Saint Patric's day last week marked one year since my stroke. It was totally unexpected as I had had a stress test a few years proir which indicated that my risk of a stroke was extremely low. I have always been very fit and health consious. I used to run 5 miles every day and took my bicycle with me when I travelled abroad for work. The stroke happened the day after I underwent surgery to replace my inexplicably disintigrated hip joint. I have read that having over 150 SCUBA dives may have contributed to the problem. Anyway, the stroke destroyed more then half of my vision, most of my short term memory, much of my domestic and home-improvement skills, I can barely read, etc. Fortunately I have a lovely wife who has supported me through the whole process. I imagine that if I was on my own there is a pretty good chance I would have thrown in the towel by now. Yesterday was the first time in my life that I have ever had the thought "Life - you win - I can't take this any more". I would never (so I say at this point in time - they say never say never - who knows what tomorrow will bring) take my own life, but that was how I felt. I live in a rural area too far to walk to any businesses or commercial areas. I could take Uber or a taxi if I needed to get out. My wife works full time plus manages another business that we own.
Technically, I am a member if Mensa. For those of you who are not familiar with it, Mensa is known as 'The High IQ Society'. You need to test in the top 2% of standardized IQ tests in order to qualify. I would not be able to take the test today if I tried. My reading level is probably about 2nd grade level due to my compromised vision. I can't remember why I walked into a different room several times everny day. Earlier this winter one day while my wife was at work I stopped to seriously consider whether I was existing in hell. I honestly stopped to consider that question - was I being tourmented over and over to see how much I could take till I broke.
I am estranged from my family. My father was an alcoholic and my mother's mother was divorced, which was a scandelous thing those days and she told my mother that she was an accident and that she ruined her life when she was a little girl. My older brother was 6 years older than me and was never kind towards me, to say the least. He bullied me constantly. One of the many therapists I have seen during my life said that it sounds like he has a Personality Disorder. I wrote a whole, big story about my family on the now-defunct Experience Project site a few years ago. If anyone wants to get bummed out or maybe feel good about how much better their own life is I will be glad to send you a copy of the story. Anyway, enough of my complaining. Thanks for reading and I hope your day is pleasant.