Disclaimer: I am not now, nor have I ever been, suicidal.

What I am, is tired. I am tired of the pain. I am tired of the bone deep exhaustion. I am tired of not being able to drive one hour away without requiring a nap to go home. I am tired of doing one thing and being down for days.

I cannot sit for more than a few minutes, I cannot recline longer than 15-20 minutes. I cannot lay down for longer than an hour or so. I spend my days in constant motion moving from one position to another to another and back and forth all day, every day in the vain hope that I will find a position that lessens the pain even one thousandth of one percent.

I don't watch TV because I can't focus. I can't think well enough to crochet, sew, or write. The pain has become so all-encompassing that I cannot see daylight.

I am now to the point that I completely understand why Moma seriously considered having the nerves clipped in her spine. Yes, it means instant wheelchair but it also means less pain. And right this minute, in this place, I get it.

... and all because 33 years ago this month I fell from the wing of an F15 Eagle (No. It was not in the air. Yes. I have been asked that question enough for it to worry me for the future.).

I will get through this. I always do. But at this specific moment in time, I'm tired.

That is all.