Let's Add Socially Awkward to the List!

Ugh.

So last night I went out with my husband to dual birthday party for a couple ladies we know. 

I so did not want to go. I don't feel fit for social gatherings. I'm the size of a house, I hate it, it shows, and I know I get judged for it. I'm shy to begin with, but now, with my size and my long break from anything like a 'normal' life, I don't have fuck all to talk to folks about. Awkward. I am painfully socially awkward.

What do I mean by normal life? I mean a job, employment. Regular social engagements. That sort of thing. I don't have any of that.

I don't work. I can't work. But other than being the size of a house, I don't look sick. I don't look disabled. Hell, even my like 65+ yr old teacher at UofT asked me the first chance she got me in private if I really couldn't work. We had to introduce ourselves in the first class. I mentioned I was disabled and couldn't work due to chronic illness. If she doesn't even believe me, then how can I expect perfectly healthy young people to?

I don't have anything in common with them. They all work, they all lead full lives. I lead the life of a recluse, a social outcast, a hermit. Even my own parents are shocked by the....isolation in my life.  I've gotten used to it. It's not so bad. I've always had hermit tendencies. Without...close friends or any reason (like work) to interact with others.. I don't really. I don't even know how I'd do it in my state.

I'm fat, useless, boring, old, awkward, and just plain miserable. I do not have anything to offer.

So I spent most of my night sitting in the corner of the couch, with a fake smile plastered to my face, saying very little. I was incapable of chitchat. I didn't want to be so fucking silent, but I couldn't think of a damn thing to say.

It's not like anything really interesting happens in my life. I just... I didn't know what to say. Half the time I knew some people just never liked talking to me anyway, so I didn't bother to make an effort. Other people I so very much wanted to say something, anything that would be interesting or engaging or something... But I just.. I blanked. When I did say something, It... I should have just kept my fucking mouth shut.

I was so fucking self conscious I wanted to burrow into the couch and just be invisible. I did not want to be seen.

I mean, if my own doctor, who bloody well knows what kind of chronic pain, exhaustion, and social anxiety I live with tells me I'm fat because I'm lazy.... How can I expect perfect strangers to understand?

I just. I hate meeting new people. What's the first thing some asks? So, what do you do? I don't. I can't work due to chronic illness. That sure puts a stop in the conversation! Then they feel guilty, awkward, forced to console me, and ask about it. Then they hurry away as fast as they can. I'm a fucking social leper.

I don't know anything about corporate life. I barely even remember what it was like to work with people. I'm a fucking housewife. With no children. Who does a really shitty job at you know, keeping the place clean. I'm a waste of space, and I know it.

"Are you sure you can't work?" "So you can't work at all?" "There are lots of temp jobs" "Couldn't you do freelance?" Yeah, with what freaking credentials!? I mean, besides my physical limitations, I was a secretary, an office manager, a jack of all trades, but I don't have credentials for any of it. And it was so long ago, I don't know if I could do a lot of it now anyway. I mean, my last full time job was FIVE years ago. Ugh.

I couldn't do 8 hour days. Not even 8 days a week. I'm that fucked up. But I don't look it. So people always ask. They don't realize, that that outing, the bit where I'm being social or am in school, that's my activity for the day, and in all likelihood it will take me 2-3 days to recover from it.

*sigh*

I just.... I want the ground to swallow me up. I want to sleep and never wake up. I want an easy way out of this mess. Perhaps my doctor is right, and I'm a fat useless fuck because I'm just too gods damn weak-willed and plain old lazy. Yup. That's about right.

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.

Happy Valentines Day!!

So, as a valentines gift, our apartment building posted a notice that the water would be shut off today 9am to5pm. They gave us plenty of notice, but still. o.0

We showered before 9am, I put two buckets of water in the bathroom, a jug of water in the fridge, and I planned to go out for most of the day.

When I got home at 4pm (sweaty & gross) I was thrilled that the signs were down & we appeared to have water. So I took a shower. In mostly cold water, but it wasn't bitterly cold so not too bad.

As I was finished my shower the water got warmer, and I was enjoying it so much I put the stopper in to fill the tub, soaking in hot water sounded like a good idea... Until I noted the colour of the water. It was yellow! I let it run thinking it would get better. Nope. I unstopped the tub, and ran the cold water; it was yellow too.

Greeeeeeeaaaaaat. So now I was covered in whatever the hell was in the water.

Sigh.

So I pulled the last bucket of water into the tub with me. I'd poured out the other bucket (that I was using to wash my hands) since I thought we had our water back.

Using the cold bucket of water I scrubbed, and then rinsed. Rinsing with a bucket of water is....interesting.

At least I'm clean?

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.

Happy 2012!

So, it's a new year. Christmas, aka, December was a little crazy, but I did my best to keep things within my abilities. I made lots of cookies for my MIL, and even had enough over for my uncle, and visiting with friends.

I survived xmas shopping! Gods, I hate shopping in December, and what with all of November being devoted to NANO, December starts stressful. I think next year I'm going to start either the baking or the shopping at the end of October. Maybe get some halloween candy for stocking stuffers? LOL.

I watched this video via A girl's guide to taking over the world on the Facebook, it was about middle age women in the UK and how they go crazy over xmas because of all the stress and expectations they put on themselves. Part of it was funny, about how husbands tend to just totally sidestep all the crap we as women deal with.

It made me very glad I didn't go in for all that crap. I couldn't imagine worrying about Christmas for six months of the year!! o.0 I happen to love Christmas - for me it's all about spending time with my loved ones, and of course the cookies!

I really do hate baking with Splenda, BUT I also really love my husband and being able to bake for his mom. She appreciates it - I think it's one of the few times she doesn't have to worry about eating baked goods. But for me, it's about the man I love, and how much he appreciates it. I'd make 100 (actually that's close!) cookies every year to hear that hitch in his voice! aww! Yeah yeah.

Anyway. December. Christmas. It was lovely! We had the in-laws over a few days before Christmas, I cooked a turkey with all the fixings - which turned out fabulous!! We had a nice visit, and exchanged gifts. Then on xmas eve, we went to my parents to spend the night. That's really the gift my husband gives me, he lets me have Christmas with my parents. I'm SUCH a mamma's girl. I just... As long as they are living, I'm pretty sure I'm going to want to be there with them Christmas morning. It just... It wouldn't feel right to do anything else. They're my family, and like I said, that's what Christmas is all about for me.

Chris was off until today, so we had lots of time just relaxing, playing mario party on his new computer via a gamecube emulator, and watching the Doctor Who I got him. There was also lots of TV and knitting for me, and video games for him. A good time was had by all!

Today I cut the fabric for the lining I'm making for his coat - to replace the lining that's well, totally worn out. It took over two hours! o.0 I only cut out 4 pieces, effectively, but it still took forever. Part of the trouble is I don't have a dedicated table, so I took my time making sure everything was as flat and smooth as I could get it. Then cut carefully. Having your fabric well cut is 50% of the work of sewing, and if it's a simple sew, like what I'm doing, it's more like 70% of your effort, so well done!

Now that I've babbled sufficiently, I'm going to make the confession, that prompted this post: I am a huge Pink fan. Huge.

About, oh, ten years ago, when I was dabbling in pop music (again), I fell for her, and then sort of just went to boys and guitars exclusively for years. The other day, I'm not even sure how, in my browsing about Youtube, re-discovered her. Man, she rocks! I so want her, like, last three albums! She's got a great voice, and an even more amazing attitude. I loathe to say it, because usually only douches say it, but, she's fun!  She can be serious, and she has the smokey voice to go with it, but, gods help me, she's fun, and I love her for it.

And this video/song has me wanting to sing at the top of my lungs!

Thinking Too Much. Again.

I just got the 'you should be making money, not living your dreams, you need income' lecture.

*sigh*

Ironic really since, just this morning I was thinking, that maybe, just maybe I could do what I've always wanted instead of what I was schooled for. I thought it was amusing that I went to school, to secure a career with a steady pay, but since I'm now chronically ill and totally incapable of working full time, I might actually be able peruse what I wanted to.

I've always wanted to write, but I've never liked the insecurity, the knowledge that I may never get paid enough to live one, the knowledge that creative writing won't feed you, and you'll have to have a 'day job' to fall back on, or learn how to be a commercial writer.

My husband just suggested I seek out freelance work to write crappy websites.

I'm ethically against ad farm websites with dubious and badly written content, just on principle; they're sneaky and sleazy.  Besides that, I'm not actually sure I could write that sort of content. What I mean is, I'm not sure I have any writing skills outside of the creative writing field.

There is of course, pay by the story options. Maybe? Someday?

Right now I'm just beginning to learn how to write. I feel like I'm a toddler, trying to pick out a career. I.... I don't feel ready for that?

All I really want right now is to finish my nano story, let it rest a bit, and then attempt editing it. I've never edited anything half so large. I think it will be a huge undertaking and learning experience.

I also really want to read more on the art, the science of writing and editing. Maybe take a course on mystery/suspense writing, and the one on writing for women and selling it - that one is sounding more and more like something I need to learn.

I want to sell my work. I really do. But I'm not even sure right now what kind of stories I'm capable of writing. I don't want to be some literary genius, I just want to write things I'm mostly proud of, things that others will read and enjoy. I'm perfectly happy being the cotton candy of the writing world. I love cotton candy!

It's been almost a year since I took the creative writing course. I haven't accomplished much since then. I haven't done any of the reading I'd hope to. Life has intruded. Also, a deep love affair with the cotton candy of the writing world. I have read so many romance novels! And most of them were yummy. I'm not entirely sure what I learned, except that I really love simple, cheesy, cotton candy romance stories.

My tummy hates me tonight. I'm not at all sure why it's angry like it is. I haven't eaten anything to set it off. But I know how I'm feeling isn't helping. Right now I'm feeling very guilty and worried.

Guilty for being a penniless burden. Guilty for wanting to live my dream instead of trudging to make some amount of money. I want to believe that living my dream, that writing what my soul wants to, would lead to money, but I know it wouldn't do it as fast as if I just sought out freelance work and wrote, gods knows what. Hell, I feel guilty for wanting to write instead of doing other useful things like getting groceries, doing dishes, cleaning our apartment, doing laundry. I can't do both, at least, I can't write mostly full time AND do errands or anything else. Nano has taught me that getting 100 pages in a month means ignoring everything else in my life. I can't keep that up long term, I'd burn our or contract some filth-related disease.

I'm worried my husband is finally starting to understand the burden he's placed on himself (me). Worried that he's worried about money. Worried that he feels the pinch of having a useless wife, and is, understandably blaming me for not helping out. I'm worried that I'm being totally selfish even considering trying to become an author. Being married to an author sucks, authors don't make a lot, but work a lot, and me, I work best at night - he might as well be single. As mentioned above, if I were to take a more serious attempt at being an writer, I'd have to devote time otherwise spent taking care of us. *sigh*

I feel utter selfish for wanting to live a dream. Just because I live with chronic illness, and my life is pain, doesn't mean I'm entitled to anything. As my husband pointed out, he wouldn't be doing what he does if it wasn't for the paycheck. I have no right to expect to like my job, never mind love it. I have no right to peruse something that won't help us financially.

I'm beginning to wonder if I should just give up this silly idea, and look for part time work a chronically ill person might be capable of. Clearly, I need to be making money, not living some foolish childhood dream. I'm an adult now. I didn't pick a field I loved in the first place, I picked one I thought would get me a steady pay check. I need to put that goal first again. Just because I'm chronically ill doesn't relieve me of the duty and need to actually support myself. Dreams are for bedtime. Work is for waking hours.

Food I've made!

This post is devoted to food I've made recently that I'm proud of.

First, I made thanksgiving dinner, for the first time ever. Everything was made from scratch, and man, was it good!

 

Here's the Apple Pie. My first, if you can believe it.

I also made my first Carrot Cake for our first anniversary. It was, in a word, magnificent.


 

Now, clearly, I didn't make/cook this, or rather I don't have a picture of it cooked, but I just had to share it as I think it's really really neat. Yes, neat. It's a pointy cauliflower. It tastes like regular cauliflower, but it's green and pointy. I saw it at the market and couldn't not buy it, it was too neat. Yes neat. I'm a goober.

You know, all my life I've wanted to be great at something. Just once I wanted to be great, at whatever, just something. I've always been good at whatever I studied, but I had to work my ass off to get there. I was an average university student. I made it, it what I say about it. I'm a good writer, I think. Or at least I know I'll be good, but not great.

Well, I've finally found what I'm great at. I'm a great baker and cook. It's like I have golden fingers -- everything I bake turns out fabulously. And it's easy! And I'm learning how to tweak certain kinds of baked goods the way I always do with cooking. It's awesome. I love doing it. And, my mom, I can hear the pride in her voice when we talk baking. She knows I'm awesome at it, and she's actually told others I'm good! :D It's.. it's everything I wanted and more. It won't bring in money (I'm too ill to bake and sell it), but it brings me joy, and my family yummy baked goods. Finally, finally I'm great at something.

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.

Remembrance Day - 11.11.11

The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, in 1918 the 'war to end all wars', aka world war one, ended. And almost one hundred years later, we're still fighting.  It's been a bloody century.

But on the eleventh day of the eleventh month we remember. 

I'm a sentimental fool. Thinking about Remembrance Day always makes me teary eyed. The unimaginable sacrifice of fighting and dying, and even of living, that our armed forces make and have made, for all us civilians, gets me every time.

We owe our soldiers a debt we can never pay.

They've put our lives in front of their own. Whether they see action or not. Whether you agree with their deployment or not. By the very act of becoming a soldier, they have put our lives, our way of life, before their own.

Thank you seems so pale, so inadequate. But I say thank you, nonetheless.

I pray to Fria that our younger generations are taught about the horrors of war, that they are taught what we all have to be thankful for. That they, that we, never forget.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Depressed, Distraught, Disheartened, & Frustrated, Damnit!

In the past year I've gained almost 40 pounds. Since 2007, I've gained 90 pounds. o.0

It's a chicken and egg situation, in terms of what came first/what caused what.

Either way, my health has seriously deteriorated in the last 4 years. And yet, I don't know if I'd exchange my health situation from then to now. I had debilitating headaches, stress, sinus, migraine, TMJ, all at once, to the point I couldn't distinguish one pain from the other. BUT I also had energy, I had fight. I do not have either now.

I feel so freaking hopeless!

I have no energy. None. I wake up exhausted. Today I'm so tired I don't even have the energy to make myself something to eat! Though, part of that is likely depression. Still, I'm so bloody tired all the fucking time.

I don't have the energy to do normal things, like showering, doing dishes, making myself something to eat, never mind energy for going out into the world!

I hate this. I just hate hate hate hate hate it!

I know part of why I don't sleep well is because I hurt. It's hard to get actual rest when you're sore. I wake up often feeling like I've been hit by a mack truck.

My body is falling apart. My arches ache, even when I'm not using them. My Achilles tendons are swollen, with lumps no less! And there's not a gods damn fucking thing I can do for them. Loose weight. That's what they need. How the fuck am I supposed to do that when I can't walk with them to do it?  Eat less. That's what my doctor told me when I asked what to do about my weight. You know, because that's just so bloody easy.

I have no discipline. I know that's a huge part of my problem. I spent over a year eating miserable 'heathly' food to loose 60 lbs. But what really helped was walking. Something that's hard for me to do now that I'm even heavier, and my feet are broken.

I also have FMS full on now, and it makes everything harder. I used to be able to push myself when I was tired, and had a massive headache. I could go for a long walk, or go to the gym, and still be done all that feeling almost refreshed. If I tried that now, I would injure myself, and I would get home feverish and shaking. I would spend the next few days to a week, in bed, sleeping, or trying to sleep and being unable to because I was in too much pain. That's the reality I live with now. I never know how much I can push, or if I should at all. If I push when my body can't take it, I pay for it for days.

I feel like no one understands. I mean, I wouldn't believe this if I didn't live it. It's fucking ridiculous. I have no reserve energy. I have no ability to tell when moving more will help, or when it will sideline me for a week.

Right now I'm feverish and sore. I'm likely exhausted. Why? Because I stayed up late on Saturday. Nevermind I slept until noon yesterday. Nevermind I did fuck all yesterday. Nevermind I got up late today. Nevermind I had a bleeding nap. Nope. I'm feverish with exhaustion. Yet I have a headache from sleeping too much. WHAT THE FUCK BODY?!?!?!

How do I fix this?? How? Just how? I don't know what to do.

I hate this. I hate my body. I hate being chronically ill. I hate being fucking useless. I hate not knowing what I'm capable of one day to the next. I hate being this fucking fat. Jesus. It's disgusting. Just utterly disgusting.

I swear, if I didn't have Chris, I'd be suicidal right now.

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.

Setting

So, I've had my first class. It's a tiny group, only 6 students! Which is good and bad I think. Good because I'll be less scared reading something I've written, bad because more exposure to other budding writers can't be a bad thing.

Setting is our first topic. Thinking about what our teacher said has me realising just how BAD I am at setting. So this is good. Hopefully by reading the things she gave us, and hearing what others write, and just plain thinking about it/practicing myself I should hopefully get better. Right?

I haven't started my assignment yet though. I'm totally at a loss as to what setting to write about. We basically have the choice of writing about a place that is familiar to us, as in our childhood bedroom, or home, or writing about some character's childhood bedroom or home, as seen from the point of view of being a grown-up and looking at how the setting has changed/not changed.

I really don't want to write about myself or my own home. It's just... too damn personal. I feel like I'm really putting myself out on a limb just with the whole sharing of my work, sharing my life just...... I don't think I'm brave enough for that.

On the other hand, I'm terrible at setting a scene, so it might be easier for me to write about a place that I'm actually familiar with instead of some place totally fictional.

I just can't seem to decide what to do! *sigh*

I also sort of want to write about Maddie's home because I really want to make the story of her and Alejandro work. I'm not sure if I've 'got something' with it, but I know it's..... a reflection of my own life right now, and part of me feels like if I can't work out a solution for the fictional me, then I'm never going to work out one for myself that I'm happy with either. I want to make it work for her. I want hope. I want to feel hopeful. I want to chase away the fear and defeat. I don't want to be lost and useless, and I don't want Maddie to be either damnit.

But back to the point. Setting... someplace from someone's childhood. I'm just. hrm. I'm not entirely sure. I've got a good bit of time I think. Like all of tomorrow, and part of Sunday and all of Monday. Today what I really want to do is something useful in my own personal life. I need to feel like I'm making headway there before I do this otherwise my attention is going to be...all over the place. So, off to tape off part of the living room for painting! ^_^