Coral’s Healing Room at Coralsblog.com 505-269-9242 iwritetohealmyself@gmail.com I rise early. I go to bed early. If you need me, I will make myself available to you.

If ever there comes a day…(last one from the Coral vault and a hard read, as I was in a very dark place when I wrote this many months ago)

Last one from the drafts vault. I just needed to clear all of that out. As I am in the raging war with depression, I must pick my battles. I must change my thoughts. I must let go. I must let God. With my drafts folder empty, I begin again. As always, take what you need and leave all the rest. And we send it all back to the universe I be recycled for the greatest good of us all. And so it is. This is a dark read.

As I just published my last blog about carrying my Mom home and why didn’t she say goodbye…it occurred to me that I have a post to write…not to publish, but one that must be written.

I have come to know that time does run out. We have so many cliches, don’t we?  Time is a cliche…

I am sitting completely suspended in time…suspended animation, a state of bliss (thank you Pink Floyd for the amazing lyric and the memories that go with it). Or am I?

I feel pretty fucking suspended…in slow motion, timeless and weightless, pretty literally weightless these days and dropping.

Which brings me to this unpostable post. The post that will never leave you all saying…why didn’t Coral say goodbye?

I mean, here I am, every single day, invited into your life, honoring my daily commitment to myself, of writing for 365 days…and I know I could be really, really sick, and I don’t want to be that guy…you know, the one who knew and said nothing. Only in my case, I don’t “know”, I mean I don’t ever really “know”, and yet I know…In this case, I don’t know, and I’m getting checked out, as soon as they can see me, so don’t fret.

The thing is, I really don’t feel right. My ass, which don’t lie, you either stopped following me for, you started following me for, or you know absolutely nothing about. Consider yourself blessed if it’s the latter…truly, I’m a lot. Ask the people closest to me…I am a fucking handful.

Just to get you up to speed, I’m having some intense pain and discomfort in my ass. Nothing about that is easy for me to talk about, and so I’ve openly talked about it.

The physical and emotional pain of it all leaves me feeling nauseous and exhausted. I can’t sit and I can’t stand and I cannot do anything, except to lie down, semi-comfortably.

These things are concerning and isolated, I would probably still be really freaked out. Probably, my ass…I would be freaked the fuck out, about all things ass, always, especially my own ass.

In addition to all of that, I am having difficulty eating. I get really hungry,  like so hungry, and I eat a few bites and can’t eat anymore. A few moments later, I’m hungry again, and it’s the same thing, unless I’ve no appetite at all.

I have opted for no pain management of any kind, except for medical cannabis. I am desperate to find the right dosing for this intense and chronic pain. I know I need to feel this, and I mean really feel it, so that I can release it, and I mean really release it.

With that being said, cannabis, prior to this ass incident, was a huge appetite stimulant for me, like inessaciable, eat myself stupid, appetite, and now, at much higher doses, nothing.

Cramming brownies down my throat and trying to smoke enough and smile enough to keep the pain at bay. Trying not to WebMD and knowing my tendency, at times, to be dramatic…and feeling like I’m fucking dying…well, I guess I just thought maybe I should say something, you know? So I will never be “that guy”, or any guy for that matter….just to clear that up once and for all…I’m that girl, not that guy…

Anyway, I know myself and the irony of my life. Those of you who know me well will also appreciate the irony of the idea of…even just the thought or mention of…ass cancer, colon cancer, rectal cancer…and Coral in the same sentence. It’s the most fucked up thing I could possibly imagine…the fucking worst thing.

This is the girl who has literally driven to the next town to shit, because I can’t shit if you’re with in a mile radius. That may be a slight exaggeration, not much though.

My ass is an exit only. No salad tossing and no entry. My ass and all things about my ass horrify me and they always have and your ass horrifies me too. Truly, you’ve just no idea, unless you’ve an idea, and then you know that this would be the worst thing to take me out, that I could possibly imagine. My ass…really?

So, I’m sitting in this and trying to figure out how much to say and how much not to say. All you really have to do is look at me and I don’t have to say anything at all.

Tamara says that I look gaunt. I asked her what that meant and should I take it as a compliment. Tamara said that my face just looks drawn in…you know, gaunt. I didn’t know and so I just looked it up and the definition is pretty fucking eerie.

Gaunt;extremely thin and bony; haggard and drawn, as from great hunger, weariness, or torture; emaciated.

What do you know? Tamara is right. Gaunt is the perfect adjective to describe the shape I’m in, as of late, or is it as of most recent? Anyway, no matter.

So, being gaunt and unable to eat, nauseous from the constant pain and the horrific sensations down there, I won’t lie, I am a little more than a little concerned.

Oh and there is cancer all over both sides of my family, including my Mom, who died of Stage 4 breast cancer, with metastasis to the liver, the lungs and her brain. My Dad has skin cancer. That’s just the beginning of cancer in my family.

Oh and the fact that I have been drinking alcohol since near birth, until just over four years ago, smoking like a fucking train since I was eleven years old, until just over a year ago, and eaten whatever the fuck I wanted until going vegan four years ago. I’ve not been kind to my body.

In addition to me being unkind to my body, others have tortured and abused this body to a point of nearly, literally breaking it, over a lifetime.

It would not be any wonder if my liver and my lungs and my kidneys are riddled with disease too. Countless head injuries have undoubtedly taken their toll as well.

So, I would be remiss in not entertaining the idea that maybe, just maybe, this could be the beginning of the end. My ass might take me out after all. “Isn’t it ironic? Don’t you think? Yeah….I really do think…”

This will be the first of an unpublished series, of my deeply personal journey, through whatever ails my ass.

Did you really think that I would change after all of these years? I mean, I guess a lot of you did think I would change, hope I would change…this personal account is for those of you who loved me just the way I was…always, in all ways, without ever wanting me to change.

This is for Tamara. May she never have to ask, why I didn’t say good bye.

Tamara, may you also know that I am doing all I can to stay. I’m just writing this, in case there comes a day that I can’t.

If ever there is tomorrow when we’re not together… there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we’re apart… I’ll always be with you.
A.A. Milne-Winnie the Pooh

If ever there comes a time when I am unable, I want to have begun to try to get all of my words out…every single last one of them…

This shall be the first post of my private journey through this, which I hope I neve have to publish).

In the event that this did get published, and I am no longer here, go grab that cup of coffee and hey, grab me one too, would you?Also, don’t forget to remember…I am always right here, for our morning coffee. You just have to invite me and I will find a my way to find you. I know you know I will…