little humans for whom I'm responsible. I hate how some people translate it as me not loving my kids. I fucking love the shit out of them... I want them to have an amazing life and know no sorrows. Seeing them smile makes my fucking world feel like a very colorful, brilliant universe. But at the end of the day, I feel empty. I feel... I feel like I've been dead... completely gone, for three years now. A total fucking shell of a human who has no memories, no ambitions, no... no interests... no knowledge. I'm just this goddamn shell who goes through motions of changing diapers and feeding babies... checking up on the wellness of others.
Bro... what happened to your intelligence? WERE you even intelligent? You were pretty fucking annoying, actually.
My mind beats me up relentlessly... my body even worse.
I'm getting my gallbladder removed on the 27th. I've never been put under anesthesia... just that good shit that is an epidural (lmao... good shit... lmao. I trembled like a leaf both times, but sat there cracking jokes through it all to try and at least laugh instead of cry... to get the room full of people to laugh instead of feel sorry for me). So I'm a little scared sometimes... I claim to want to die, but as soon as I think of it actually possibly occurring I get all scared like a dumbass. I think... what if I don't wake up? What if my shitty heart goes kaput and they can't get it to work again? What a way to go... not even knowing you're going...
Anyway, I hadn't suffered any gallbladder attacks since they first discovered stones in there back in 2018... when they told me I had to keep it in there until "they either turn cancerous or you have an attack." Welp, come Valentine's Day of this year, I suffered the infamous attack. That shit lasted from 10pm until 5am... and it was a pain so goddamn unbearable, I spent the night crying, trying to find a position to be in that wasn't causing me more pain. The pain was worse than the contractions I felt with my kids... it was worse than any pain I've ever felt. I cried even more because I felt so alone... my husband occasionally looking down at me writhing on the floor as he slept on our double-king size bed (two king sized bed put together because we got a free mattress ha. That's a funny story), asking "You're STILL having the attack?!" and going back to sleep... it... really broke me to have him do that. No pat on the back, no offers to bring me some warm tea... or even some tylenol... just an irritated "You're still having the attack?"
Anyway, since that attack, I went to my doctor asking for some sort of resolution to this, and I was scheduled for surgery in FUCKING APRIL. Since then, as the date approaches, my attacks become more frequent-- less painful, but multiple little attacks a day. I can't really eat anything... everything fucking sucks and I'm left with horrible pain in my stomach. I'm nauseated every day-- not the nausea I felt when pregnant (that fucking animal is goddamn inexplicable... it fucking sucks on a level I never knew existed. I never want to feel that again), but the thought of food makes me feel sick.

I'm basically breaking down, physically. I long for the days when I was very heartbroken and lost... but with a body that did damn near anything... that beast of a body that could workout for hours... like a motherfucking ox. Now I'm a broken human... completely broken... and my body has joined the cause. I can't even fucking EAT without being in pain. My skin is ripped to shreds... and what isn't ripped is rashed up with no signs of healing.
Like... what the fuck happened, AnoMALIE? Goddamn... my god... fuck. I just didn't know how bad things could get... and how it would still be demanded of me to ACT like I'm fine and be "Strong".... how it's even MORE demanded of me now.

I know, or at least I hope, this will eventually go back into hibernation... this depression... I keep myself going by telling myself that life is a fucking rollercoaster. I'm currently on the wild decent where you feel your innards wanting to exit through your mouth (and oh boy, that is so fucking literal right now)... but eventually I'll get that feel good shit where I'm going back up while enjoying the beautiful view. That has to return, right? Maybe this cholecystectomy will return some sense of normalcy to my life (y'all... it is "highly recommended" I follow a vegetarian lifestyle after this. The fuck? I'm Mexican... the fuck you asking me to do here? Nah, homes... I'll find a way to enjoy a nice little carne asada from time to time).
Let's see how this shit turns out. Might update before the operation... but if I don't, let me just put it out there that I'm good with the outcome... just please remember the happy, annoying Me... the one who often times was too caught up in her own little dreamy world fantasy to catch a joke as it flew completely over her head.
And it's not all darkness for me right now... my boys make me laugh every day. Yes, they drive me batshit crazy and wear the shit out of me... but they get me to chuckle each and every day. These boys get me to talk in a strange, goofy voice every day. These boys are the warm sun in the dark, dark bog my mind has forced me to live in.