I watched an anime with Corey last night that really tore me up. There's a stray cat that "adopts" one of the main characters and it's black and lovey and adorable little kitten thing, and through the few episodes it shows up you watch how it just adores this girl and she adores it and they're so happy together… and then it gets hit by a car, but it doesn't die right away. She finds it and it dies in her arms and she (and I) both basically lose it.

I thought I was over the loss of Bob and Cortes, but this silly cartoon brought back all of the grief as if it were totally fresh, and I have been mourning so HARD since then. One thing leads to another and I find myself grieving all the losses of my life at once, and I am paralyzed.

The really, really hard part is that if I had done just one thing differently, both might still be alive. With Cortes, I saw the puddle of antifreeze that had leaked out of Corey's truck before Cortes ever got to it, and I knew that I should sprinkle kitty litter over it to absorb the antifreeze so one of the cats wouldn't get hurt, but… I wasn't feeling well, and I was in pain, so I decided to leave it for later. I had the front door open to let in the lovely spring air, and that's how I saw Cortes lift his little face up and lick his mouth when he had lapped up most of that puddle of antifreeze. I didn't see him soon enough to stop him, but I had seen the puddle maybe an hour earlier and had chosen not to do anything about it, and he died because of my selfishness.

Then there's Bob Cat. He and I both grieved terribly for Cortes, he especially since they were litter mates and had never been separated. Bob had never been alone without his best friend before, and he would walk the house, crying for his brother. It was very distressing for both of us. He eventually got over it a little, as did I, but he didn't perk up entirely. I thought maybe he was still depressed, but he got a respiratory infection type thing and it lingered on for a few weeks. I took him to the vet to find out what was wrong, and it was discovered that Bob had feline leukemia, something he had probably contracted from some other cat in our neighborhood. I could have had him vaccinated, but I had chosen not to because we were struggling to pay for my medical bills already, and we didn't want to add vet bills on top of that. It's not an expensive vaccination, but I thought that I could gamble and win and thereby save money for my medical problems. My decision cost Bob his life. Both of the brothers lost, out of the blue. No warning. (Now I'm very paranoid whenever any of the cats seems to be looking a little run down or displays any kind of health problem.)

I miss my little babies. I raised them from newborns! They were my furry children and I miss them so much, and I hate myself so much for being so selfish that they died before they could even become full grown. My anger and my grief over my lovely babies of course brings up all of the feelings of loss and anger I've had to deal with over the past 5 years, and I feel like it's too much. I just want to lay down and not wake back up. I'm so tired, and I hurt so much.

I have been comforting myself with the knowledge that, had Bob and Cortes not died, I would never have gotten to experience the love and silly quirks of Fancy and Vladimir, both of whom I love deeply. They make me laugh often, and along with Juneaux I am often overwhelmed with their love and loyalty to me. I'm just afraid that I'm going to make a wrong choice somewhere along the line and lose one of them as well. Or worse, one of my people.

I'm just hurting. Hurting and worn down and tired and depressed and really, really frustrated all of the time. I feel like calling myself "princess warrior" is a stupid joke. There's nothing I'm dealing with that I can actually fight or change. I just try not to think about all of the crappyness, distracting myself with books or movies and such, but sometimes a memory or a feeling gets triggered and you just can't help yourself. Writing all this out makes me feel better, actually, along with the irrepressible and all consuming sobs and wailing.

I have some stuff for the weekend I need to get done. Hopefully it'll help distract me a bit, and I'll probably end up blasting some music that always makes me feel better while I work. Either that or I'll nap for a bit, THEN blast the music and work. I'd rather curl into a ball and just fade away, but I've already made promises, so… trudge on, I shall.

Took little Bobbers in to get that respiratory infection he couldn't kick taken care of. The vet was curious and suspicious as to why a normally healthy cat couldn't kick a regular infection, so he ran a test, and sure enough… Bob had contracted feline leukemia. Corey and I made the decision to put him down then and there, mostly because any money we can spare goes to treating my diseases, and he was just gonna be sick and miserable until he died. That's not fair to him. So, as much as it sucked, they euthanized him right then, with me holding him in my arms.

It was awful. Not because it wasn't quick and humane, but because I lost another child within 4 1/2 months. Bob's brother and litter-mate, Cortes, died on February 6th, and Bob wandered the house and property for weeks, crying for his brother, his favorite playmate and closest friend. That made it really hard for me to deal with Cortes's death, not to mention the incredible suddenness of it. He was fine that morning, he ate the antifreeze, two hours later he had been euthanized and was dead. Same with Bob. I had this horrible premonition when we took him in, but I kept trying to shake it off and chalk it up to worry, you know? But I knew there was something seriously wrong. I just knew. I know my cats. He cuddled up to me the night before, but I regret having been out of town all day and spending our last day together away from him. We had one last night together, though. Then the appointment, and within half an hour… boom. That was it. It was devastating.

Fortunately, Corey had the day off and was with me, so after I relinquished Bob's tiny, limp body he took me home and watched an episode of Cosmos with me while I ate cake I had bought the day before from my favorite bakery. I felt some better afterward, but my grief has stayed with me, and at that time worry was also gnawing at the edge of my consciousness as well, because we had to take the other two cats to be tested for feline leukemia, which apparently transmits incredibly easily via saliva. Bob and the other cats weren't very close, so there was little to no grooming going on, but all of the cats do share the same food and water dishes, which could totally pass the disease on to the others. I was going crazy with worry and fear and grief, making sure that I spent time with each of my kitties… in case it was the last time. I was really worried that Juneaux would be sick and I would lose him, because we've been together for so long, and been through so much… he's been the thing that has kept me alive/kept me from attempting suicide several times, and he is the thing that kept me going during my deepest and most miserable times of depression while beginning and trying to deal with the abuse and PTSD in Idaho. He is as near and dear to my heart as my family, and it would destroy me to lose him before he dies of old age.

Corey reminded me that I'm going to lose Juneaux someday anyway, but I told him that there is a huge difference between losing him to old age and losing him to tragedy. It's the same for people. It always tears you apart, but it's just… different.

Took the cats in late yesterday morning, and all of the employees and doctors were very kind and respectful, since they knew I had lost Bob just two days ago. Our regular vet was in that day, so she came back in after testing the two cats and asked me if I wanted the good news, or… the good news? I wasn't sure I heard her right the first time, so I was kind of silly and stunned, asking the same question a few times, but yes-- both Juneaux and Fancy have a clean bill of health. I made sure to get them both vaccinated against feline leukemia right then and there, though we still don't have enough money to cover the other vaccinations. I think they'll be okay. The vet said that one thing that worked in their favor is that they are adults, so their immune system is fully developed and stronger than Bob's was. Also, they don't get into fights regularly like Bob did, so less chance of catching it from other cats. I think that applies to rabies and distemper, as well.

I'm feeling better, emotionally, after having that relief of good news, though I am still grieving hard over Bob. Not constantly… and it's a little easier this time because there are no other kitties wandering around looking for him and crying, and also, Bob used to be out and about for large portions of the day, evening, and sometimes night, so it really just feels like he's out somewhere and he'll come back later. He wasn't constantly underfoot, so I'm not constantly reminded. That helps. I don't know if it'll be counterproductive in the long term to healing, but it feels better right now, and that's kind of all that I care about.

Went to a farewell party for two friends who are moving across the country (stop moving away, mofos!), and it was nice. I enjoyed myself, though for a while it seemed like everyone was just kind of wandering around more or less bored… but V, one of the other women, she insisted that everyone start playing these games that she brought, and that totally made the tone of the party so much better. I fell asleep during the second game, which is kinda surprising because it was super loud and lively, but when I need a nap my body will just go for it, and I had been putting it off all afternoon because I'd been out and about and busy. The man of the moving couple didn't quite seem like himself, which was weird, but then I've never been around him when he's drunk more than one or two beers, so that could be it. It could also just be the stress and grief of moving, especially moving away from such good friends and such a tight community such as we have now. I hope they can find the same happiness where they go. I had a bag of gifts for them, and he texted me later and said that it was a very touching gift, and thank you immensely. That made my heart smile, even if it is heavy that they're leaving. I care about them a great deal, and they have made it clear that they really like Corey and I, so it really sucks that they're moving. It is hard to find a couple our age to hang out with that aren't ghetto assholes or druggies, or with an obviously unhealthy relationship dynamic, and that's just way more drama than we want to expose ourselves to. The moving couple had so many of the same interests, and they have a zero-drama-tolerance philosophy, like us.

So I'm grieving two things. Three, if you count the memory of Cortes's death that's now super fresh and in my face again. I ate some italian food that I probably shouldn't have on Friday when we went out to eat (I begged for Italian over sushi, and now I'm paying for it lol), and now my guts are in a huge uproar. Probably because I ate the leftovers last night when I returned. My intestines sound like water gurgling down a drain pipe. It's definitely a weird sensation. I just wish I could get off of the damn toilet! That's where I'm living today, apparently. I know that my sadness is a large amount of my gut problems. I always have gut problems when I'm stressed out by anything… and losing what to me was legitimately a child, albeit furry... I consider the cats to be like furry human toddlers. That's about the age and communication level we're at together. Also, being unable to carry or bear children of my own… they are truly my surrogate babies. And I've raised most of them from infancy, if not birth. Bob and Cortes were both babies I raised from birth, and Juneaux was only a few months old when I found him. I feel that I have a right to grieve as much as any mother grieves over her lost human child. So, that being said… I know why my guts are all jacked up. Death, loss, stress, grief, loss…. so much loss… I'm just so glad that Corey understands my grieving process and is there to back me up and comfort me when I need it. Love that man.

I don't even know where to start on this topic. Do you know how many times I've been so devastated, ticked off, and just gutted when I find out that a person or a couple is not, underneath, the image that they presented? I can't even count. So many, many, many times I've thought that I've found a healthy and happily married couple to look up to, only to find through the course of time that they are broken underneath-- bitter fighting, ugly resentments or cold silence and miles and miles of distance, if not outright abuse. The Stottlemyers and my grandparents are pretty much the only examples I have had of functioning marriages, and I didn't even realize that my grandparents' relationship was all that healthy until very recent years.

So get this-- in our circle of friends, Corey and I are the example, the Westley and the Buttercup, the happy, healthy, functioning marriage. And it's true. It is. Or, at least, it was… because how do you admit to yourself that you're not happy with where things are at in your marriage, much less bring it up to your partner? But that's exactly what I did this weekend, and I feel good about it. We're talking, our communication is still wide open and blazing, and it's not like we're going to split up at all or anything. It's just… there's this distance. And there's these walls. There isn't sex anymore, or purposeless flirting… intimacy has fled, of a sort. I feel like we're just roommates at this point in so many ways, but I still love him on a very fundamental level and it still sweeps me away all the time. I know he still loves me and it shines through. (In more subtle ways than I'd like, but it's there. It's definitely there.) Plus he says it at least once a day, so there's that. Heh.

The times we've talked about it ("it" being the change in our relationship), it's basically presented as the set of diseases I have and the stress of all that is like a big ball of blah that has settled upon us and is glopping all over us like The Blob. What Corey hates the most is what these diseases have done to me. He hates seeing the change, the loss of independence, and he also kinda feels that maybe I'm a different person now than the person he married and he thinks he should feel bad about feeling that, like maybe he shouldn't feel that way, and the biggest thing is that he tries to keep all of this from me because he knows that I internalize things more than I ought to because of my upbringing and background. He thinks that I would take what he says and blame myself severely, and he doesn't want me to endure that kind of pain or to poison my mind and heart like that. He is so sure that I will blame myself and over-feel it and get depressed or so; it's sweet that he wants to protect me, but it is distancing us.

So I almost feel like I've become what I despise-- the so called healthy, happy marriage that is just a veneer for trouble underneath. I know that things aren't where either of us would like them to be, but they're not abysmal, either. It's very true, the incredible stress that chronic illness brings can break you down and tear you apart, but we are not going anywhere. Things are hard-- not only do we have the diseases and my disability and constant medical stuff to deal with, in addition to the day in, day out symptoms-- but we have major financial stress to battle with as well. I'm just super glad that we don't have debt to deal with beyond a credit card each and whatever outstanding medical bills I've got right now. It's just that my medical expenses totally ate up Corey's extra cushion money and now we're living paycheck to paycheck, hand to mouth. It's like every time he's about to even out, something comes along that screws everything up and takes all of the potential extra money (which is never more than one or two hundred dollars).

True story: I emailed my stepdad last week and begged him for money (again) to cover medical bills and such, as usual, but I also had to ask him for grocery money because Corey had paid the mortgage and all of our other bills-- we don't have anything on the docket that is extraneous, nothing indulgent, just basic life necessities-- and he had $11 in his bank account to last us 1 1/2 weeks until his next paycheck. I believe that's the lowest we've hit so far, honestly, but it was truly unnerving. I'm not sure I know the meaning of "disposable income" anymore. From time to time I'm still able to sneak a treat in for myself here and there, but it's in the form of a $2 muffin or a new bottle of nail polish, something like that. Corey operates like that as well, but he indulges far less often. We just need an edge of some sort, just something to help us get ahead and we could do it; I know we could. That's why we are hoping so hard that I get approved for disability-- it could be that edge, that little thing that turns things around for us. I was excited when I established the Tiara Fund and donations came trickling in, but that has completely dried up no matter how much I share the link. I really did think for a minute there that the Tiara Fund was going to be the thing that turned it around for us.

I won't lie-- our life is really frickin' stressful, and I know that's why we have faded to a facade, our vibrancy dulled by the cruel, grinding rhythm of sickness and hardship. I'd like to get help for us, but where do you turn when you are the healthiest relationship you know, even if you're kinda broken? And chronic illness issues within a marriage are so, so different from other kinds of issues. I don't know what to do. I really don't. I guess all we can do is keep the communication open, keep talking, and just hang on for dear life. I'm beginning to think that I've perfected the death grip, really, but I know with a sickening lurch to my gut that just as soon as I think things have gotten as bad as they will… shit happens. I've got doctor's appointments coming up to hopefully diagnose the extra stuff beyond fibromyalgia that I'm dealing with, and I have a cold feeling of dread that I won't like the answers that I get. But then, I feel that way about everything related to my health these days anyway…

I don't want to be a facade. I really, really don't, and as a person I think I've accomplished a marvelous level of authenticity so far (considering where I've come from and the shit I've had to wade through to get here), but as a couple… yeah, I think that for now it's all about the death grip.

I really need to have sex with my husband. Not just want, although that's definitely a factor, but need. The problem is… we're not exactly having sex these days, at least not on a regular basis.

It came up in a talk we had as we drove back from the pain doctor last week. I am regularly flirting with him, throwing out double entendres and dirty jokes, making sure to touch him and get Physical Touch in there, and I get chuckles out of him and sometimes a bit of reciprocating physical affection, but more often than not it's just a verbal acknowledgment of the joke and an implied rejection in the silence that follows. Sometimes I get an overt rejection, and rarely rarely rarely does he actually take me up on the offer.

I mean, I get why this is. His reasons are perfectly valid and acceptable, but that doesn't lessen the sting of rejection or the cumulative hunger and longing. It's stress, you see. Our life is super mega stressful right now because of the finances and my physical ailments, and it's been building and building and no matter what we do it just seems to keep piling up around us like a big, invisible grave and I just want to scream because it's just so hard. I feel like I can do anything, take on any challenge, with Drogo by my side, but the stress is eating away at him and burying him deep in soft, suffocating layers and I just don't know how much by my side he is anymore.

I'm a very sexual creature. I am, and I own that. (It's remarkable to be able to say that without shame; something I would never have been able to do a year or more ago!) It keeps me feeling emotionally connected, it relieves stress, it fights pain, and it regulates my mood and keeps me some above the incessant swirling blackness of depression. Being celibate on my terms is one thing, but this enforced dry spell? I'm not handling it well. He said that stress has killed his libido, and okay, that's valid. That's legitimate. But it hasn't killed mine, at least not entirely. Granted, I don't want to have sex as much as I did anymore. I just don't have the energy, I'm usually feeling crappy, and I just… don't. But I have never, ever turned him away when he makes advances. I know that if I give it a minute or two I'll get into it and want to proceed, and sure enough, that's what happens. It's just… you can only be turned down so often before it's just not even worth trying anymore.

I'm constantly flirting, trying to initiate… and now I understand the stories told by men with frigid wives, wives who have lost interest or gotten too busy and distracted with the family. I so get it now. The awful part? The awful part is that I know specifically several men and women who would jump into bed with me if I so much as gave half a consent. I can name them, count them on my fingers right now, but the only thing stopping me is loyalty and love to my husband. It just… it hurts, you know? I know it's not about me, but after a while you just kind of start to wonder, is it me? Do you even want to be in this marriage with me? Why am I so undesirable to you? How can I be such a hot commodity to everyone else, but you won't give me the time of day? And I can't… I can't do that anymore. So I guess I'm going to stop trying. What's the point? It only ever works when he feels in the mood anyway, so why bother? I'm so tired of getting turned down, turned away. Take your stress and leave me the hell alone.

…he doesn't even cuddle me anymore. The loving byplay of yesteryear is gone, and I am so achingly empty and alone. He knows how I feel-- I've not been secretive about this--but I suppose he feels as helpless as I do. He understands it, too. His comments and conversation on the topic makes that blatantly clear. But I just want to feel loved again… I know he loves me-- he says so. (Usually after I've said it first.) But I don't feel it. I feel like a nuisance, a burden, a more or less welcome roommate, an expensive pet maybe. No, he cuddles and caresses the cats more than he does me, so I don't even rank that high.

It hurts. It just hurts. And I don't know how to fix it except to fix myself and get better so there won't be any more crazy bills and not enough money in a paycheck for our basic necessities plus my medical needs and he won't withdraw every night into his man cave and while away the hours not thinking, not feeling, until he climbs into bed and falls asleep.

I know he loves me. But why can't he suck it up and show me? I want that more than anything in the world right now.

Update-- After posting this, I went ahead and succumbed to my grief and the body wracking sobs, though I tried to keep it mostly quiet. Somehow, Drogo has this freaky, uncanny talent of knowing 99% of the time when I'm crying and where I'm at, and today was no exception. I was just picking up my laptop again to edit the phrasing on some of the words (can't even remember now…) when he came into the room, laid down just behind me, and wrapped me up in a big, spooning embrace. That, of course, made me lose it even further, but I feel like I did a good job pretending that I was unaffected, even if he could completely see right through it. At first I thought that he was going to bed but it was much too early for that, so when I guessed/asked about it he answered wryly but truthfully.

As we lay there, ensconced in one another's arms, I found my courage and slowly spoke of most of what I'd written here, not even bothering to change the words. a.) I found them in the first place and I can re-use them if I so desire, b.) they applied so perfectly to the present situation.

Anyway, he vowed that he would be more affectionate with me, said that sometimes he forgets I need the touchy feelies so much. I really appreciated that (still do), and the conversation was quite productive. I feel much more loved, and in fact he answered one of my questions with a surprising yet pretty much protected wet boy. He retreats into his man cave and immerses himself in a fantasy world (whether it's games with the guys, anime, stumbling websites, etc.) partly because he just doesn't like seeing me sick all of the time. Who does? I reframed the question for myself, trying to imagine Drogo in my place and mine in his, and I can honestly say that I have zero confidence that I would not immediately do the same. I would hate to see Drogo sick day in and day out, being helpless to do a damn thing about it, and feeling like a big and clumsy oaf if I try to help him with day to day tasks. No, I completely understand why he does as he does, or at least well enough, but that doesn't lessen the sting or sort out the snarl of emotions.

I'm optimistic about the future. When he realizes there's a problem and says he's going to do something about it, he damn well does it. I don't expect to get more sex, and honestly this wasn't a ploy for more. If I can't get it without resorting to cheap parlor tricks and frosted glass bottles, then I can do without. I'm just really happy that he understands that this is a big deal for me and wants to make it better. I love that man. Oh, and he says that he loves me "lots and lots" :)

So I've been having a hard time lately. A really hard time. Emotionally, physically, financially… you name it, it's been tough.

I've been really struggling with this feeling of emptiness inside me that I've named Loneliness. Rather than try to explain myself aaaaaall over again, I'm going to copy and paste a conversation I had with some friends on Facebook today.

 

• Joan Kelley You having a bad day?

  15 hours ago · Like
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  Cassandra Russom Bad couple of months.

  11 hours ago · Like
• 

  Joan Kelley I'm sorry. I can't tell you it will get better. I can tell you that you will come to terms with it and reach peace. But you have to morn your losses and that's hard to do when they're still happening. Gentle hugs.

  10 hours ago · Unlike · 1
• 

  Cassandra Russom It's not that… grieving I can do. I'm no stranger to grief, sorrow, anger, etc. It's the loneliness, the reaching out to find no one there, the abandonment and sorrow I feel when I look around and see no one, and the anguish at knowing my husband is purposefully distancing himself because that is the only way he know how to cope with seeing his only love in pain.
  
  Everyone has their lives, and they are living them, and I'm left behind in the dust because I cannot move. I'm forgotten, frozen in time and stranded in place by my pain and sickness. No one has time for the cripple. Everyone has lives, issues, problems, plans… and I don't fit in anywhere. I'm all alone...

  8 hours ago · Like
• 

  Cassandra Russom I've ALWAYS had friends. I've always been independent. This is such a first for me, I can't even comprehend how to deal with it. I actually got on here the other day, bit my lip and ducked my head, bared my heart and asked for help… and got mostly crickets. That hurt so bad… I still cry about that if I think about it for more than a split second. I appreciate those who did respond to my cry for help, but it wasn't enough, wasn't right, wasn't what I was looking for or what I needed. So I continue on, empty and lonely and just… lost, I guess.

  8 hours ago · Like
• 

  Joan Kelley Self pity, Cassie? You're braver than that. Flannery O'Connor had lupus and wrote best selling novels from her bed. You are not being left behind by life or your friends. Your life is what you make it, and you can make it something even from your bed. As one writer to another, I'll tell you I am working on a novel. I've had one book published. It didn't do so great, but it's a damn good book and if I go tomorrow, I'll know I've made my mark on the world in one small way. Come on, girl. Up by those boot straps! I know you have passion in you. Find it.

  7 hours ago · Like
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  Cassandra Russom Dude, I just want people to fucking care about me. What's wrong with that? And I think I've earned some self-pity time after being so damn brave so long through so much. I'm like, never grumpy and I'm always happy and cheerful… what kind of sick freak deals with this kind of pain and isn't a raving bitch? Anyway, the self pity party mood will pass, even though the deep craving for connection won't. I've been growing hollower and hollower over the past 2 months… I know I can keep going. I know I will. I know I'm still a badass and I will make my mark on the world, as you say. But… I just want a little comfort, someone to hold my hand and warm my heart while I kick ass.

  7 hours ago · Like
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  Rose Suntken I'm sorry you aren't feeling connected, that people are distancing themselves from you. Everyday that you survive the despair you make a mark. Every moment. You are important and though you may not feel loved right now, you are, very deeply.

  7 hours ago · Unlike · 1
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  Joan Kelley Cassie. I've been offering a connection almost since I first saw you on the fb site. Maybe the friendship I offer is not what you want and that's OK. And yes you've earned self pity but it does you no good. It is not your friend. And I know when you're ready, you'll leave it behind. But you don't have to be cheerful all the time although that's one of the things I admire about you. Lots of us care about you. Admire you. And would comfort you if allowed. Ate you site it's all us ignoring you? Maybe there's a little bit of you pushing us away? You're not going to come up with 2 dozen close loving friends. You'll be lucky to count them on one hand. But they're there. Waiting on you.

  5 hours ago · Unlike · 2
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  Summer Dawn Johnston Believe me, if I were closer, you wouldn't be able to get rid of me!!! I think of you every day and I know Facebook on my phone doesn't like me, so if I miss a post, tag my ass or message me! I'll be more than happy to help on any way I can!!!!!! 

  5 hours ago · Unlike · 1
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  Cassandra Russom Joan, I know you have. I'm not spurning that in any way, believe me. I think it's the lack of physical, concrete friendships that I'm mourning. I don't have any good friends HERE, Corey is gone all day, I'm forced to stay home b/c sickness, blah blah blah. I value the friendships I have here online more than I ever thought I would, especially when I'm not in a funk! lol. Are you sure I am not going to come up with 2 dozen close loving friends? Cause that'd be pretty rad. I dunno. I dunno what I'm really asking for, needing. I just… I just want my mommy? I don't know! I just know that there's a big hollow place inside of me that's all sad and empty and I feel all alone and lonely and I don't know why or how to fix it and I'm just so SAAAAAAAAAD!

  3 hours ago · Like

Melanie Collins Pennock The only constant in life is change. Things will not stay as they are. Believe me when I tell you I understand. Friends and family leave when someone is Chronically ill. For many reasons. We are the reminders that it could happen to them. We cannot do the things we used to, eventually those people drop from your life. If I still lived where I grew up, I would have friends from the past. Here, my friends were mainly from work. They went away. I am alone almost all day, mostly. I actually enjoy it. Everyone finds their new normal. You are going through a great loss. The loss of yourself.......but a new self will appear. What is needed now is letting go and patience. Hahaha! Very hard. Think of this time as a learning time. You are laying fallow, like a field in winter. Eventually you will bloom! 

3 hours ago · Unlike · 1

I dunno. I'm like, really mourning… grieving. Grieving for my lost life, my lost friends, my lost self… I just want someone to come in and really, really care for me. I want to be nurtured. I want to be pampered. I want to be babied and taken care of and just… just… have love poured into me and surrounding me like a cocoon, like a womb, where I can just rest and be safe and happy, just for a little while.

I feel empty. Empty and worn out and worn down and tired, so tired of hurting all the time and feeling so sick all the time and when I say all the time I mean every waking moment. There is no break. Some people with fibro or chronic illnesses speak of "flare days" when things are bad, but otherwise sort of getting along in a fashion. I don't know what that's like. I have "normal", which sucks, and every waking moment is pain and nausea and fatigue, but then I also have "flare". That is living hell. It hurts to breathe, hurts to shift an inch, I want to vomit up my insides and claw out my eyes and my brain and peel my skin off and just curl into a ball and burst into flames and burn away into charred ash and just die. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't do anything but lay there moaning and staring at the wall or ceiling or whatever, depending on which way I happen to be laying.

I'm sick of this. My pain doc (whom I adore, by the way, and totally respect, and she is my favorite doc ever) is certain that she can help me improve. I want to believe her with all my heart, but I'm also sick of the utter devastation and heartbreak that comes with hoping for improvement or good news with this stupid disease and then having that hope shattered, like a plate glass window being smashed over my head. I stagger, I fall to my knees, I am cut and bleeding, and the doctor walks away like it's nothing.

I just don't know what to do about this emptiness, this longing. It's consuming me. It's killing me. I'm crying frequently and I hate it. I just want someone to love me! Why won't someone love me? Where did everyone go? Why am I all alone? Why am I home alone all day with just cats and movies for company?

More than that… why is my life this way at all?

Why me?!????

Talking with my pain doc at my appointment the other day, she asked me what I had majored in because I really impressed her with a chart that I made and brought her to describe the various symptoms that make up "sick" that goes along with the constant chronic severe pain. I told her I got sick before I could finish my massage therapy course, but I really wanted to go for neurobiology. She said that I should, because I'd be good at it, and I agree. I'd make an awesome neurobiologist, and she's not the first medical professional or scientist or other professional to say so. I am very intelligent. I have a sharp mind, a way with words, a keen understanding and intuition of how data translates to practical application… plus I love the challenge of working with the brain. I just… I have so much potential, and now I'm trapped, stagnating, forced into a living grave by this stupid malfunctioning body. I could be an incredibly productive member of society! I was an incredibly productive member of society. What the fuck?! Why not G, my abuser? Why not my very first abuser? Grampa told me on the trip up to the big city that he had spoken with the social workers when I was taken into foster care after being rescued from that situation, and they told him that all of the red flags were very clearly displayed in the situation. He was grooming me for sexual abuse in the midst of all the physical torture he put me through.

This is a two year old girl. That is how old I was. There is nothing sexual about a two year old girl. I am just… devastated. Angry. …Angry. And devastated. Is there just a huge neon sign above my head that says "Hit me! Rape me! Fuck with my mind and emotions!"? Seems to be.

I just have so many emotions swirling in me right now, and yet there is still that huge hole. I think it must look something like this inside me right now… (Just don't expect the TARDIS or John Crichton to pop out the other end. That would, admittedly, be cool though.)

Well, given that I've got so much time alone, I suppose I could take time to feel through all these feels and actually process through this stuff. I've really not dealt with any of my feelings regarding fibromyalgia. I've just kind of stuffed it all away. It's been too intense to deal with. Maybe it's all just coming out now, and now's the time to face it.

I bought a book off Amazon recently, and it just arrived tonight. (Talk about timing, eh?)

I think reading through this book and doing the little exercises he has in there will help me process through my own journey. I really do. So… I guess I've assigned myself some homework, something to practically address the Loneliness Hole. At least, I hope it will help. Good grief, I'm so glad I have this blog to word-vomit into. Can you imagine if I tried to keep all this inside? I'd explode!!

That's all for now. I've got a raging headache and my body is killing me. It's telling me that the weather is changing, and also that it hates me. Hah. Maybe I'll take a soak before falling asleep. Lucky me, I've got muscle relaxers now, so I can actually drug myself into oblivion. I'm so happy! Now, to exercise self control and not abuse the privilege… but it's soooo tempting… Oh, did I mention that my neon pain doc has me walking 10-15 minutes a day, and making a calendar to record my exercise habits? I'm naming the calendar The Pit of Despair and decorating it with "pain quotes" from The Princess Bride. The header is, "So it's to be torture, then? I can cope with torture." Week one says, "Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something." Week two is, "You mock my pain! Never do it again. I died that day." Week three says, "Do you hear that? That is the sound of ultimate suffering." Week four says, "I've just sucked one *month* of your life away. Tell me, how do you feel?" She's gonna love it. I told her that she was gonna kill me. She laughed and told me I could do it. I also failed one of the strength tests because I was distracted by thinking about punching her and then deciding not to do it. When I told her she gave me a fist bump and told me I had great self control, so I passed that test. She's awesome.

Okay. On to the soak, then off to bed. I've talked enough for one night. If you've hung around this long… you're either bored, a true friend, inordinately interested in my inner workings (maybe you should consider neuropsychology, or just psychology?), or plotting to kill me. Well, whatevs. It'll be an adventure, whichever one it is. (At least there were pictures, right?) Good night!