Baby Blanket Progress And Life.

I can't show you the baby blanket, because it's a gift, and I want it to be, mostly a surprise for the mom.  But it's coming along! I have actually finished the knitting, after like 10-12 days of straight knitting. We're talking 40+ hours of knitting my fingers off.

Much to my dismay, when I finally got it off my needles... it wasn't square. I did the add two stitches every other row, like the instructions I found for corners told me to.. I'm thinking it might have been better to add two stitches every row... But once I was done, there is no way in hell I was ripping out 40 hours of work!!

So. Acylic..... You can't really block it. Not the traditional way, washing and pinning, it will just jump back to it's pre-washing state. And besides, baby blanket, it's going to get washed, and mom is not about to block the dang thing.

SO! I 'killed' the two bottom boarders. Killing, really isn't as bad as it sounds, you just have to be careful! For instance, leave garter stitch alone as much as you can, as you will flatten it, and it will look...not great. The flat patterned parts stretched really well, overall, and it flattened out the elephants and loins really well, so yay! I did accidentally catch part of a garter stitch ridge in a few places, but I didn't flatten it too too badly.

This entire blanket had been a lesson in imperfection for me. I'm a perfectionist. I can't seem to help myself. But, in making this blanket, I've learned to weigh 'time to fix' vs 'who other than me will notice'. As a result, I've left a few errors that I didn't think were super obvious, left some things alone or did them quickly, when I otherwise would have spent hours upon hours trying to fix.

In the end, the blanket is lovely, and once I get the dang backing on it, will be a lovely edition to a baby's life; imperfections and all. It has character damnit.

On another note, sitting for like 12-16 hours a day knitting, is actually really hard on my body, and I've been crazy stiff and sore for the last two weeks. This week I've also been battling crazy nausea. I've been eating lots of candied ginger, which usually helps, with no avail. I've been fighting with all I have to do what little I've done.

Monday I worked for about five hours straight on the backing and trying to pin it to the knitted blanket. This was before I blocked the blanket. What a mess. And I messed up cutting the backing and ended up making a lot of work for myself. Oh well, that's life.

Made for a very frustrating day. So much work, with so little to show for it. All the while battling enough pain to make me dizzy when I moved too quickly. Fuck it was a hard day.

Yesterday was better. If for no other reason my class distracted me from my pain. But as soon as I left I realised my jaw was in grave pain - I'd been clenching my teeth to combat the pain. I even went to the grocery store. But I didn't have the energy to work on my blanket last night. Every time I moved I was overcome with nausea, and had to sit my fat ass down again.

That's been today. Pain and nausea warring for control over me. Right now the pain is winning and the nausea is more in the background. Which means, I've been able to at least iron down the edges of the backing, which will make it much easier to sew when I get there.

Feeling sorry for myself. Or.. Well... Disappointed in myself is more accurate. I fate being this size. I really do. If I think too hard on it, I get a panic attack. And yet I can't seem to control myself. I have no discipline. I can't resist chocolate, or.... giving in when I'm having a bad day. It's so bloody hard. Food has become my comfort, my balm when I'm in pain. And I don't know how to control it, never mind fix it.

I think about women like Laurell K Hamilton. She's been writing since her early twenties I think. She wanted to be a writer, and by gods, she has worked her ass off to get there, regardless of having a day job, a husband, a failing marriage, a baby, or anything else that's been thrown at her. Still she finds time to write. Still she finds her muse, and fights for what she wants.  Even if I'm not the biggest fan of everything she's written her drive is awe inspiring.

I don't have that. I know I don't. I always have an excuse for everything. The only thing I've ever been able to ALWAYS make time for is knitting. I would likely knit in my sleep, if I could figure out a way to do it. I love to knit. It's to the point I just can't sit and watch a movie or tv. I can't. Not without something in my hands, not without some kind of knitting.

But I'm not The Yarn Harlot either. I'm not funny. I can't tell stories about knitting. I so can't write that sort of thing... it's not in my make-up. Besides, my knitting isn't pretty - the process that is. There's a lot of planning, math, calculator and pencil, graph paper, humming and hawing, and through, always the cursing. I curse like a sailor. If I drop a stitch (rare), or mess up a row (not so rare), or if I don't like the pattern I've chosen (often), or if I'm doing the math, and have to figure out increases and decreases, I curse. My husband is used to me muttering and cursing as I work. He worries more when I'm quiet. lol.

And now, I've used all the energy I had. The pain is taking over my brain, and I can't put the words together to say what I wanted to say. Damnit.

Living like this is really lonely. I mean, aside from the reality that I spend most of my days alone, and my nights across the room from my husband, not really conversing.... It's the knowledge that 99% of the people I know, don't have a fucking clue how hard my life is. I know in so many ways I'm lucky. Things really could be a lot worse. At the same time, my life sure as fuck isn't all sunshine and roses.

The pain eats at me. The nausea binds me to the spot. The stiffness makes me feel like I'm 100 years old. I visit my parents, who are really my grandparents both around80-ish, and both of them are more spry than I am. Both of them do more, are more ambitious, than I've been in a long ass time. I wish I was more like them. They can't sit still, they can't do nothing. The push. They do. They have gumption, drive, follow-through.

I've always been naturally lazy. I actually do like, for the most part, sitting and watching a good movie, or reading a good book. I like sleeping in. I like slow, lazy days.

My fibromyalgia forces me to take it slow, to sit around and do fuck all. And I hate it. Yet I rarely push past the pain. Most days, the pain wins. I crumble.

I feel so fucking weak. Touch my shoulders and hips, even lightly in certain spots and I'll scream in pain.  I ache, all the way through me, and there isn't a fucking thing wrong with me. It's all in my head. Literally. Fucking FMS.

I.... Ugh. I feel like, if it was my mom who had this, she'd push. Even at 78, she'd push and do and be active, and live her life. She's lived with pain all her life too. But unlike me, she almost never complains, and very rarely ever lets it slow her down.  I wish I could be like that. I wish I knew her secret. I just don't have that in me.

I'm disgusted with myself. On so many levels. Disease or not, I'm a disappointment. So many others have what I have, and yet they work full time jobs, they have kids, husbands, houses to clean, and they do it all. Somehow, the do it all.  Me, I just.. I don't have that in me.

I wish I had that strength of character. I wish I had discipline and control. I don't. No matter how I try... I'm just... I'm not that kind of person. Ugh.

I don't.. I don't know how to fix this. I try. Gods know I try. But I just don't seem to have it in me. Makes me...disgusted with myself. I'll never be strong enough.

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*

I hate my body. HATE.

Last week, the word for the week was Push.

This week, the word of the week (I'm projecting) is Flare.

As in, Fibro flare.

Sigh.

I bought a bathing suit online, and it arrived last week. It fit. As well as I could expect, and I really like it. I bought it so I could mix going out walking with swimming. As I'm trying to be more active in the hopes I'll lose some mass.

Well, that's not going to happen now. I waited too long.

I could cry.

I'm covered in yeast. AGAIN.

It happened this summer too. You see, I'm beyond just fat, or even morbidly obese. I think there needs to be another category. I'm uber morbidly obese.

When I do just about anything I sweat. This isn't just because I'm fat, I've been that way my whole life. Part of it is FMS suffers do just sweat more. Part of it is, I'm well hydrated, so there's lots of moisture in me. And yeah, part of it is that I'm just that out of shape.

Anyway, I sweat. I have...creases. If I'm out in the world I can't exactly wipe them off. My t-shirt soaks up some of it, but it can't help the creases that stay wet until I get home. As soon as I get home, I dry off, and either shower or eat then shower. So I get myself dry and clean as fast as I can, but apparently it wasn't/isn't good enough. Now I have yeast raging all over my torso, well in the creases. Fuck does it hurt!

The only way to get the yeast to really go away, is to apply a cream 3x a day, and do nothing. I mean, really do nothing. Not even dishes or making dinner. Nothing. For three weeks while the yeast slowly dies. Once it's really gone, I can do a bit more, but, as I learned last week, one week of being moderately active will bring it back.

I could cry. Or maybe scream. Screaming sounds better at the moment.

So, no swimming for me! Maybe EVER. Fuck. I wasted $100 on a lovely bathing suit I'll never be able to wear! Yeast is catching you see. I can't go swimming in any kind of pool. An open body of water would likely be okay, just because of the size, my yeast would be so much less likely to meet another human.

So fucking frustrating.

I very much regret not going swimming at least once last week. But there were/are so many other things I really wanted to get done! I haven't been active in well, forever, and there are all kinds of little errands that pile up, and weekly things, like groceries. I haven't felt up to groceries in forever! And I did last week! I even got heavy stuff.

I was so damn proud of myself. I pushed. Every day I pushed, if even just a little. Some days I was more sore/tired, and I'd just go on one little errand, and let myself do it as slowly as I needed. Other days I felt great and I'd be out for two hours or more walking and doing.

I don't think I can do that this week. Or at least I couldn't yesterday.  I kept my active streak up until Sunday. Sunday I had to push really hard, I was so tried. By the time we got home Sunday night, I was beyond tired. I was feverish and my skin hurt. Always a bad sign. I had horrible nightmares, so I couldn't even sleep in! I ended up sleeping all Monday afternoon. At least my skin hurts less now... But it still hurts, which means I'm not done flaring.

Today, today I have a crazy nasty headache that's so bad it's making me nauseous. It doesn't help that the yeast is depressing. So very depressing. And I'm almost out of the very expensive yeast cream (there's really only the name brand tiny tube my Dr told me to get available). $25 for like 10-15g. I'm a large person. I use about a tube a week. And if I keep being active, I'll need a tube a week until I either loose 50lbs or give up.

I could cry. Crying seems the better option right now.

Fuck, I hate my body. I hate it so very very much.

Magic Pill

I know I'm depressed. I feel I have every right to be. But I also know it's not helping.

I just don't know how to fix it.

Do I talk to my GP? He'll only refer me to someone in Hamilton, that is if that kinda referral can even be made. I have no idea.

So do I look for a therapist in Toronto? Do I need a therapist, or a psychiatrist or what??

I really don't want to talk about my feelings. I just want a magic pill that will make me feel less overwhelmed and more motivated.

Have you ever had drugs that are supposed to induce euphoria? I mean as a side effect.  I have. More than once. They never made me feel anything.  Which makes me think any kind of 'magic pill' wouldn't make me happier.

I'm already on a very low dose of an antidepressant, for my pain, but it doesn't seem to affect my depression at all. I can't take more because it makes my eyes swell. No really. ugh.

But I need something. I'm sooo tired and sore all the time. Fuck, what I wouldn't give to feel like my old self for a day!! I hate this. I hate this so much.

And the depression just makes everything worse. It makes me not what to try, it makes the urge to curl up in a ball and play dead until it's over so very strong. I have a very hard time fighting it. I think it also makes me more tired. My body's natural reaction, when it can't handle the pain, or whathaveyou, is to shut down. How the hell do I stop that?!

I just feel so bloody hopeless.

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.

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.

All this Yarn and I Can't Knit Myself a HAT?!

I have two under the bed boxes, one full-size coleman cooler, and another 12x18 inch box full of yarn, and I don't have yarn to make myself a soft, snuggly, super-warm hat.

No really.

The trouble is, a lot of the yarn is already ear-marked for things.

All the yarn in the cooler, other than the tiny discarded bits, is for the baby blanket I'm making. It's also acylic, and I'm so not making a hat for me out of it. I'm a yarn snob. But, I also sweat a lot, thanks to the drugs I'm on and the FMS, so if it's not wool, my hat will get damp and cold and miserable, and won't fulfill it's duty of keeping me warm.

The yarn in the box is for a sweater for me. I haven't started knitting it because I'm now as big as a house, and I don't think I actually have enough to make one to fit me now. Yarn keeps, so I'm waiting.

The one under the bed box has lots of matching balls, but it's either earmarked for other projects or unsuitable. The other box, has lots of wool, but most of it is bits and pieces, there is no one colour that I would have enough of, and none of it is the right weight to get me a super-warm hat anyway. I can't use it double, because, again, not enough in any one or even two matching colours. I refuse to knit myself a hat I can't wear with my winter jacket (because it doesn't match), that just doesn't make any sense, because believe me, if it doesn't match, I won't end up wearing it.

*sigh*

Maybe I'll just steal Chris' hat. His old one, not the new one, that would cruel, it was his xmas gift last year. lol.

Also, speaking of my husband, he's learning what it means to live with a knitter.

*giggles*

Last night I was staring at my bin of yarn, that's all different colours, and bemoaning that I couldn't believe that I couldn't find enough of something to make myself a hat. I mean, it is kinda ridiculous, but I know other knitters will understand!  Chris knew better than to agree with me. He knew it might send me into a tirade about how all the yarn I have is unsuitable!

But it really is!!! Damnit.

I want a snuggly soft hat like the one I made for Chris last winter. But I don't have enough of the yarn I used to make another, and yarn brand went out of business!! There is no more of it to buy, anywhere. I've looked. *sigh* And I have yet to find a replacement brand. In all the yarn Romni sells, I have yet to find a brand in the same weight that's as soft and snuggly. There is one cascade yarn that's as soft, but it's twice as expensive! The yarn that was discontinued was already at the limits of what I was willing to spend. So that's no good. BAH!

I just want a soft, snuggly, super-warm hat! How is this such a tall freaking order?!

I'm giving up, for now. Maybe I'll think of something as January creeps closer.

Pushing Through the Pain

Sometimes, if I don't push through the pain, I don't get anything done. And by anything I mean basic things like showering, getting dressed, making myself solid food--not just scrounging for whatever will have me standing the shortest time to collect it.

Yesterday I pushed through the pain and complete exhaustion because I really needed to get out, to take a walk, get fresh air, have a sky above my head, not a roof.  And I did it. I went on a walk, almost to Bathurst along Bloor, because I really wanted to go to David's Tea. Let me tell you, when your every movement brings so much pain you are clenching your teeth to keep from crying, walking one km feels like walking 10.

But I got there. I bought some lovely teas, then went to the metro for milk so I could have cereal in the morning. I also picked up some half price cheese and a bottle of gatorade as I was seriously dehydrated.

I limped all the way home. I know why old and crippled people walk like they do. It's not for lack of trying to walk like they used to. I was in so much pain every step brought the idea that I should stop, that I should sit, even if it meant sitting on the sidewalk, that I just couldn't take another step, that my body was too heavy, that I didn't have it in me to walk one step further, and yet, I did. I made it home. But the cost!! The cost was great.

I spent the rest of yesterday in sick feverish exhaustion. But it was too close to dinner time to sleep. When I did try to sleep I ended up crying myself to sleep. What I really wanted to to was get out of bed, and go into the living room where my 'old' bed from my parent's house lives. The mattress is far softer, and when I hurt like I did last night, every bit helps. Mostly though, I just wanted to get away from my husband so he could get a good night's sleep. But I did my best to be quiet, to suffer in utter silence. Eventually I fell into a very unrestful sleep. When he got up at 6am, it felt like 3am to me. I slept, tossing and turning, sobbing with pain, until 10am. That's when my headache told me I better get up or I was just going to hurt worse.

Today I've done almost nothing. I made myself cereal for breakfast, so at least I ate well. I had a snack of a couple tiny apples. And I've been knitting. It's about all my good for -- watching tv and knitting.  My whole body aches, I hurt so badly I can't even cry, it would shake my shoulders and ribs, and they already hurt more than I can handle.

Now I've just spilled burning hot tea on my thigh. Cause today needed to get worse. Fuck.  I hate burns, they just keep on burning, even when the heat source is gone!

I had to push through the pain today. I've been sitting here for four hours now, watching tv and knitting. I really need to work on my novel, but the pain, I really don't think I could work through it.

My right shoulder, for reasons I can't understand, actually starts aching when I type to much. That burning, numbing kind of pain. I had it yesterday too, but I didn't type much, so it's kinda odd. I wasn't able to work on my novel yesterday either. Too exhausted, too much pain, too overwhelmed by the combo.

I needed to eat something though. And I'm all alone. I can't ask someone to make me food or go get something cold and soft for my inflamed/scratched palate. If I want it I have to go myself. I don't know if I can do that. But I managed dishes, and I'm now, likely, burning my pasta. So at least I'll have something solid to eat.

I really fucking hate this though. I really need to write today, and, my brain, even as I type this, it's shutting down and my right, NO, it's my left! Fucking dyslexic mess that I am! My left shoulder is already burning with pain, and it's only going to get worse.

Chronic Pain

I feel like I live on the edge of overwhelming pain. Meaning, it takes the addition of very little pain (added to my 'average daily pain') to take me over that edge, or tip the scales, or however you think of it. Once past that point, all pain becomes amplified, I am exhausted by doing nothing, and my brain refuses to think, surviving is all I'm capable of.

I hate it. I hate that having a shower exhausts me. That I have to sit for an hour afterwards just so I don't shake when I stand up. Just so I don't bloody well faint if I try to, say, do the dishes. I hate this so much. I hate being a fucking invalid.

But I don't know how to fix this. I don't know how to fight it. I don't have the energy to push though. It just isn't there anymore. Where it was, fear now lives. I know what happens if I push too hard. I end up bed ridden for days, for a week even if I'm not careful.

How the fuck am I supposed to get healthier like this?!

I just... I feel so.. Beaten. So frustrated. So fucking useless and weak - the two things I have always dreaded being. And that's what I am now.

I wish I was stronger. I wish I had the discipline, the strength, the hope to fight this. But it's gone. The pain has eaten through whatever strength I might have had.

It really doesn't matter to me that if I lost weight I'd hurt less. Sure that makes me want to loose weight, but when faced with the pain of hunger, when faced with the chronic, devastating pain I live with every day, it means nothing. I just don't have it in me to suffer further, to 'push' to exercise - because I would have to push, most days I don't have the energy to take care of myself in the most basic terms, never mind enough to go out and do things. I don't have extra energy. When I have any energy at all, I use it for useful things like, showering, doing dishes, cleaning, getting groceries, making soup, making dinner.

I hate what I've become. I disgust myself. I'm so fat my body is falling apart. I'm in so much pain, I really couldn't care less about, well, most things really. It's amazing what chronic pain will do to a person, how it will change their priorities, their personalities, their desires and goals.

I just want to curl up in a ball and cry. I want to hide from the world and wait till it's over. I have no hope this will ever get better. I know it's only going to get worse. I want to hope, but, experience tells me, no matter what happens, I'm always going to be in pain. Life is pain. That's all I know. That's how my life has been for as long as I can remember. I don't know any other life. I don't want to live like this, fuck, who would? but I don't have the faintest clue how to fix it, how to fix me.

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.

I did it

Did what, you (my fictitious audience) ask? I finally went to the gym. It's been forever. No literally. Like since before the wedding. For the most part, I honestly haven't felt well enough often. And when I DID feel well enough, I used that energy to get groceries, and make soup, or bread or what-have-you.

Today, instead of getting groceries, I went to the gym. I actually managed 30 minutes on the elliptical! For me, that's EPIC. Hell, I didn't think I was going to make it to the first five, never mind thirty. Yay me! And the gym wasn't scary or busy or anything (why I think the gym is scary I do not know, likely anxiety disorder). Everyone there is really nice, which always makes me feel more guilty for not going more often. Does that even make sense? Who knows.

Now I'm exhausted, and really need a nap. I've been up since 5:15am. I laid awake until 6am, then just got up. So it's already been a long day for me. Yesterday felt unbearably long. I have a feeling today and tomorrow will too.

I'm rather looking forward to Tuesday. It's class day, and then I'm going to go visit my parents. I think I might end up staying a few days. I don't see them enough, and I miss them. It's not like Chris will miss me, one way or the other, so why not. I don't get out much, socially. Hell, I don't really have any friends, and the last time I saw any of my acquaintances was three weeks ago now, when everyone lied and said they'd stop by that Saturday... Anyway, my point is, my parents, my mom especially, are some of the very few people I actually talk to. And I need some socialization in the worst way. One thing that truly sucks though, is I so CANNOT talk to my mom about what's really bothering me. I don't have anyone to talk to, and it's killing me, slowly. I was going to make up some emo analogy, but fuck it, it just hurts, and scares me, and makes me long for something I'll just never have again.

I was thinking of going to the Haikim Optical near-ish my doctor's office (allergy needle time) while I was in town, to see what it might cost me for 1 or 2 pairs of glasses, but the sad/scary truth is we just can't afford them. I feel truly stupid for wasting the money getting my eyes tested. My eyes have been bothering me, headaches reading, trouble with distance vision, so I got my eyes tested, not realizing we were so tight for cash I'd never be able to actually use the Rx. *sigh*

I Act Like A Baby When Sick With A Cold

So I now have my husband's cold. He's mostly better, and I'm feeling like death warmed over. It started yesterday, with a stuffy nose and sore throat. It continues today, and adds congestion headache, wicked sore jaw, more than normal exhaustion, and general malaise. Bleck.

It's kinda ironic to me. Men, stereotypically, act like babies when they are sick, and women are silent warriors that take care of everyone, no matter how sick they are. Maybe it's because I've always been taken care of by a silent warrior woman, or perhaps because I'm chronically ill, but I just don't take having a cold/being sick well. I act like a baby. I never used to. I mean, when I was younger, and didn't like in pain 24/7, I could handle a simple head cold without it knocking me on my ass and me turning into a baby. These days, anything more than what I handle on a daily basis seems to kick my ass. I think in great part because my daily life means I have no energy or tolerance left for more discomfort and pain.

So this weekend my husband is going to take care of me. Which is good. Left to my own devises there are no clean dishes and I'm considering chips and dip or popcorn for lunch. Anything else requires too much energy to make. That and I'm feeling nauseous. I don't want to have to make anything, honestly. I'm not sure I can even handle eating. Damn post nasal drip. That and my head hurts more than I can put into words. If I didn't know it would hurt so much worse, I'd cry.

Today, I think, is a Good Day.

So yesterday Chris took the magnificent coconut cake I'd made (minus the few slices we ate) to work. It was gone by 11:30am, which, at far as I can tell from Chris is a good thing. He also said he got lots of "thank you"s, and "thank your wife for the delicious cake" so yay! I really do like it when people like my work, be it cake or knitting or writing or what have you.

Poor Chris has a nasty head cold that seems to be getting worse today. He messaged me to say he was congested and woozy. This is not good news, but the fact I've yet to catch does add to my good day. I want him well, but I also don't want to get sick. I'm not shunning him, just no mouth to mouth kisses until he's better. He still gets hugs and cuddles.

Oh! Which reminds me, on my way home from class, by way of the grocery store, I nearly got run over. Again. Drivers seem to pay such good attention to stop signs on U of T campus, yet two short blocks from there drivers barely pause at four way stops. Makes me crazy! Anyway, I started to cross the street and had to stop because the minivan driver thought he'd take his turn while I and a taxi were crossing his path. I stopped and glared at him. He stopped, rolled down his window and called out "Sorry sweatheart!" I just glared at him, then turn my head and grinned. I smiled full out the rest of my way home. I couldn't help it. He seemed genuinely nice about it, and it's the first time ever I've had a driver acknowledge they were in the wrong. It was kinda nice. But I still have to glare at him, cause I'm a bitch, especially when I'm sore. I haven't yet been rained on today, but boys oh boys is it damp, and my fibro just makes my body sing with pain in the dampness.

Class today also went well. There was kind of quietness about it, likely due in part to the fact that our regular teacher was sick so we had another lady sub in. She was really nice, and helpful and all, but I guess it just wasn't the dynamic we were used to? There was a lot of long silences between one of us reading, and the rest of us collecting our thoughts I think. That's what gave the whole thing a feeling of quiet. The best part for me was everyone seemed to like my piece this time. Yay! They got a good feeling for my main character and what he wanted, but also that he was conflicted, and that they were a new sort of love. All the things I'd hoped I manged to get across. So yay!

One thing that worries me though. There is one member of the class whose writing I really don't care for. I find it, kind of jarring and unfinished. I just don't think it's good. But I can't say that. At the same time I want to.... help her by giving her useful feedback, so she can learn to write better, but I just don't know how to do that, without being.....harsh. I did speak to what confused me, which I hope is helpful. But there is no nice constructive way to say that I feel her writing is....clumsy.

*Sigh*

Realizing today that I just didn't like her writing, but wasn't able to express it, so I tried to pick up on bits and pieces I did like.... The images/scenes she was describing were interesting enough, but the way she described them was less than stellar. Like her words were falling over each other to get out, and ended up falling on the page in a jumbled mess. Yet I managed to sound positive about her piece, and so did everyone else. This makes me wonder how much of what anyone said about my work was real and how much was just...being constructive. Though the woman in question did manage to go away realizing her work wasn't 100% clear to us, which is good. So maybe they did really like my piece this time? I hope so. I still like it anyway.

Now I have to somewhow find the energy to make soup and wash dishes. Almost every dish in our apartment is dirty -- neither Chris nor I has been feeling too great this week. At least I don't hurt at badly today as I did yesterday! Small mercy that!

Stymied by Depression

I'm been fighting depression all week long. Sadness, worry, anxiety, fear, stick to me like a fucking fungus. Heart-breaking defeat a gangrene in my psyche.

I feel stymied. Frozen by fear. Fear that if I move, if I do, if I say something I'm going to break, I'm going to hurt myself, hurt him, make things so much worse. So I do nothing. Say nothing. Put all my energy in not doing. In getting by in silence. I am not silent by nature. It's not fucking easy for me.

Ironically, I've been more active this week than I have in months. At least, all in a row. I've been out and walking, carrying, pushing, every day but Wednesday. I needed to sleep, I was exhausted. But I was out again yesterday. I'm hoping to go out today. But as usual, I'm afraid.

My fear pisses him off. I don't think he understands how paralyzing it can be. Maybe he's been here. Maybe he's beaten it and doesn't understand how I can't. But I can't. It's part of who I am. I can fight it, but it will never be gone.... It will win sometimes, and sometimes I win. I'm not as strong as I wished I was. I know I'm not as strong as he thought. Everyone gets disappointed in me for that at some point. I've seen it in the eyes of everyone who has ever believed in me. They do it wrongly. I'm not worth it. Even when I worn people, they don't believe until I disappoint them. =/

Maybe I have some kind of anxiety disorder. It's totally possible. I mean, who gets afraid of going on the subway when they haven't for a week or so? Who is afraid of rush hour on the subway to the point of avoiding going out?! Who is afraid to go to the gym because they haven't been in months? It's not that I'm worried about what the people that work there will think, it's not even that I've forgotten etiquette or how to work the machines.... I'm just..... afraid. I can't explain it. It doesn't make any sense. Maybe it's because I'm even bigger now, and I'll be the fattest person there. I mean, fuck, I was before, but now I'm fucking gargantuan. *sigh* Maybe I just don't want to be seen... I'm embarrassed by how I look, by my ugly body, by my weakness for getting myself here. It's my own damn fault and I know it. But that doesn't feel right either. That's not why I'm afraid. The fear has no logic. Perhaps that's the sign of mental illness.

Not much of a surprise. I've been battling depression on and off since I was 13 maybe? Maybe 15? I've been battling pain since I was 15 too. Correlation? Maybe, but the pain wasn't constant back then. It's only been constant for the past 6 years. Six fucking years. And there's no end in sight. This is how the rest of my life is going to be. A battle for every day. And I'm going to lose more than I win. I'm going to be fucking useless like I am now. I just don't have the strength to fight like I know I need to. I just. I don't have it in me. I don't.

We hate in others what we hate in ourselves, the bits we try to hide. I hate weakness. To me, it's unforgivable. And it's my most hated flaw. I'm weak. I have no discipline, no drive, no determination, no motivation. I let the fear win. I let the pain win. I have no fight left. I'm weak. And I hate it. But I can't fix it. I just don't know how.

Breaking Point

I can't get his words out of my head, "I'm tired, and in pain, and you're nagging me!"

My first thought was, 'great, I've turned into what I wanted to never be - the nagging wife'. My second thought, for better or worse, was, 'now you know how I feel.'

I'm tired and in pain every moment of every day, whether I'm awake or asleep, I'm still in pain, I'm still exhausted. I have to push myself to do anything. Showering, making something to eat, hell, even eating, it's all hard to manage. Some days I don't manage at all.

My body twitches, sometimes violently because my muscles are exhausted by the pain. Do you have any idea how demoralizing that is?! To know that even my muscles are calling foul, even they can't handle the pain I feel. How the hell am I supposed to cope with this?! If my muscles can't take it, how am I to cope mentally, emotionally with it all?

I'm just so damn tired of being in pain, tired of being so exhausted all the time. How the hell am I to survive this?? I want to get better, I want to get healthier, but that just feels like cherries on the sundae right now. How the bleeding hell am I supposed to handle 'dinner', never mind 'desert'??

I keep waiting to feel better. I keep waiting for a day where I'm not overwhelmed in pain, but that day never comes. Some days I'm in so much pain it makes me nauseous, some days the pain is at more of a level where I can ignore it, can push through it, at least for awhile. Today I'm nauseous. I'm exhausted. I want to go back to sleep. I could sleep all day. But I have a class to go to. *Sigh*

This is not what I hoped my life would be.

Chronic Pain

I feel like the chronic pain I suffer from is eating my soul. I hurt. I hurt everywhere. All day long, every day. Every night. I'm exhausted all the time. It's exhausting being in this much pain. It's hard to sleep, to really rest when you hurt all over.

My whole body just aches. Maybe it's atrophy? Maybe my muscles are dying?? I don't know. All I know is I can't find the energy or motivation to go anywhere or do anything. I just want to be unconscious, away from the pain. Even when I sleep I dream of being in pain. My pain invades. I'm never free of it.

There is no wondering why people with chronic pain are often depressed. You'd be depressed too if you hurt all the time, no matter what you did or didn't do. You'd be depressed if you could no longer do all the things you used to, if even little things like getting out of bed, taking a shower, and getting dressed now became hard won victories. You'd be depressed if you could no longer identify with your friends because the pain has reshaped your world into something even you don't recognize.

Of course I'm depressed. But mostly I'm frustrated and sick. I'm just too sick to care about much of anything. I hurt so bad I want to scream. On top of that every time I eat something I feel like I need to vomit for at least 2 hours afterwards. WTH?! I'm shaky and weak.... I sound like a fucking chipmunk.... I think my new dose/meds are fucking with me. =/

The straw has broke the camel's back. The camel is now laying on the desert flailing and being slowly covered in sand.

Fria help me, I don't know what to do with myself.

So Much To Do And So Little Time To Do It In....

Or at least that's how it feels.

Yesterday, Monday, I baked 10.5 dozen cookies.  Sadly about 2 dozen of those were oatmeal raisin (and pecan) cookies that just were not good. They weren't terrible, but they were hard, and just blah.  So I shoved them onto Chris' co-workers! :D

I'm almost done my holiday baking. Almost.  I still need to remake the shortbread that didn't turn out to snuff.  It's okay.  But it's for my mom, and she's every bit as picky as I am.  I want them to be amazing. Damnit.  So tomorrow, if I'm feeling up to it, I'm going to go searching for good lemons.  I think part of the problem was that I didn't have quality lemons.  I also need more Splenda brown sugar, and butter, and eggs for that matter.

I was going to visit my parents tomorrow, but if I want to get all my cookies done by this weekend, then I think I need to use tomorrow, at least a little.

Thursday I'm getting tattooed, so it's really very important, frankly, that I rest as much as I can.  So why am I up at midnight writing this?  Because I can't freaking sleep.  Damnit.  So annoying! I really should have napped today.  I was actually feverish with exhaustion.  I have been since last night. Going into a tattoo like this would be just plain idiotic.  So I'm hoping to get all the rest I can manage tomorrow.  Hopefully going for a walk to the nearby metro will, if nothing make me tired enough to want to sleep.

I have pictures of the cookies, and once they are all baked, I'll share. :)  Hopefully my recipients will like them!  I was thinking of baking cookies for my photographer, but I honestly doubt I'll have the energy... And for my uncle, though that can wait until next week.  I might just have enough with what I've already baked too. Since I have like half our freezer full of stacks of cookies.

The only real good thing about baking with Splenda (it is sooooo not appropriate for cookies! They just fall apart!) is that I have no desire whatsoever to eat them.  I can't stand the smell or taste of Splenda.  Thankfully Chris' mom and my mom both can't taste a thing!

GAH.  Trying not to freak out. There is time. I can even bake on Friday if I have to.  If I make the dough tomorrow and chill it, then I can just bake them Friday. Makes things sooo much easier. That's how I was actually able to bake so much on Monday, almost all of the cookies were dough I'd made and chilled days before.

The Good with the Bad....

Life throws some curve balls.... Just about the time I met Chris my health issues were coming to a head, ie. I was at my breaking point.  I think I did break. I'm still trying to pick up the pieces.... But it's like I'm a blind cripple with one hand, and there are thousands of pieces... It's slow hard work.

Sometimes, when I'm in more pain than I can bare, I think 'what I wouldn't give to be pain-free!!', at that point I often feel like I'd give up anything, just anything.  But when I'm clearer headed. When the pain is there but not enough to fog my mind, like today, I realise, there are just some things I would never give up.  Like my husband.  If I had to choose having him, his love, his support, his presence in my life or being pain-free, I'd pick him. He's worth it.  What would my life be worth without him in it?  Who would I have to share my life with? I'm often lonely.  I'm not very good at being social.... I'm shy, and awkward, and I just.. yeah, I end up lonely... But without him, it would just be so much worse... If I was pain free, I'm sure I'd have some kind of job, and  such, but I'd come home to an empty apartment, I'd sleep alone... there would be no cuddles, no kisses...and so much more that means he's mine and I'm his.

The whole is greater than it's parts... That's the thing.  I'm a sap. I know it.  But life is just so much better with him in it.  Even with the pain.  And that's fucking saying something boys and girls!

I'm still no good at fighting the pain. I'm just not. I think I broke that part of me.  I don't know how to get it back, I just don't. But I think I'm slowly learning, or re-learning how to just get up and do something.  I'm trying to not expect superhero-ism from myself that I see in my friends.  I can't do that.  But I can do something. So that's what I'm focusing on.  I can't concur the world in a day, but I can say, go out and get groceries when the pain isn't too bad. I can get up and shower and do dishes on days when I hurt. Even if that's all I do, that's something.  And something is more than nothing. I'm fighting this battle in inches, in centimeters even.  Every little thing counts. So I'm trying to keep doing, even if it's little.  I feel better when I do something with myself every day.  So I just have to keep doing, and I've been doing rather well. Not huge things, but I got groceries this week, I've baked 6 dozen cookies, and I've done more loads of dishes than I can count.  That's not too shabby really.

I still haven't figured out how to get myself back to the gym. Honestly, I'm scared.  I don't know why. It's stupid. It's irrational. Totally dumb-ass. But I can't help it. I'm just scared to go in there. I'm scared that... that the few machines I know how to use, and don't hurt me will be busy and I won't know what to do with myself. I'm scared I'll get on something else and my knees will scream, and I'll push, and then I'll end up in bed for a month, again, crying, sobbing, unable to sleep, in absolute misery, and I'll loose what little hold on being a person I have.  I'm not going to do it. I'm not going to get on those bikes. I'm terrified of them.  But for some reason this fear sits in the pit of my stomach.  That and well, I'm the size of a house. I just feel really weird about going to the gym damnit. It's fucked up. But there it is.  Damn fear. I really need to just get over it. It won't be so bad once I go there once. I was hoping to go with the hubby, but work for him has been all hours, and he's exhausted. He has enough trouble just getting through the work day never mind going to the gym.

Today my goal is to get yarn for Chris' mittens. Tomorrow I want to go to the gym in the morning. It's all I am letting myself have on my plate. That's part of the trouble for me. If I go to the gym, I'm worried I'll use up all my day's energy and I won't be able to do anything else.... But I need to get back at it. I really need to get more active.  Hopefully I can manage. I don't know if my fibro will even let me.  But I have to try. I just have to.  I do not want to have surgery. I don't. I really really don't. damnit.

Phone Pictures, and Today's Challenge

I thought I'd share some pictures of my latest trip to my parents.....

Here is the Christmas Tree, all decorated, in our, well, I guess their, living room. 



I only just moved out completely before the wedding, so this September.  It's still really hard for me to get used to the fact that it's not my home anymore. doh.  I mean, I'm always welcome and stuff, but I don't have a bedroom there, or you know a place that's mine.  They still do have a lot of my stuff, simply because we have no place for it in our tiny-ass apartment.

And here's something that surprised the hell out of me: Roses hanging on in December!  This was the first week of December, before they got any kind of snow, but it was sill really freaking cold!




So, to my challenge today... It's a two-parter really. 

(1) Make it to the gym! 

(2) Get started on the cookies, make at least one batch.


I won't lie, neither is going to be easy for me today.  My lower back is just killing me.  I didn't get much sleep because I was in too much pain.  I spent most of the night trying to be very still and waiting it out until morning. My husband worked a maintenance last night (he's a techie), and he uses me as a teddy bear, so if I'd moved around as much as I wanted (I squirm when in pain), I would have woken him up more than once.  He might have even yelled at me (in his sleep).  And I didn't want that, any of that.  So I woke up really angry (from frustration I suppose), and really fucking sore.  Insanely sore.  I've taken some robax, and some ibuprofen, since that's all I have at my disposal, hopefully they will help. I am not holding my breath.  I just want to scream really.