Ahmen Sister!

This lady's story is both inspirational and sad.

I feel her pain, almost literally. Though I have a different cause for my pain, I understand where she is coming from. She is far braver than I. Her determination inspires me; it makes me want to fight for myself.

"Women have a high pain tolerance for a reason. We always thought we had to suck it up. If you think you experience pain that is not normal, ask your doctor. When they blow you off, ask again. And again. And again. My story does not have a happy ending…yet."

I'm getting better at pushing for what I need, but it's hard for me. I... Don't always know how to respond to doctor's who tell me they can't help me, or that nothing is wrong with me.

I am so very lucky to have a husband and our two families backing me up, on my side, and helping me learn how to advocate for myself.

Next week I go see a Doctor at a pain clinic in Toronto. I sincerely hope she can help me. Mostly I hope that I can actually speak up for myself and present my condition accurately, so I can get the help I need.

I know I'll never be pain free, Fibromyalgia doesn't have a cure. Hell, they are still trying to figure out what causes it and how it works. Many doctors don't even believe it's a real thing! I'm a realist. I dream of being able to manage my pain. Every day is a fight. Some days are worse than others. When it's cold and miserable out, there are more bad days, for whatever reason. In the warmer, sunnier weather, I do better. But still there is always pain. I just want to have some recourse when the pain gets so bad I can't think. When it's so bad all I do is curl up in a ball and try to sleep.

This woman has gone through so much, and spent years fighting with doctors and the medical system to find out what is wrong and how to fix it.  Brave, brave woman.

Tattoo Ponderings

So I've been thinking about getting another tattoo. For over a year now I've wanted to get the word fight tattooed on my left inner forearm. But I wanted something...more to go with it. Some kind of imagery.

Lately I've been thinking Tigers. Something like this:

Only, I'd want the tigers to, well, for their stripes to actually look like tigers. This would also be too much detail for such a small space, but gives the general idea of black and white cats in a cartoony/simple form.

Very recently however, when trying to... flush out a persona for my writing. Writing I really need to get on doing (Why do I always feel like I don't have enough time?) Anyway! Point is, I said, I spent every day fighting the good fight. Which I think is a very positive way to speak of my battle with pain from FMS, and a whole host of other things. I'm trying not to let the pain win. I'm learning half an hour of sweaty exercise a day actually makes me feel better - as long as I'm not you know, curled up in a ball of pain. So I've been pushing, to get myself more active, and overall, I feel like it's helped.

So, do I get Fight or Fighting the Good Fight?!

I can't.. I'm not sure what I want now. I'm leaning towards Fighting the Good Fight. It.. I think it would have more impact, and would have the added benefit of making more sense to everyone.

Having other visible tattoos, I know I'm going to get asked, buy friends and strangers alike, what my tattoo means. Fighting the Good Fight seems a heck of a lot more self-explanatory.

Thing is, fighting the good fight, is a fairly long phase. It will likely fill up my inner forearm quite nicely. 

But, I've been looking at Lemur's (from Exotix Studios) work, and I'm.. well, I'm smitten. I really love his use of splurges of colour in an otherwise black and white piece, and I want him to do that for me.  I'm just... I'm not sure if the tiger will work, or if it's even really me (the tiger not the phrase).

I'm almost wondering if having the tiger wrap around my forearm, under/around the words would work (artistically) and suit me. I'm.. I'm not sure...

I don't see myself as a tiger person, per say. I'm more of a kitty cat person. Or a big dog person. I'm not fierce. But fierce is exactly what I want the tattoo to convey.

I've been wanting to book a consult for the better part of the month, but.... I'm not totally sure what I want, which I don't think will be helpful. Also, this month has been just one thing after another, either health, or shit that needs to get done. *Sigh*

I just. Flip. I don't know what to think. I miss Neda. I miss having her to bounce ideas off of. I know this is going to sound strange, but she's helped me decide on more than one of my tattoo ideas. And I.. I don't have anyone in my life now that I can do that with. She and I aren't close anymore. Heck, I don't even know what country she's in.

Do I just get Fighting the Good Fight, and leave it plain and simple? Do I get Fight with tigers? Do I go see Lemur and ask advice? I mean, flip, I really feel like I should have more of an idea before going to him.

Also, I'm worried how well I'll take a bigger project. I don't have any pain meds per say. I have meds that help the fibro pain, but I have nothing for migraines, or other headaches, or to help with the tattoo pain. Since developing FMS my sensitivity to pain, of any kind has skyrocketed. It's fucking annoying as hell, let me tell you.

So I don't think getting anything too big is a good idea... but how do I convey the fierceness I want to visually?? How do I put into visuals the grim determination I have to keep fighting? How do I make the tattoo motivational??

I just... I'm not too damn sure.

*sigh*

How Lyrica Stole my Libido

Last winter I was hurting. A lot. Winter is worse for me. Even inside out of the cold, I still hurt more. Maybe I don't get enough sunshine? I don't really know.

Anyway. Point. I started taking more lyrica to combat the pain. I tried 225mg in the morning and at night; it was too much. After a few days my brain was just constantly fuzzy, and I felt kinda high. Like time wasn't moving right, and my brain didn't work. So I backed down to 225mg in the morning and 150mg at night, that seemed to work better. I was only fuzzy the first night, then my body got used to it.

I thought it was helping, and maybe for the winter it did. Ever so subtly though, it stole away my libido. There were other things going on though. I was in a lot of pain. I was stressed out, mostly because of the pain. I was battling depression, all of these things make me want sexy times less.

This November, for NANO, I tried to write a romance. I think I actually got more of a light weight mystery. I had a lot of trouble writing simple attraction, never mind sex scenes. I'll admit the sexy parts have always been the easiest for me, and this November it was like pulling teeth. I barely managed one short one! So not like me. It forced me to realise something was truly wrong.

Around mid summer I'd noticed something was wrong. My brain knew I needed sexy times, that I should want them, but I couldn't get my body interested, hell, I couldn't even get my mind on board.  But November was the breaking point. I couldn't deny something was fucking me. Or rather not fucking. There was just way too little fucking going on in my life.

See, my emotional state, depends so very much on my sexual release. If I don't get enough orgasms I get depressed, I hurt more, I'm down on myself, life just sucks. When my libido took a holiday it totally messed with my ability to be happy, to have any kind of energy. My sexual health totally affects my energy levels(oddly more sex=more energy & more ambition), my emotional state of mind, my state of mind period, and my self-image.

I decreased my doses of lyrica in December, to 150mg every 12-ish hours. It took a couple weeks to get the excess out of my body, but I finally got my libido back! I feel like myself again!! I'm less tired more often, and I actually have some motivation - not a lot mind you, but way better than the nothing I had for the past, oh year maybe? Not really sure, it feels like forever though.

I just can't get over what a huge difference it makes in my life, in all aspects of my life. I feel a bit... silly, for how long it took to realise something was well and truly wrong, and then more time to figure out the actual cause.

My body feels one step closer to being my own again. I can't put into words, how... good that feels, what a relief it is to feel more like myself!

Damn Lyrica. It helps sure, but fuck a duck. I'm sure it had a lot to do with the extra weight I've put on, and it store my libido. That's just not cool. I know I'm going to be very careful going forward, that no other medications screw with me again. Only my husband gets to screw me, damnit.

Reading, Writing and Feminism.

My husband sent me a link to this article -- The reading iceberg: promoting ‘serious’ male narratives over ‘trivial’ female narratives starts at school

The jist, if you don't want to read it, is that for women educated in the 70s, 80s, and I'll even go so far as to say the 90s (cause I had the same experience then), and frankly men got the same conditioning, that we were taught that great literature, that 'serious' writing was written by men. That anything that had to do with "women's issues", you know, things like relationships, home life, 'feelings', was trivial, sentimental, and a waste of space.

Reading the article made me feel slightly vindicated.

When I was 14, I knew what I wanted to be. I'd known since I was 8. I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to tell stories.

In grade nine we were forced to do some more of that gov't 'standardized testing'. You know, I think teachers HATE standardized testing, I know all my teachers seemed annoyed by it, many gave off the impression they felt like they were doing their students a disservice.

Anyway, grade nine English, we were forced to do a test. Among other questions for the 70 minute class, was to write a story. I've never ever been good at on the spot writing, or anything else - I'm not great with the kind of pressure to perform while being watched, even as a baby, I didn't want to be watched.

The point is, I wrote a story, it wasn't great, but I liked it.  And, like the article said, it was about woman's issues, about a girl coming home, only to a home she'd never known, to meet a father that was a stranger. It was her journey both physical and emotional, but I focused on her feelings, her worry, her fears, and eventually her bravery, her stubborn will to face what would come with her head held high.

I got exactly the response the article talks about. the exact words even. "trivial, ephemeral, sloppy and sentimental." I also got shallow. I know I shouldn't have taken it to heart, but it was so hard not to. Though, to this day I'm still angry and bitter about it. I mean, wth, I was 14! I had 30 minutes. It's hard to come up with a masterpiece on the spot damnit.

I'm rambling again, eh? Anyway, that article makes me think that I was right to think the man that graded my story was biased. Cause he was. I wrote about something he'd likely never cared about, a young girl leaving the only home she'd known to meet a man and responsibilities she'd never expected to have.

This is likely also why there is such a big surge right now (I think?) in women's books, or rather books targeted at women. Not just romance, but horror, fantasy, comedy, heck, even erotica. About women, with marketing meant to get a woman's attention. Too many women of my generation grew up with feminists telling us we were equal to men, we should get equal pay, equal responsibilities, that we could do anything they could. We believed them, but when we went looking for our stories, stories about strong women, brave girls, there just weren't many stories for us. Jane Austen, and Nancy Drew is not a long list.  So the women of my generation grew up, and wrote them. 

What I really want to know, is why are relationships, feelings, emotional journeys, domesticity seen as solely women's issues? Who got to make that call??

I mean, okay sure, most women want to talk about their feelings, and most of the men I know have a hard time talking about theirs... I'm guessing though, that's a lot to do with how we've been raised. But in any case, I can see that being a chick thing, but, emotional journeys, they are what make or break so many stories, they are what make us who we are! How is that a chick thing?! And relationships take at least two.

I really get pissed off when I hear the dwems (Dead White English Men) of the world saying emotionally charged stories are shallow, sentimental, and trivial. There is nothing trivial about an emotional journey, it's tears, screams, heart-wrenching pain, and soul-stealing joy. It's meaty, gritty, raw truth. Damnit.

Too much Thinking. Again.

One of my favourite quotes, talks about dreaming, something I do a lot of.

"If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less but to dream more, to dream all the time."
--Marcel Proust

This is one of the things that I struggle with. I also struggle with fear of failure and chronic pain that kicks my ass on a daily basis. Though, sometimes, I kick it's ass. Like yesterday. Yesterday was a good day. But, as payment, today I'm exhausted. I'm still hoping to do something with myself. We'll see.

But dreaming. Dreaming I do a lot. I dream about simple things, like tattoos I want, how life would be different if I just have the energy and nerve to go to the gym (no really), I dream about being braver, being obese rather than morbidly obese, about pretty shoes I'll never be able to wear (I have no arches).

I dream big too. I dream about what life would be like if I'd made different decisions, if I was a different person -- this is often where many of my stories come from, or at least how I flesh them out to make them feel real. I dream about being a writer. About being published. Of course my actual issue is finding the energy/time/creativity/bravery to actually write, to allow myself the possibility of failure. I have such a hard time with failure...

Proust is right though. They key is to dream all the time. If I did, I'd write. I'd look at my fear, face it down, and just keep going. I'd fight, I'd find the motivation, somewhere, somehow, and I'd fight. Fight the pain, fight the exhaustion, fight the fear, fight the doubt that screams in my head.

But how does one do that? How does one dream all the time? Is it even possible? Is it selfish??

Oh how I want to write. I want to write modern love stores, sex stories, mysteries, life stories. The mundane and the fantastic swirl in my head, and come out in my dreams. I want to put them on the page, I want to make them come alive in words. I want to share them with the world.

But if I'm going to write, perhaps I should look to write for money. Freelance? Make some small amount of money writing crap for hire. Ugh. I find it horribly distasteful, but as my husband pointed out, he wouldn't pick his job, if he had money enough not to work. Work is work, it's not fun, it's not something you enjoy, it's not something you may even like, but it gets you money so you can sleep in a warm bed and eat regularly. Reality shitting all over my dreams.

I have so little energy. So often I pick doing dishes, getting groceries, making food, instead of going to the gym, or sewing those curtains that have been sitting there for a year, or doing something for me. Writing is just sitting at my laptop, which I do already, but, it's still work. I still require my brain to be with me, I still require a pain level that doesn't blur my vision (yes, this can be an issue). Writing still turns my brain to mush after a few hours.

So do I dream, or do I let reality shape me? Ugh.

I mean, I take November, and I let writing be my job. I attempt to write for eight hours a day, sometimes more, because my muse, she doesn't show up when I want her to, she's like a cat, she comes and goes at her will. The point is, that month, I put everything else on hold to write. Because, you know what? Being chronically ill means, I just don't have the energy to write all day AND do dishes, buy groceries, clean the apartment (a job I find difficult when not working), watch our budget, or do fun things like, spend time with my husband, or knit or read or craft.

One thing Nano has taught me is, I can't write 'full time'. I just can't put in that many hours. I'm just not capable. I don't like letting everything else go. There needs to be balance. I just don't have a clue what that is yet. So I haven't written since then. December was devoted to Christmas. And these past two weeks?  I've been dreaming a lot about the various stories I want to write. I've also been trying to get our lives more in order, and I've been dealing with some very painful times.

I want to dream. Oh how I want to dream. In my dream, my writing eventually pays off, in that, I make some money, not a lot, but some. I've never dreamed so big as to think I'd be in line with the greats, with the women writers I love, but, man, would I love to be a footnote. I'd just like to see something I write, eventually be in print. Like actual print. Though, the first step, I think, is online publishing. Getting my work on someone's kindle, ya know?  I want to be read. I don't care if all it ever brings in is pennies. I want to be read. I want.... I want to be a writer. I have since I was a kid. I still have the same problem, I still have trouble with actually getting it done. I guess, the real issue is giving it time, taking time to write. Allowing myself the time, and space to fail, to write really badly, to learn from it and get better.

I sit here thinking about it and worrying. Worrying if I take the time, if I make it a priority, if I write what I want, my husband will get upset with me. If I can use my limited energy to do something that doesn't get me a paycheck, then I should use that energy to find a way to make us some money. I don't even know how to go about finding freelance work. I looked once, and was totally overwhelmed. I don't have ANY experience. There's nothing I can put in a portfolio. I've done some technical writing, but everything I've written was under a non-disclosure agreement, and so long ago anyway, that I don't know if I could do it again. Not well. So how do I manage to get someone to hire me?! No clue. Man do I feel unemployable.

Today is a Better Day

Its been a long time coming, but today is a better day.

I slept in, 'cause I needed it. I had rice krispies and bananas for brunch. I talked to my mom for a long time. She let me vent, bless her. And we talked about how she's doing too! It was a good talk. I felt a lot better about things when I got off the phone with her.

I made carrot muffins and curry lentil soup. This took more effort and time than I thought, but so worth it. And I did oh, three sink/racks of dishes. Baking takes a lot of dishes! And cleaning up directly after makes the clean up so much easier. Batter dried to a bowl is a bitch!

I even showered! No really, this is a victory. I thought I'd be too spent, but I managed easily. I just took breaks. And didn't push. Well, I mean, making the muffins and soup was a push on it's own. I felt exhausted when I started. But I needed to do something useful. I feel better when I'm useful.

I always remember when I'm out of the hole, that there is an out, that the darkness isn't all consuming. That I will find hope again. It's just so damn hard to believe that when depression has you in it's claws. I feel like I need to leave my future self a note, to remind me, that no matter how dark it gets, it will get better, it will be light again, and I will see that I am lucky, I'm loved and supported by the ones I love; it could be so much worse. I'm not alone.

Depression is a battle. Living, surviving chronic pain is a battle. Fibromyalgia is a battle. I get overwhelmed, who wouldn't? But I'm fighting. And I'll continue to fight. Even when I don't want to fight anymore, when I'm done, I can't stop fighting, cause it's not just me in this. I've always said I'd walk through hell for my mom, and now, for my husband, for them, I walk through hell. It's for them that I keep fighting, even when I think I'm not. I'm here, and some days, that's enough, that is a victory. Because tomorrow, gods help me, tomorrow is a new day.

The sun will come out tomorrow!

Sorry, couldn't help myself. But you know, it's true. You just have to survive the night, because Ra, Ra will always come.

I'm sore. I ache, but it's not all over. I won back bits of myself. I'm tired, but somehow less tired than I felt on getting up. But best of all, I accomplished something. I beat this bout of depression, and I made yummy foods. Today, I win.

Brioche Stitch is my Nemisis

Seriously.

In terms of pattern, it's super easy. It's 3 rows, with a two stitch pattern per row.

You'd think it would be easy peasy, but noooo!

I mean, try it. Count one, two, one, two, for about 200 stitches. You can see how easy it would be to get a "one, two, two," in there.

My rows are about 500 stitches at this point I estimate, and I've tried starting the Brioche stitch twice now, and screwed it up both times! The first time it was such a mess I had to rip back four rows!! Four!! This time I've just left it. I'm not sure what to do. Hopefully I'll only have to go back two rows. Still. It's bloody painful!

*sigh*

And it really doesn't help that it's very hard to see where you've screwed up. It's the nature of the stitch, it looks fine until you get to knitting it the second time around, then you realise it's not right at all, and you've messed up the "one, two, one, two" pattern.

I think I'm going to leave the damn shawl for a bit and come back to it. I just can't bring myself to rip out the two-four rows again. Gods help me! It looks like such a simple stitch.....

Something Old, but Well-loved

When the long night comes,
And the tiger’s claw rips apart the twilight sky
What will you say to the one?
Will you give your excuses,
Or will you stand tall and proud?

I see this tattooed around a cartoon-ish tiger with with the claws of one paw ripping blackness onto my shoulder blade... The tiger would wind around my side...perhaps..

That is, of course, dreaming I'll ever have money for tattoos again. Or enough pain killers to get me threw it. Fibro makes tattooing almost unbearable. So sad. I wanted more ink than I've got, that's for sure.

What Makes a Story A Story?

You'd think after taking a class I'd have that question more sorted out, but I really don't. In part, I think all writers struggle with finding the story, it's all part of the craft. But I can't seem to see when I don't have it. I'm not sure I've really found it yet for any story...

The trouble is, I don't like conflict. I really don't. So the bits of the stories I'm drawn to, that my mind seems to easily come up with is the... back story.. The bit that happens when things aren't interesting. Just everyday kinda life stuff.

I keep finding characters I like, bits and pieces of stories, but I don't know where to take them. I know something is missing, and I can't seem to figure out what it is/how to fix is.

One thing I've not yet tried since the course is just blurting it all out on the page. I want to try that. And soon. Just write everything I can about the characters, the scenes that speak to me, and see if somewhere in it all a story presents itself.

Our teacher told us that the story begins when the status quo is challenged, that's the crux of things. But it's tension and conflict, overcoming obstacles, that's the story, that's what makes a story as opposed to a pleasant anecdote.

Part of my trouble is, of course, is that I love pleasant anecdotes. That's what I've spent my life telling myself when my life isn't what I'd wish. Or when my life was too full and I needed to to drift off to sleep. I'd escape to another world, be another person, live another life. I wouldn't go have adventures, so much as I'd go have romances. Gods, that's embarrassing to admit! But I guess, for most of my life, that's the bit that was most glaringly missing. We didn't have conflict/trouble/adventure to pull us together, but rather time. A slow, true deepening of trust, knowledge, etc. Or sometimes they'd just be hot flings. Much more like life than any story.

All this leaves me wondering if I'm capable of writing stories at all. It's the conflict, the tension, where it all seems to fall apart for me. *sigh*

Maybe I just need to keep writing. Maybe I just need the courage to allow myself to try, and fail. It's okay to fail, as long as you keep trying, as long as you keep writing. If Alice Munro (who is apparently amazing) has false starts, and takes many wrong paths before she gets to where she knows what she wants a story to be, then it's perfectly natural for the same thing to happen to me, a novice.

I just have to learn to let go. To just write, without expectation. To just see. To not feel the effort wasted if the story doesn't come immediately. *sigh*

So where do I get all this courage?