You Can Never Get What You Want
I am inspired by songs. I always have been. "You Can't Always Get What You Want" by The Rolling Stones has always played a big part in my life. It's a very important song to my family, especially to me and my father. I think we are the sentimental ones.
When I was a senior in high school I had to choose a quote to put under my picture in the yearbook. Out of all the songs I knew, for what I was going through at the time the lyrics to "You Can't Always Get What You Want" seemed most appropriate. I couldn't fit all I wanted, so I chose, "But if you try sometime, you might just find You get what you need." I think of that quote a lot - especially when I am sad or have a bad day. I try and think if I have what I need. If I do, then I try and let the things I want go. I try and focus on what I really need - my family, my friends, and my lungs. I try and tell myself that when I lose one of those things then it is time to worry. But sometimes you really just want what you want.
I've been fighting to keep my mouth shut. I've been bothered recently by some of my friends. I've been bothered by immaturity and ill handling of some situations, but I try to tell myself that in the end, my friends are wonderful people and I will forgive them - because I need them. I have what I need.
Tonight I dealt with several upsetting situations, but one bothers me more than the others. Tonight was New Year's Eve. I had the choice of two parties - and I couldn't see myself having very much fun at either because of certain people who would be at one and certain people who would be at the other. I knew which one I would have more fun at - and which one most of my best friends would be at, and unfortunately they were not the same party. I chose to spend some time at the party better suited to my personality, and left before persons I don't like to be around arrived. I went to the party where most of my best friends would be and suddenly found myself surrounded by situations I didn't want to deal with and people I wanted to punch.
So I did the only logical thing. I drank. Heavily.
I held myself together by making comments to make my friends laugh at the silly situation. I did okay - pretty well, despite feeling like I was at Guantanamo, but with more torture. Then it was midnight and time for the infamous toasts.
Toast one was made by a very close friend. I love her so much, but my brain is having trouble not being a bitch. My friend toasted her grandmother who had a stroke on Saturday. I felt for her. It must be scary to lose your grandmother. But she didn't lose her grandmother. Her grandmother lived. Her grandmother is in rehab and doing very well. So I wanted to punch her. I realize that it's scary. It's not something you want. But it's something that happens, and you focus on how well the person is doing and the extra days they get to spend on this earth. You realize that you get another chance to appreciate them. You get another chance to say, "I love you."
In 2008 I had four friends die from cystic fibrosis. The same disease that throws me spiraling towards my very own death. The most recent friend who died was turned town for transplant for having a history of depression and suicide attempts and not following up with her mental health professionals. She got the 2nd letter confirming that because she hadn't followed up with her mental health professionals she would not be able to receive a transplant. This is when we guess she gave up - she lost hope and stopped doing her treatments. She allowed herself to die.
I didn't ask for this disease, but I try to handle it the best I can. I try to live with hope for better treatments. When my hope for better treatments dwindles, I hope for a double lung transplant. It is in no way a cure - it is trading one set of problems for another. It is in no way what I want. But someday, a lung transplant may be what I need. I can't get out of my head what I would do if I were turned down for transplant. I don't know what I would do. Even being on the list waiting for new lungs and dying from being too sick would be better than not having the hope of ever getting a new set of lungs.
I didn't want CF. I didn't want friends with CF - but they are how I learn to live with my disease. I learn from watching them and either following their example or trying to improve upon it. I need friends with CF, but I didn't want them to die. I certainly didn't need them to die. Did I? Maybe I did. Maybe I will learn from their deaths how important every single day is.
My friend's grandmother is old. She's 80. That's very many days. And she's still alive; she's able to say her goodbyes. Three of my four friends who died from CF in 2008 were younger than 30. That's not so very many days. They deserved more days. They deserved more life. I know they wanted more life - I know some of them needed more life. I needed them to have a little more life so I could say goodbye.
Tonight, after my friend toasted her very strong grandmother (and I don't doubt the strength of her grandmother or the seriousness of a stroke, I just had a hard time dealing with my friend who just kept emphasizing what a big deal it is), someone else toasted to life. And I lost it. I didn't want to be there. I didn't want to be there with the couple sort of kind of trying to hide their very obvious relationship and the awkward pair that made the whole night full of tension or the asshole who just wouldn't leave me alone. If I give you several million looks of death and I seem like I might jump across the room and rip your throat out, why won't you stop talking to me?!?!
So I lost it. I cried the ugly cry. I was done. I am done. I'm not going to deal with bullshit (and I mean it! I'm drunk and belligerent! Well, I'm slightly tipsy with a wish to be so drunk I could forget about all of this). I'm going to ...well, I don't know what I'm going to do. I guess, first, I'm going to bed. And then, I will wake up and try to figure out how to deal with the shit storm of things that exploded in my brain.
Eventually, I will pick myself up with a song. Maybe it will be, "The Luckiest," or "Seasons of Love," or maybe even something silly like, "I Don't Want to Live on the Moon." But most likely it will be, "You Can't Always Get What You Want." And maybe I'll change the lyrics in my mind, at least for tonight. I might say that maybe I will never get what I want, "But if you try sometime, you might just find, you get what you need." And maybe all of this is what I need.
When I was a senior in high school I had to choose a quote to put under my picture in the yearbook. Out of all the songs I knew, for what I was going through at the time the lyrics to "You Can't Always Get What You Want" seemed most appropriate. I couldn't fit all I wanted, so I chose, "But if you try sometime, you might just find You get what you need." I think of that quote a lot - especially when I am sad or have a bad day. I try and think if I have what I need. If I do, then I try and let the things I want go. I try and focus on what I really need - my family, my friends, and my lungs. I try and tell myself that when I lose one of those things then it is time to worry. But sometimes you really just want what you want.
I've been fighting to keep my mouth shut. I've been bothered recently by some of my friends. I've been bothered by immaturity and ill handling of some situations, but I try to tell myself that in the end, my friends are wonderful people and I will forgive them - because I need them. I have what I need.
Tonight I dealt with several upsetting situations, but one bothers me more than the others. Tonight was New Year's Eve. I had the choice of two parties - and I couldn't see myself having very much fun at either because of certain people who would be at one and certain people who would be at the other. I knew which one I would have more fun at - and which one most of my best friends would be at, and unfortunately they were not the same party. I chose to spend some time at the party better suited to my personality, and left before persons I don't like to be around arrived. I went to the party where most of my best friends would be and suddenly found myself surrounded by situations I didn't want to deal with and people I wanted to punch.
So I did the only logical thing. I drank. Heavily.
I held myself together by making comments to make my friends laugh at the silly situation. I did okay - pretty well, despite feeling like I was at Guantanamo, but with more torture. Then it was midnight and time for the infamous toasts.
Toast one was made by a very close friend. I love her so much, but my brain is having trouble not being a bitch. My friend toasted her grandmother who had a stroke on Saturday. I felt for her. It must be scary to lose your grandmother. But she didn't lose her grandmother. Her grandmother lived. Her grandmother is in rehab and doing very well. So I wanted to punch her. I realize that it's scary. It's not something you want. But it's something that happens, and you focus on how well the person is doing and the extra days they get to spend on this earth. You realize that you get another chance to appreciate them. You get another chance to say, "I love you."
In 2008 I had four friends die from cystic fibrosis. The same disease that throws me spiraling towards my very own death. The most recent friend who died was turned town for transplant for having a history of depression and suicide attempts and not following up with her mental health professionals. She got the 2nd letter confirming that because she hadn't followed up with her mental health professionals she would not be able to receive a transplant. This is when we guess she gave up - she lost hope and stopped doing her treatments. She allowed herself to die.
I didn't ask for this disease, but I try to handle it the best I can. I try to live with hope for better treatments. When my hope for better treatments dwindles, I hope for a double lung transplant. It is in no way a cure - it is trading one set of problems for another. It is in no way what I want. But someday, a lung transplant may be what I need. I can't get out of my head what I would do if I were turned down for transplant. I don't know what I would do. Even being on the list waiting for new lungs and dying from being too sick would be better than not having the hope of ever getting a new set of lungs.
I didn't want CF. I didn't want friends with CF - but they are how I learn to live with my disease. I learn from watching them and either following their example or trying to improve upon it. I need friends with CF, but I didn't want them to die. I certainly didn't need them to die. Did I? Maybe I did. Maybe I will learn from their deaths how important every single day is.
My friend's grandmother is old. She's 80. That's very many days. And she's still alive; she's able to say her goodbyes. Three of my four friends who died from CF in 2008 were younger than 30. That's not so very many days. They deserved more days. They deserved more life. I know they wanted more life - I know some of them needed more life. I needed them to have a little more life so I could say goodbye.
Tonight, after my friend toasted her very strong grandmother (and I don't doubt the strength of her grandmother or the seriousness of a stroke, I just had a hard time dealing with my friend who just kept emphasizing what a big deal it is), someone else toasted to life. And I lost it. I didn't want to be there. I didn't want to be there with the couple sort of kind of trying to hide their very obvious relationship and the awkward pair that made the whole night full of tension or the asshole who just wouldn't leave me alone. If I give you several million looks of death and I seem like I might jump across the room and rip your throat out, why won't you stop talking to me?!?!
So I lost it. I cried the ugly cry. I was done. I am done. I'm not going to deal with bullshit (and I mean it! I'm drunk and belligerent! Well, I'm slightly tipsy with a wish to be so drunk I could forget about all of this). I'm going to ...well, I don't know what I'm going to do. I guess, first, I'm going to bed. And then, I will wake up and try to figure out how to deal with the shit storm of things that exploded in my brain.
Eventually, I will pick myself up with a song. Maybe it will be, "The Luckiest," or "Seasons of Love," or maybe even something silly like, "I Don't Want to Live on the Moon." But most likely it will be, "You Can't Always Get What You Want." And maybe I'll change the lyrics in my mind, at least for tonight. I might say that maybe I will never get what I want, "But if you try sometime, you might just find, you get what you need." And maybe all of this is what I need.
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