The minutes turned to hours, the hours to days...
What do you say after you've Batmanned off the cliff and found that he really can't fly? Life is not a comic book, much as I'd love that. Comic books kept me company during the long stretches in the hospital as a kid and I still love them today. But in a nostalgic way, not an "I can be a superhero too and kick ass" kind of way. My ass got kicked and it still hurts. And I kind of hate Batman now.
I disappeared because I could not deal with anything beyond what was right in front of me. My soulmate, life partner and heart of my heart suffered two major brain insults in the span of two years. After the first incident, we lived like two shadows in the semi-darkness and silence. The last, he was dying in my arms like in a bad police procedural drama with me screaming at him"Don't die on me, don't you die on me!! Breathe!!! Breathe!!!" It was not made for TV, it was us covered in blood and guacamole and smashed bread on the dining room floor.
My body was not made to live in panic mode for that long. My body, already damaged by the stress of traveling to research a book I was in the process of writing, rapidly deteriorated. After the second incident, I had PTSD so badly I didn't sleep for months. My nerves started dying faster than they ever had and all the ground I was able to keep level suddenly turned into a crumbling cliff. And Batman could not fucking fly. Asshole.
So back to Karma. It was the ultimate joke - we had to buy a wheelchair and after much research, this was the one that we ended up with:
|She's my bitch now|