I accidentally picked up the same shirt I was wearing then, thought it was clean. It wasn't. I'd put it aside, wondering if the problem might be the shirt. And low and behold - last night I noticed my arms were getting swollen and today? Itching. So, shower, calamine, shirt is in a plastic bag in a corner. Don't know if washing it will help it or not. Might be best just to throw it. Think what it might be, is the chemical I have to use to handle the house's bins to keep them smelling fresh might have blown back onto the shirt and well, I am chemically sensitive.
I'd much rather it be the shirt, than me. And once again, I'm grateful for the things I've learned this year; learned and remembered. So I no longer think when I feel badly, that it's all me, and there's nothing I can do and that I'm helpless and must just endure.
Still don't know if I can handle going to see a doctor (as I must do, to get my script so I can get my medicine). But that doesn't mean I haven't had any growth. Go me.
Went to bed 'round three, thought at the least I'd take a nap; if not, sleep straight through till morning. Woke up, it was 6 o'clock, thought, huh, I can sleep for another two hours. Woke up again it was 12am. Realized the prior 6 o'clock had been 6pm; the evening. Well now, there was nothing for it but to try and sleep till morning.But I'm up now. No more sleep just yet. Still, twelve hours to recover from yesterday and I feel much, much better.
My thoughts on anxiety tolerance/endurance have evolved into, well, the spoon theory. I only have but so many 'spoons' worth of anxiety and stress I can deal with and then -> exhaustion. Utter exhaustion which makes accomplishing anything else a near moot point; and it makes thinking horribly difficult. That's my level. That is what I can handle. And whatever therapeutic tools I gain, help me handle what spoons I do have in the most efficient way possible; help me realize that there are spoons and limited spoons at that (or knives or ladles etc). Maybe I'll find a medical doctor willing to pay attention to how trauma has affected my physical/physiological reactions to stress. Maybe. Until then, there's nothing for it than to do my best with cognitive behavioral therapy and the odd vitamins and supplements that help a body physically recover from or better handle the flood of hormones and chemicals that come with stress.
And I have done better, am doing better. Once upon a time some things would knock me out for a week or more. This stuff, I needed the rest of the day to mentally unwind, and 12 hours sleep and possibly the rest of today - though I might be capable of leaving the house today. We'll see. A judgement call is different than being physically too wasted to do a thing, however. The ability to make a judgement call, to ponder if I really am feeling better other than knowing I flat out couldn't do a thing; that's improvement.
So I hold on to that. And the tangible aspects of people being different and illness and factors and circumstances, making people even more different from one another. I've mostly moved past thinking of physical things meaning I'm broken beyond repair. They just are and I deal with them; whether my body can overcome and heal eventually (gain more spoons) or not doesn't change the fact of my current needs. If I could try and think that way about anxiety and stress and panic...? My mental health would be starting from somewhere more functional, I believe.
ETA: Notes inspired by Ephemera
"... fun loop where my blood sugar is low enough to make me feel like I'm thinking in slow motion and my digestive system is registering it's sadness at the lack of food by making me feel faintly nauseous thus I don't want to eat anything and can't decide what to do about it... doesn't take much in the way of conscious decision making "
That's what my 3 ring binder was going to be, a foody manual of me. I need to make that a physical reality. The Kindle's had 2 opportunities this year already to be a life saver; no power, and then no PSU for the comp. It will NOT be wasted money it didn't work for a foodie manual of me, and I need a 3 ring binder, some paper and a sticker or 2.
Knowing oneself is half the battle. I can't keep forgetting or getting distracted and muzzy headed about simple facts of me; food to blood sugar, to how/why I handle panic, stress and anxiety, to my relationship with exhaustion, etc....
You know the way in which you think everyone around you is just like you? I'm not talking about assuming everyone experiences the same thing you do and thus are just like you - or maybe I am and this is just another facet. What I'm slowly realizing is that I thought everyone performed sexuality; and thus I've always thought the reason trans individuals make the general public so uncomfortable, was that at their base, the fact that everyone was performing sexuality wasn't a thing to be mentioned or talked about and now here were people talking about not just the performance of sexuality but the performance of gender --
Wait, no. I think I thought everyone performed humanity, and humanity had subsets of performance; sexuality, gender, cultural identity and the like. There were things you put on, but weren't really a part of you. Like a ... Lego block that proclaimed you part of the human race and if you took the block off....
I've known, theoretically, that I was very, very, far away from, well, the world. And that I've gotten better. But I feel like this is yet another way in which it's hitting me just how very far away I've been. Here I am, thinking that part of behing human is acting in certain ways and no one's supposed to talk about the parts of themselves they perform vs the parts of themselves they just feel. And I never stopped to think about why I felt any of that - not even after years of therapy. It's so ingrained, I never thought about how many ways in which I tried to fit in, and what other ways I might have been trying, or unconsciously still trying.
It's all very....
I keep hitting the word 'puppy love' and my (feels like) lifetime loathing of it. This assumption that whatever you were feeling, if you were a certain age, it didn't count, couldn't be important, wouldn't really hurt if it were mocked or you lost that person, because well, you weren't capable of feeling the 'real' thing yet - whatever that was. I can remember telling myself, over and over again, that I would NEVER forget what it was to be a kid and so discounted, because I didn't want to do that to any children in my life (back then I thought I'd have children of my own).
I remember part of the reason I decided to just not listen to what my elders had to say about what they deemed 'homosexuality', was because they all, ALL OF THEM, had what I found to be very intimate same sex friends. Sometimes such friends were blood relations, sometimes they weren't part of the extended family that counted as family, blood relation or not; sometimes they were absolutely outsiders and it became a 'thing'.
( Cause this probably needs a cut tag )
Brown Rice: in myriad forms, does crust my eyes over the morning after, may induce itchies and possibly contributes to depression the morning after. Will I check with plain white rice? Decision currently unknown.
Movies: I did enjoy Attack The Block. I did not enjoy the volume. I spent much of the movie feeling accosted by the noise. It made listening through the accents difficult. Everytime I thought I was hearing people's words and started to relax, the music or atmospheric sound would swell, the speakers would get all 'happy' and I'd end up with my fingers over my ears, or trying to cover my ears with my shoulders (hunching down) and it was ugh. So I like independent theaters, I especially like the old fashioned large ones with curtains to swing back before the show begins, but I loathe the volume. I've noticed this before and somehow forget it. But it was so uncomfortable, now. I did wonder how everyone else wasn't feeling assaulted by sound waves.
I realize some people have been responding to this tumblr post as if it were the asexual version of 'The Nice Guy'. That is not at all how I read and interpreted it. I saw it as an example of one of those times people think they're all speaking the same language, because they're using words they think each other recognizes, but in actuality the definitions are completely different, and thus the language is different and thus misunderstandings, hurt feelings and more occurs. This is the short version of what that tumblr post inspired in my brain: I have friends and I have people I care about very deeply in a myriad of ways, and most of the time only one of those myriad ways intersects with the way society tells me I should treat people who are not blood family.
( The Long Version )
So I write it down here quickly before I forget; I've been teasing out my anger over certain issues, just kind of poking it once I admitted it was there. And I've realized that yes, the cookie seeking was annoying me and the OH NO! NOT IN OUR COMMUNITY was some seriously annoying BS. I don't walk around thinking that ever, about any damn space. So, that was a measure of privilege that was just jabbing me. But, the anger had more to do with me (as I had originally suspected and put in my title and mentioned); and I've begun to suss out why.* -- *
I am angry at my past and what I went through and the hoops I was made to jump through, some of which I've spoken about here or to individual people who might possibly read this. I was remembering those hoops and the questioning and the disbelief. And my anger, which had never been at the survivor (other than my confusion at letting other people speak for them and people using the term victim // **rolls eyes at the people who betrayed my trust, in them**) but that the times and circumstances did not allow for me (and many many others, and STILL many others) to remotely get that support. Any support.
You shouldn't have to belong to a particular community and one feeling shocked 'that such things could happen to one of them' - in order for people to wake up to boundary crossing and moral impasses and ethical no'es. I know I mentioned my rage at it all. At what wasn't happening and what was happening. At the unfairness. And now I can consciously pinpoint it all down; That feeling of betrayal I'm currently feeling due to .... circumstances. It's very close to what I felt then. And when I pondered why I felt betrayal, boom. Memories.
It was a kind of jealousy. But it was also an abreaction*. Which would explain why my subconscious knew I had to write it out, in order to work through it. And this is my processing space; to say I'll write some things pflocked - they don't actually get written. Cause my brain will think it might as well as just be thoughts in my head.
In other related news; Yes. Betrayal. I am really really angry and sick and tired of people who befriend my littles and then walk away from them. Little kids don't need abandonment issues. They didn't do anything wrong. It's an issue between adults (mostly). But then again, that boils down to being treated like a singleton when I'm not.
To folks who've worried; I'm, ok I'm not doing ok. But I'm not dead or dying or gonna die, I don't think. I just feel like crap, utter, utter, horrible, sun luke warmed crap. But I know theoretically, that if I put one foot in front of the other, I can manage this. I'm just in shock and hurt, and the littles feel betrayed and I'm doing that mental wrestling about if it's worth it to let people in. And I'm exhausted and depressed.
*Abreactions don't seem to have good definitions in dictionary.com or Wikipedia. My former therapist explained it to me as an emotional flashback. And a flashback was precisely what I'd been experiencing; intrusive thoughts, wellspring of emotions I couldn't find the corners to deal with, and of course no idea what I was feeling was then
and not so much now
. Considering I didn't have therapy this week (Dr. Yoda's on vacation), the fact that I figured this out on my own feels big.
It also hammers home to me I (still) don't regret at all writing what I did and that the various leaps to judgement over a person's feelings
, just adds more trauma to someone already experiencing a trauma. Yes, someone else's violation affected me. And I wrote about it affecting me. I didn't 'make their violation all about me'
. It could NEVER BE ALL ABOUT ME. I could only ever react to and deal with and wrestle with my own stuff
. It's that whole thing where actions in a world have context and ripples and are never done in utter vacuum isolation. If that wasn't a factor there wouldn't have ever been
that reaction of 'Oh noes! Not in our community'.
Oh yeah. And the door is STILL over there. Uncheck the box as needed.
Sometimes being multiple, means have a memory like a fluid jigsaw puzzle. All the pieces are there, but they don't necessarily all line up at any one time to give the full and proper picture. Sometimes there has to be repetition to get a point across. So last night I had 3 bites of peanuts. I was nervous about it, but also really wanted to see if it WAS the peanuts. Somehow I could believe gluten had been damaging my insides for years, but peanuts? And that's despite the fact one of my sibs developed an allergy to peanuts - last night I wasn't seeing the picture. And that's despite having come to the realization that the heavy dark shadows that have been under my eyes for years, were allergy shiners; which have faded bit by bit as I've given up gluten and dairy and had my eyes looking even brighter when I quit it, with the peanuts.
Last night I had three bites of peanuts. Not 3 peanuts. But three small, half or quarter mouthfuls. Three bites. And immediately, though I thought it psychosomatic then, my eyes began to feel strange, the vision in the eye that I am now confident had been scratched, got blurry. The eyes themselves slowly began to feel itchy; lid and eyeball. Then the inner ear itching began - though I was not seeing the whole picture and didn't understand until this morning that that itching was REALLY SIGNIFICANT. I was just very annoyed and grumpy and feeling unwell. I was also feeling oddly bloated and swollen, there was soreness in my joints - which now I'd describe as extra achiness. My stomach felt a little gassy.
And now today, when I woke up, my eyes were all over sleep crud - just as how I'd reacted as a child to extreme dust, and still react to poofing clouds of pollen.
But there's more.
I couldn't sleep well last night and have just awoken (yes, wont' be making therapy after all) in full panic attack mode. I can type, but I can't speak. My heart is racing. I'm feeling jittery out of my skin. My chest is tight. There's something I'd never, ever, considered before; panic and anxiety as a response to allergens - food allergens. I mean, who'd have thought it. The panic that comes with a bee sting if one KNOWS one is allergic, well, isn't that justified? And if one doesn't know? Well, if one is in severe pain and a limb or body part starts swelling, wouldn't there logically be anxiety, trepidation and perhaps panic?
But what if (and I shall surely search engine look to find out) allergens in and of themselves CAUSE panic. A fact if this is widely known, several people with allergen reactions must SURELY be going 'DUH' right now as they read my little revelation. But it's news to me; it is news. to. me.
It's been several weeks since I felt panic even come near to hitting me out of control. Even the altercation with 4 door blue car and loud music didn't set off the jitters and shakes as I would have thought it would once I was safely home again. After all, it was also a strange man cussing at me. But instead I was wary that I could have gotten myself into trouble, hoping he would not enact a campaign, angry at his rudeness and uncouthness but not hypervigilant scared out of my mind that I'd gone waving someone's knife to my throat.
And this can't be the meds, cause I took them! This isn't lack of anxiety/blood pressure meds.
And wow, also to this feeling, this skn is tense, muscles are tense, mind is jittery feeling. I remember this feeling. I remember the twitchy prelude to muscle spasms and cramps. Wow. Just. Wow.
ETA: And today will be a tissue filled day, whereas again, have not had a tissue filled day in a good couple of days, possibly weeks.
I would start this about the strangely positive experience I had today with the Doctor I Don't Much Like or Trust at the Clinic of Suck. But that needs to be put on hold, because I feel like crap. And if it weren't for becoming much more aware of my body and the fact it has reactions to things; I'd be in a fear free fall because this bloody headache won't go away.
But I recognize this headache. It's just like the nitrate headache. So i am fairly confident the one medicine I started today? DOES NOT AGREE WITH ME.
So now, I guess I just wait for it to run out of my system and hope it doesn't bloody kill me tonight. Y'know that whole 'Have a bad headache, call the ER, get to Emergency cause your BP is high'. I'm not going. They'll just give me drugs to make it go down enough so they can release me, and it'll be medicine that makes my BP rebound w/o it and cause me more problems.
And at least today Dr. Needs To Catch A Clue, has apparently begun to catch one while I was away. She also seems to have a huge professional crush on the doctor I found myself and wants to work with said doctor with me as a dual patient (but, if I decide to hell with that, then to hell with that). She's apparently been to some integrative conferences and realized she was sucking the hard one and focusing on not upsetting her bosses.
I've got my referrals at any least. And she noticed how much more energy I seem to have, how much better I seem to feel compared to when I was under her care. I signed a release for them to talk to each other. But, well, we'll see what happens. I will at least make nice to get my referrals while struggling with the damn insurance plan administration. I did almost laugh though, when my BP increased instead of decreasing at the end of the appt, the way it usually does when I see people in white coats.
I'm glad at least that I got to tell her how much I didn't appreciate her fear mongering, or being treated as my symptoms and not a person. And how her focus on tests results and averages had affected me.
Truthfully though? The most empowering thing was being able to say and show that my quality of life is more important than what a set of medical tests say about my health. And that in her fear mongering and demands for results that had gotten seriously lost to the point where I felt like I lost myself and had to walk away from her.
I don't know if her catching a clue, there in the office and referring to an ongoing set of steps of clue catching was real, or an act or whatever. But I got a chance to be proud of myself. She still fell into some fearmongering at the end - but I think I'd feel differently about that if I didn't have this damn headache.
I also held on to Dr. Yoda's words about not having to do a damn thing I don't want to do. That doctors can advise me all they want, but I still have the ability no matter what to say 'No, I don't want to'. It's my health, my body, my decisions. Having that as a mental shield in front of me in the office is a HUGE help.
ETA: The barometric readings are high, but lately that's not been affecting my pain to these levels. Yay no gluten. Boo pill that changed that. Yay for hoping it passes out of my system fast.
My body may not hate corn. It, however, may seriously want to cut the bitch that is sodium nitrates. So no processed meats for me, now. Ever.
I have to wonder how many times in the last several years I've just taken being ill for granted when it may bloody well have had a food cause. Not that figuring any of this stuff out, seems to help any....
Haven't done anything harmful. Still want to. Not dead yet.
I have never been so jealous of Wolverine before in my entire life.
If I'm not by the computer, I'm near totally lost. No reminders about meds, vitimans, routines. And I couldn't sit at the computer today, though I tried. Too much's been going on; physically and emotionally.
I got some books on gluten-free living and celiac disease from the library yesterday. Even more so than reading a few paragraphs online while thinking 'allergy' - it's been one punch after another; memories of how long exactly I've felt ill, of how it feels to be ill, what it means to be ill, aches and pains and inconveniences and discomforts I've tried to ignore for years. A lot of staring at my stomach, feeling it, admitting that bruise-sore spots etc aren't there anymore or as much. Paying attention to my skin, being present in my body. Lots of recognizing one of my childhood best friends' in relationship to my siblings and stuff they've gone through. Lots of floundering.
( Emotional Stuff Here )
Randon Note: Meant to mention this earlir, but there's a vegetarian place downtown that's been around, I think, for most of my life in this city. I noted a few weeks back, it's now serving bacon for breakfast and chicken for lunch. It kind of cemented the recession to me.
I am having an AWFUL - can't stand friction or texture against my skin day. Part of me wonders if this is the result of me trying to pay more attention to my body. If it is? Now I know why I don't pay enough attention to my body. If road rash mated with low pulsing vibrating sounds - it would only be maybe a 1/3 as annoying as what I'm currently feeling where every surface and fabric and texture makes me want to peel off my skin and scream. This includes by the way, my own skin, all tickles and itches are being treated with a pen cap at the moment.
I think I've reached the point if I saw someone white drowning, or run over by a car - I'd just stand and watch and not try to help at all. This disturbs me, because I don't want to be the sort of person who can't see the humanity in others. And yet, the constant inability to see humanity in me and mine is having this really interesting affect.
1. The futon sucks. It's lumpy. It won't fit properly. It's STILL making me sneeze (washed and dried, outer covering and stuffing).
2. My mom says she has a futon bed she can try and send my way (I haven't asked her what size it is yet. I'll do that later now I've remembered that's a valid point). But I'm so effing upset. I do NOT have the money to buy new living room furniture.
3. Reason I got it together to put the futon back together - the hateful woman from last year who so upset me, wouldn't let me explain how ill I was and then ticketed me for still being unpacked several months after a move is coming again sometime later this APRIL. My emotions on this subject are beyond volatile.
4. (Just called the landlord - well an hour ago in the middle of first writing this) to let her know how much that woman freaks me out. Things have been postponed until June 14th.
* Watch Willow go - KETHUNK* I'd thought I wouldn't have to deal with her until then, and now I don't. Thank. Heaven.
5. Gonna collapse now, have the last of my lamb and see if I can call the new guy therapist and finally explain why I've been avoiding him.
5b. Yeah, might just ban mom from calling me at all. It's too often. Multiple emails are not the same as multiple phone-calls.
5c. My attempt to bake turnips is not working out - le sigh. Hate wasting food.
What a difference iodine and the right minerals (and some herbs) are making in my life. I really need to type up some of the stuff I wrote when visiting my mom; it's just so emotional. Even now, I cry when I realize how much energy I have left at the end of the day and how much I'd been conserving spoons for the past 2 years.
It's seemed like I've been looking at people cooking meals, on an actual stove-top, and talking about the combination of meat and veggies, or multiple veggies and sauces etc and just awing at them having the energy and focus to cook all that.
Right now I'm making dinner and it doesn't seem overly complicated. Not at all! And part of me is trying to figure out how to accept that it was and is complicated for those who don't have the energy or fortitude and are dealing with severe pain - that that reality is TRUE; while accepting that my reality right now, can include chopping vegetables and cooking on the stove-top vs the microwave. I have cooked and done laundry today - and yeah, took a nap, but it's been RAINING and I'm not curled up into a little ball, and I've played with the cat and just...
This is SO different than how the past year and change has been going.
Last night, I began to admit to myself that it's possible I picked up some sort of fungal infection from the Apt of Lies (due to the hole in the roof and the dripping water and black stuff that eventually forced me out of the room); and that it might have been compounded from crap in the LAST place I'd lived before the Apt of Lies (with the craptastic realtor) and possibly even the place before that with the damp basement. Since that was when I first discovered I had problems breathing in deeply.
Iodine's supposed to kill bacteria as well as supporting the thyroid.
And now I'm totally babbling because it just feels good to experiment with flavours in the kitchen. I missed cooking. How easy it's been to convince myself that I didn't like cooking. Sour grapes - not just about easing one's ego, perhaps also in certain cases, about maintaining sanity.
Right now I'm wrestling with myself since I haven't been to therapy since I got back. I'm trying to figure out how I feel about the clinic, about doctors, about the new guy, etc all at once. I think if I stay with the new guy I'm going to need to set up some ground rules about how we (his part in this) treat my interaction with doctors, whose side he's supposed to be on, and that he's supposed to note changes in my emotions as related to my physical health.
I'm hoping/thinking it was just a bit of a -slide- that I went so incredibly downhill during a period of incredible stress upon stress upon change upon stress - from the rush to move to the Apt of Lies and how that got all cocked up, to dealing with it and all those frustrations and the lack of a/c and the lack of heat and the mold and then the stopped payments and the landlord's harassment and the next move and hurting my knee oh yeah, D and her dog attacking me and how betrayed I felt by what happened that summer and switching therapists. A whole lot of stuff that ate away at me and perhaps made people believe me being that low was -NATURAL-.
And I'm still so angry (that's also in the longhand journal posts). So incredibly angry that my doctor(s?) were of no help. That test results were more important than my physical reality. That something as simple as vitamin and mineral supplements can make such a damn difference; something as simple as figuring out I'd been having malabsorption issues.
I'm so ANGRY at medicine as symptom appeasing instead of HEALING.
Huh, guess there's more going on inside of me that I've thought.
Hypothyroidism -> Nutrition Malabsorption -> Amino Acid Deficiency (leading to increased protien intake) + Essential Mineral Deficiency + Vitamin D Deficiency -> Fibromyalgia Symptoms (exhaustion, fatigue, sleep disorders, increased pain response/chronic pain, depression, fugue/fog in the brain/difficulty thinking concentration)
The thought that things have been bad, and getting worse for 2 years because my current PCP thought I was 'within specs' and didn't do a full panel of thyroid tests just infuriates me beyond words. My mom has me taking iodine while I'm here. It's SNOWED. 8 Inches. I'm walking about in something other than fleece, with my pain in the 4's and 5's despite the precipitation. I've had enough energy to keep up with my siblings. Granted my mother's making sure I get extra amino acids and minerals - but....
Fucking MEDS! The minute I agreed that making sure there was no organ damage was important and so I"d take something to ease symptoms - my doctor STOPPED LOOKING.
I need to find a new PCP. And I need to accept that my food budget's going to be stretched so I can buy things like iodine, and multi mineral pills. But maybe I'll be able to cut back on meat and only buy humanely butchered meats like I've wanted to.
But that's not the major thing on my mind. The major thing has been how much more tired and weaker I've felt. I've been thinking it was compounded stress/anxiety and not considering the anxiety and stressed feelings might be another symptom of what's wrong with me. Though even if it's probably both, how lost I felt all 2009 - the longest recovery period ever.
So many words, but none really in coherent order.
I just woke up from a dream that got me so angry, that my head was pounding when I woke up; shoulders and neck tense, the whole deal.
In other news - depression + lack of cope = :(
I'm not in a bad mental space - or at least it doesn't feel like that. It just feels like I've stopped the world cause I had to get off. I think I'm going through a period of just being so damn fed up with my health, with something always being wrong. With always having some kind of pain or discomfort and no sign of relief. The whole medication taking hasn't helped and right now the thought of going to see more specialists is affecting my mental health. Strangers - can't deal with the thought of anymore strangers.
Yeah, I don't know what to do. I've been taking a break. How much more break do I need? What else do I remove from my life to see if that helps?
I probably need food right now. Will go do that.
When you make a decision about something, feel relieved because stuff just seemed to click, and then find yourself having an uncontrollable crying jab. Ow, my freaking head. I have no idea what this means or why it feels like panic and terror. *sighs*
Reading the wordpress site - No Longer Quivering, and recognizing some of the experiences being described, I think it hit me in a way I'm not sure it ever has, intellectually before, just how similar abuse is. How abuse itself is about control, manipulation, someone else's world lived in by their dictates, whether that be spiritual and religious, or physical and emotional or even military.
Torture is as much about stressing the mind as putting the body through stress positions. Abuse is about being beaten down so much you say anything, you know exactly what your place is and what's expected of you and you fear, fear, fear straying from that. And holding on to a sense of self and soul in the midst of all that takes strength that cannot be concieved, that's immeasurable and seems unbelievable when you look back, far less when you're living it.
Being aware of how much I minimize my past, is still not enough for me to accept the depths and breadth of what it was, what it meant and what it still means in terms of my growing and maturing and healing. It's just so easy to forget I have these scars, because I don't look at them. I can't look at them. To focus on them would mean I'm not looking ahead to future and hope. Or at least that's how I see it.
Therapy's helped me accept they're there, that I am emotionally disabled and that I was psychologically crippled (intentionally injured). And that I'm recovering - always recovering. And yet, it takes a moment of seeing someone else's abuse for it to hit me how far I've come and how long I've had to climb and how many things I had to sort out mentally and how much I still keep in a box in the back of my head that I'm not ready to deal with yet.
It's a good reminder right now, this week, when I'm having difficulty thinking past the most functional of needs; food, laundry, phonecalls. Creativity feels very far away and I get so frustrated.
Semi Random: I think this week after therapy, I'm going to take a writing and writing attempts and even rp vacation and just rest. Not feel like I have to be doing, planning, thinking, mentally organizing, engaging in something constructive, somehow. Just rest.
Apparently, until now, I've never realized just how much sex and porn and fictional relationships get talked about on my daily reading list. Not the fault of the writers, it's just what they're interested in. But it's all getting dropped or filtered out because it can't be handled right now. Heck, something I thought would be a piece on subtext on Bride Wars of all things, dropped straight into lesbian porn and I still haven't gotten over the ick/anxiety/whatevers.
And just when I managed to get over that last night, there was mention of hot sex and Uhura, Spock and Kirk. Supposedly Meta. But I stopped reading at that point. I was already shivering from the damn art (recognizing the characters and realizing commentary would focus on relationships). And then when I went to check the tags - kept at the bottom of my current style- sexual assault. Not your fault softestbullet, but still not appreciated.
Fanart, fic, ficathons, fests and now meta which seems to be going through some sort of sexual assault, rape theme.
Long story short, if I don't know what's going on in your life anymore, it'll be because I'm not reading you and you don't have (or didn't mention it on) twitter. The reading list is getting smaller and smaller and smaller. I'm beginning to wonder if I should bother having one at all at this point.
Also, if you mention SGA in any capacity, I'm definitely not even trying to keep up with you. SGA = Rape. Explanations already written in a prior entry.
Things might be better if I could figure out how to add keywords to this damn script (http://userscripts.org/scripts/show/23759) and test it to see if it even works. But without a filter blocking those entries, I'm getting too agitated by my reading list and I really don't need that.
Oh yeah: People who've added me without reading my info? Banned. I'd decided not to do any sorts of heads up but once a year. And it currently matters less as comments aren't open on DW. But I am actually discussing what's happening to my reading list right now., so there you go.
PS: My plan to go out and get some wee snacks to appease my littles is unlikely now as I realize for today specifically it's more than pain or energy. It's about do I want to deal with all the crawling, walking, milling, -people-. And the answer is a resounding no. Umami is not worth that. Might just order another pizza if the place is open.
trigger_fence offers a hypothetical fiction header that I really like. Check it out.
Unfortunately the more I see and hear of people against warnings or perhaps, against change, the more I'm disinclined to read any fic at all. If I'm not wanted, then I'm not wanted and should act accordingly. And with verbal/written kicks and slaps, sneering, exasperation, disgust, and all the rest - WTF would I want to stick around?
I just saw a mention that someone had warned for racism in historical context and had a moment of elation that someone had been that thoughtful, only to see the following sentence describe that act as going too far. So, yeah, in future, no more fic*. No beta reading. No fic gift exchanges. No being a ficathon pitch hitter.
I dropped Marvel and DC for the same damn reasons - they hurt me. Why should fan written fiction get a pass?
And I'm going to go back to searching out a way to block fic entries off my reading list. Cause that'd be better that dropping people off my default view (on iJay, I've already had to drop people on DW because there are no reading filters).
* Sami's (to be written) Uhura Tales excluded.
ETA: This has nothing to do with my meta interaction with media and written source materials.
This is something my old therapist would have recommended for me. I'm actually upset I didn't think of it sooner. I'm upset she's not around anymore to remind me. She would have reminded me that the certification and being fined and that upsetting woman and dealing with my landlady and being scared my lease wouldn't be renewed and then the other certification and stuff going on with my health was all a lot and it'd make perfect sense to stop trying to deal with things for a while and just do nothing - take a vacation.
So I am.
And I'm realizing how much I miss her. How much I miss someone who'd gotten to know me so well. How secure she made me feel. And I don't feel secure with the new guy. I try, but it just hasn't happened yet. I'm putting on a brave face and being honest and trying to be patient and give it time to work. But, I really miss my old therapist - a lot. And I really miss not having to explain things. I guess I miss having a Safe Space. And I'm exhausted from everything else I've been dealing with and having to do Willow 101.
Especially since it takes time away from me paying more attention to me and tracking what I need to break down and come to realize - stuff like with transporation and my knee and what being disabled means and my body and all this pain etc...
Also if you don't see me online - I'm being antisocial while on vacation. And if you do see me, you'll likely be one of very few who will.
Pain currently at a 5.5 inching towards 6.
It's not exactly a positive but its return as actually clarified some things for me.
1. I am dealing with anxiety (I hold my body different when I'm anxious and I also tend to rock. It's more noticeable with pain)
- 1.b) I know I am anxious when I can't even read the continuation of a fic, by a fanwriter I like, because it's reading the 'unknown' and not knowing what could happen makes me want to curl up into a little ball and weep while an invisible crab piercing my flesh and perforates my lung organs while chewing my heart.
2. When I wasn't feeling pain my body was catching up on sleep. But I got so worried about my schedule being backwards that I didn't think of just switching when I took the pills and maybe adding a little caffeine to stretch out until a more regular bedtime.
3. Part of my anxiety is no doubt the therapist switch.
- 3.b) This anxiety is probably also why I'm soothing myself with research and organization and can't handle anything remotely social.
I'm going to try and discuss all of this in therapy today, then come home and crash - no matter what the hour is.
The amount of pain I should be in is stupid.
My knee buckled. I forgot my wallet. Had to go back to get it. Crawled to therapy. Was late. Only half session. Had the run around physical and administratively (?). With bad knee. Begged for cane to help me get home. It would have to be ordered. Broke down in a parking lot and cried. Did my necessary collecting of paperwork. Decided since I was in such awful pain anyway, to shut if off, and get groceries I wanted.
Supermarket was out of Honey Nut Cheerios (genric is less healthy)
CVS had it on sale. Got 3 boxes.
Also treated self to pineapple slices (now cooling in fridge) and seltzer water (raspberry) and salmon at $4 a lb. Because knee was/is kind of burning warm like Bengay. And I will need to leave the house again for the week for a stupid Xray even though I had an MRI cause the fucking orthopedist prefers them.
Have cheerios right now.
Will be crying into them as I let my self feel sensation again.
Day also included realization that I forgot to buy monthly bus pass. Got so flustered bought a 1 way ticket, then stood in line for the bus, climbed onboard and said 'oh fuck'. Monthly passes are no longer on sale.
I might also be getting a new cellphone #, because while I was juggling NOT to get an appt to see the orthopedist in DECEMBER and dealing with Apt of Lies' Landlord's Consultant - I forgot to buy more service time. Have credits. Do not have service.
And i still have to call my mother and pin down a time for the move - without letting her know something's wrong with me.
1) Store closest to me has no one in customer service, the phone just rings and rings.
2) Two stores so far have told me only one store (4 miles out) delivers and possibly one more store further out 5-7 miles out.
3) I feel even more uncomfortable and uneasy, also it's difficult to concentrate atm.
4) Gonna make oatmeal.
I'm pouty and grumpy and sad and scared (I have no idea why)
ETA: I got things done today, phone calls & interactions. I don't know why I feel so worthless. (Maybe cause my -other- knee has started to hurt?)
Note to self:
No sharp objects in the kitchen. Use forks only. No using the stove either.
(I just punctured my hand with a knife. I am clearly not in an adult coordinated state of mind, no matter how outwardly calm I
Why is it that no matter how I think about it - my current reactions, my plans; something extra for the door, make sure I have
writer's renter's insurance.
And no matter that I've read of other people having a similar enough experience; they come in, realize someone's home and beat feet....
I still feel so... SOMETHING.
I'm shaken. I'm uneasy. I don't want to talk. I barely want to think.
When I do think, I remind myself over and over again that my mother's not an option and that I can call and perhaps even talk to my therapist on Monday if I can't wait till our regular session.
But I can't seem to settle.
I should be relieved maybe that the landlord is offering the extra door security, and that I won't have to pay for it. And yet - given his track record... I don't know.
When I don't feel like I want to cry, I feel like I want to hack through human joints with something sharp.
Why is it so easy to blame myself for something I didn't do?
Why does it feel somehow that it's my fault?
Being overwhelmed with landlord vs apt etc and forgetting to send in my renter's insurance, ok that's on me. But everything else?
The landlord says that security is claiming it was a member of the cleaning crew - at midnight. < insert my rolled eyes here >
The landlord also wants to insure I did keep calling for security downstairs and got no response - no answer. I told him I may not have been consistent calling every hour, but how is it whenever I called no one was there?
Landlord claims he's going to check the security tapes.
See, security desk, security cameras, deadbolts on the doors - it's not as if I didn't look for these things and factor these things as 'is this place going to be safe' and yet...
It feels like my fault.
If I wasn't so shaken-terrified-freaked, I'd almost think it was so my fault that anything happening to me is something I deserve.
How does my brain do that??
It's like I'm two steps from that mental place of 'go back home and live with mother or kill yourself'. It's kind of freaky Norman Bates.
I live. I have arrived safely at the former roommate's place. I managed to catch the train I wanted instead of missing it and needing a later one.
Have been in their home for not even ten full minutes yet and I want to cry in relief. It is a very homey/safe feeling and apparently was much needed by my psyche. I'm glad I calmed down enough to make it here.
Happy Christmas to all you who celebrate. Happy Movie Day, to my fellow Jews.
There are people in my life with whom I get into a cycle; we talk every day, for hours. When they leave that cycle, I miss them, terribly. Most times I understand how offline life can invade, or depression etc and make it so they can't talk that much anymore. And for a few, we still talk here and there whenever we see each other online, sometimes for hours and then not again for a few days and then for only an hour again.
All of that is to say that one of those people has just been dealt a death in the family and I'm heartsore because they're hurting.
They are one of my kindred spirits.
I used to love this time of year. I can't remember when exactly it stopped holding magic for me. I used to love the red and the green and the smell of cinnamon and pine. I loved hearing Christmas music in the streets as I walked past stores. I loved the tv specials. I loved seeing little kids bundled up to the nines, and acting like it didn't matter, much to the exhausted grief of their parents.
I know I didn't lose it when I began to be involved in paganism. I have a binder somewhere full of found or self converted Christmas songs. It drove my then gf crazy to hear familiar music (the instrumentals) and then me singing words she'd never heard of that not once mentioned Christ. I really loved having a tree then, and decorating it. The tree was more important than presents. The tree was the darn present. I loved decorating it best with fruit; bright red apples and pears and peaches dusted with sugar and bunches of berries. They were all fake but beautiful. I loved putting bows on the tree and notes of well wishing for the new secular year. And lights. I have always enjoyed twinkling lights.
When I stumbled across notes by Rabbi Gershon Winkler and bought two of his books and started reading, it felt a lot like coming home. That first year I bought my first menorah and I was just so excited. I felt a part of history. I felt like a link stretching all the way back to the time of the Macabees and all the way into some far flung future. There was something about Channukah, to someone just falling into Judaism and learning its history from something other than secondhand, secondhand knowledge (and how it meant days off from school) that pinged for me. The menorah meant there were still lights. And chocolate coins are just plain cool. The driedle, not so much. I hadn't found any songs then, but I didn't mind and I had hope that I would find things I liked. I'd found Shabbat songs that enraptured me after all.
( Cut for - too long, you won't read - )