Something dark and hard but also viscous is rolling around inside me today. It started last night, on my walk. I started feeling dark and panicked and choked with grief and just… small and tender and tense. I keep bumping up against the hard edges of this thing no matter how I try to tiptoe around it. Depression? Anxiety? A combination of both? Could be PMS. Whatever it is, it makes me feel tacky and slightly soiled, completely exhausted, and way, way more pissed off than I am on a regular basis.

I'm angry, deeply angry, that I can't just get up and clean my house like I used to. Sure, it was hard back in the day (and now I know why), but it was doable. Now there are a hudred isolated little messes that I can't bring myself to corral. I'm too busy trying to drag my carcass through the day, make sure I take my meds, make sure I eat something, drink something, try not to vomit, futilely fight to stay awake… I'm weak as a kitten, and with less stamina. I hate being trapped in this body. Maybe that's it. Maybe that's the darkness I've run up against--I'm just finally fed up (again) with being trapped and shackled.

Yes, it happens to even the most cheerful and optimistic of us, "us" being those with otherwise invisible chronic illnesses. I don't have a remission to look forward to, just a further "managing" of symptoms that grow ever stronger and more varied as the months pass. I have to wonder, is this future I'm facing even worth all the effort I'm putting into it?

Perhaps I'm just over-exhausted. It was a busy, active weekend, as far as my energy levels are concerned. We spent hours in stores, looking at various things that we are shopping for, testing different mattresses and computer chairs… So exhausting, but also quite fun, because I was with Corey. But maybe my melancholy is simply a result of over-exerting myself during Corey's days off? That could very well be.

I spent some money yesterday, too, more than I usually do. I bought new components for a medic alert bracelet, a few other things… and I started feeling absolutely terrible and panicked later, sure that I'm a terrible person now because I bought frivolous things and I could have used the money to pay off medical bills… even though I took the thousand dollars I got from my late sister in law's life insurance and spent it exclusively on medical bills, and it seems that's all I spend money on these days… Like I'm no longer qualified to be a responsible adult who is good with money because I veered from absolutely necessary living-only expenses. Isn't that silly? I didn't use money appropriated for something else, and I can definitely make up for it in the next year. I guess I just don't feel like I could or should possibly… whatever. I don't even want to think about it anymore.

Whatever it is, I feel physically shitty (surprise surprise), I feel emotionally shitty, and I miss Bob with a fierce ache that won't be silenced. I contemplate getting up, doing the dishes, tidying the coffee table, even making an apple pie… and then I simply roll over and ignore my misguided ambitions. Perhaps later I'll dose up good with my meds, turn some energetic music on as loud as I can stand, and do the dishes and make that pie. Maybe a multi-berry apple pie? I dunno. I've been craving soda lately, too, mostly Coke. Gotta figure out how to get some of that here to the house, since I can't drive and I've got no vehicle… I wonder if I could simply order a 2 liter from a pizza place and get them to deliver just that to me? Hmmm… I'll have to make sure to hydrate alongside drinking soda, of course.

I'm sure my foul and exhausted mood will pass. I've got some exciting news that I'll write about then.

Note: I went and took a look at my "Quotes to keep me goin'" section, and it helped a remarkable lot. There's a reason I keep that page around… lol

I got all gussied up to leave the house and go to a dermatologist's appointment this afternoon (read: showered and blow dried my hair and put on mascara, double read: expended huge amounts of energy to look presentable!) to find out what that weird rash dealie is on my chest and neck that I've been dealing with for about a year now. The last dermatologist wrote it off as ringworm, but that's so not it because a.) the treatment didn't work, and b.) it's highly contagious and Drogo doesn't have it, nor do any of my friends who come into close physical contact with me. So there.

I made it to the office on time only to be informed that, while I am in their system, I was not scheduled for an appointment. While this is frustrating in any event, especially when you cancel an appointment and forget or something like that, there's one "minor" detail here that makes things somewhat comical.

They called me.

I've never been to this office before. They are a referral from my GP, and they called me to set up the appointment. I simply wrote down the info that the lady on the phone gave me. The guy at the window said he'd make calls and see where he could squeeze me in with cancellations and whatnot, but I told him not to bother for today. I had other medical related errands to run, and I told him that I have very low levels of energy and just coming out to the office had pretty much used up my supplies of energy for the day and I wasn't able to just wait around or go home and then come back out. I am not physically up to that kind of thing. (Not to mention that my car is out of gas.)

Oh the joys of being a professional patient. I wish I could say this was the first time something like this has happened to me, but… it's not. It's rare, thankfully, but it does happen. How it happens, I have no clue (because really, you called me! I still can't get over that!!), but it does happen. Have you ever had an experience like that, either medical or non-medical?

So in all honesty, Hope's comment on my last post stuck in my mind and irritated me, like a splinter just under the skin or a grain of sand under the lid of your eye. As I am wont to do, I poked and worried at it, trying to figure out why it irritated me so. After all, if we can't learn about ourselves and improve and enhance as time goes on, why bother thinking at all? What's the point of introspection?

Anyway, I think I'm on to something. If you've not been in an intensely abusive, dangerous, or dysfunctional situation for an extended period of time, you won't understand. You just won't. I'll try to explain it in simple terms, though, so that I can get the words out of my mind and my heart, spit them out like gravel so I don't have to chew on them anymore (though truthfully I know they'll be rattling around in the back of my head for weeks to come now, if not longer).

I was raised in a sea of destruction. I never learned how to swim; I simply managed to avoid drowning.

I've never wanted anything more in my life than to be accepted for who and what I am, completely and without reservation.

I don't know how long it is in terms of years, but it's been the majority of my life thus far: I have not been accepted but punished and penalized for simply being myself, for being a child, for being exuberant, for being honest, for being… anything. The disapproval of myself was not just cold disapproval or disdain, it was actual physical danger on top of emotional (and often physical) damage, wounding, and scarring. My mind was broken. My heart was broken, again and again. My trust was broken. Who I could have been, should have been, was shattered, never to be restored to its original glory.

The circumstances I grew up in were such that if I failed to obtain complete approval I was in danger, both metaphorically and literally. I had to be pleasing in all aspects, or I would "get it". I couldn't mess up, couldn't be wrong, couldn't be displeasing in any fashion or I would bring pain upon myself and possibly (probably) others in my family, which is an exquisite form of torture in and of itself for someone as protective of loved ones as I am

All I've ever wanted is to be accepted for who I am. To not be rejected for being myself. To be approved of, to have my efforts thought well of, to be thought highly of for simply... being.

My beloved Desert Rose has mastered the art of disagreeing with what I do at times, yet loving me entirely and accepting who I am. Even when she speaks words of correction, I never feel endangered, challenged, or belittled because I am safe in her love.

My mother has been my safe haven throughout my life. I know that, even if she disagrees with what I'm doing, she never thinks any less of who I am or even of my motives for what I'm doing. She holds me in the highest regard, even if and when I have disappointed or angered her by my actions.

When I receive criticism, words of correction from those who have the best intentions and are just trying to help, well meaning suggestions, out and out disagreements and challenges of my thoughts/beliefs/opinions/courses of action, it is a message emblazoned across the sky that I reject you and your best efforts. You are not enough. (Again.) You have failed. (Again.) I reject you and your efforts. Pain is coming, and whatever negative things you experience are all your fault. Whatever pain occurs to those around you is all your fault. 

If this was the core message that every well-meaning suggestion was automatically translated into without your realizing it, would you not be touchy as well?

I recognize it, to a degree. I recognize it more, now. That doesn't stop the feelings from coming, the sickening swirl of grief and guilt and resentment and anger that simmers in my mind and burns deep in my belly. Something is broken deep inside, something that I personally have no way of fixing, at least not as of right now.

I'm tired. All my energy is used up fighting to survive each day, making sure that I'm still around to smile at my husband when he walks through the door at night. (It's harder than you think.) I don't have the wherewithal to make any changes that I myself don't see the benefit of, and I resent suggestions for change or improvement because it suggests that what I'm doing isn't enough, isn't good enough, that I'm not good enough and if I were then I would be better at handling all this.

I'm starving for affection, for attention, for acceptance… especially now that I'm a crippled, huddled little bird. Oh I'll fight and flutter, all right, but is that simply wasting my life's energy to no end? I can't tell. Am I getting anywhere? I don't know. I'm so raw, so vulnerable, so exposed… so adrift on this stormy sea of uncertainty… So tell me, Hope, how can I know what to expect of people when I've never done this before? I've never been sick like this before, been isolated from friends and family by hundreds and thousands of miles before while having my independence so utterly and completely stripped from me. What would you have me do? What do you want from me?

I am doing the best I can, and exhausting myself with my efforts. It's all I can do to make it through the day. I don't have energy to spare to instruct those around me on how to relate to me. Let them, with their seemingly boundless reserves of energy (in comparison, anyway) figure it out. I'm too tired. Too tired, and too broken.

I just want to be accepted for who I am… rants, ravings, and all. Even if it is completely insensical to expect it from anyone.

So I'm going through my blog, looking for landmarks of my health problems and decline to take to my appointment tomorrow, and I came across the post where that pastor told me I'd be unhappy and divorcing within a year. Remember that? Well, I realized that I totally let the "deadline" for going back  and showing the pastor just how miserable I am in my marriage pass without going to troll him. I regret this, and I think C will agree with me that we need to rectify this situation.

After all, he should be able to see just how accurate and wise his predictions were, founded as they are on years and years of anecdotal evidence and his unfathomable insight into the word of God. Oh, wait… he wasn't right? C and I are actually happy, secure, and content within our marriage and, what's that, even stronger because of the trials and challenges we've faced in this first year of marriage? Well, how about that.

Pardon my sarcasm, but it's just that I completely called it. And considering the formidable challenges we've faced just within this first year of marriage alone, it's even more notable that our relationship is strong and thriving. Chronic illness (or any traumatic and stressful event) can either strengthen the relationship or break it apart. It depends on the people within the relationship.

We're freaking champions.

"Hang in there. We're all praying..."

News flash. I'm not getting better.

Chronic illness. Chronic pain.

Chronic.

Maybe I'm a pessimist.

So sue me.

I started work on Christmas presents the other day. I'm enjoying the chance to create something again, something that has meaning and purpose. It's better than just lying on the couch all day, moaning. Now I can lie on the couch, moan, and accomplish something all at the same time! lol

I did, however, overdo it a bit... again. Going to church yesterday morning was hard on my body, and I had to leave just as the sermon was starting because I was feeling very ill. A quick stop at the library to pick up some more movies for my sick seclusion confirmed that I was, indeed, pushing beyond the bounds of my endurance and I high-tailed it home.

I felt ok the rest of the day, so long as I was resting, but I got that "itch" towards evening and started crafting... which, of course, meant that I had to unpack and organize my still-in-transition craft room. I guess I got carried away, because although I could feel my body yelling at me that I was, again, beyond the bounds of my endurance, I kept going. I guess I was hoping that it was a false alarm. I mean, you can only get so sick before you kinda start doubting your body's warnings that it's going to get sicker. It's like an internal eye roll, like, "Really? Are you just pulling my leg?" I get very tired of pulling up short in life to keep myself from getting sick, and sometimes I wonder if it's all in my head and if I'd be able to just "get over it" if I powered through and kept going.

Well, this proved to me that I had better listen to my body, or ELSE. I had finished one project and was working on Mom's present when C got home, so I wrapped it up to spend a little time with him. I felt hungry for the first time all evening, so I chopped up a peach and munched on that. Big mistake. I spent the next hour and a half throwing up pretty much everything in my stomach. I don't even know if my evening meds got absorbed or not. In any event, I was utterly miserable. I finally went to bed after I was able to keep water down for a while, and half a mug of Sleepytime tea.

So today, I still feel completely nauseous, queasy, and kinda whole-body-bruised. I didn't sleep well, and I woke up tired and aching from the inside out. It feels like the flu, truly. A bad flu. And all this because I wanted to get my craft room into shape. Really? That's whack, man. I shouldn't be punished for trying to lead a productive life, but there you have it. At least I'm keeping some toast and applesauce down this morning. (Barely.)

Anyway, this was a good lesson. I suppose I'll be more likely to actually listen to my body and pull up short when I'm approaching my limits from now on... at least, as long as the memory of feeling awful is still vibrant in my mind.

Having been a part of the chronic illness community for about a year now (or at least on the fringes, watching what goes on), I've come across many a list of what not to say to someone who is chronically ill, or things that chronically ill people don't want to hear, etc. Shoot, that's what Chronic Illness Cat is all about! I think some of it comes from the fact that people with chronic illnesses feel marginalized and discounted by society's understanding of and relation to sickness and the mainstream attitudes that accompany it. I mean, here in America, sickness kinda makes us uncomfortable. So does poverty, pain, abuse, disease... anything that's not happy and shiny and new. Unless it's particularly awful and heart-rending, in which case we'll obsess over it. (This takes me back to my very first post in which I muse about the pursuit and idolization of perfection in society and how that has affected my thinking.)

So with that uncomfortable feeling as the backbone of this attitude, I would say that the muscle and flesh of it is the expectation that all sickness/disease is acute. That is, you get sick and then you get better. Even those diseases that we have claimed as poster children (think breast cancer or AIDS) are of a similar vein; either you get better or you die. There is a definite "end", a trajectory that you can pinpoint your particular location on. Well, with a chronic illness like fibromyalgia or UCTD... there is no trajectory. There is no "end". And that brings me to the point of this little musing/rant.

I get annoyed sometimes by the things that people say when it comes to my illness or my symptoms or how I'm feeling physically. I mean, I get that it's the elephant in the room, since it's kinda taken over my life, but one of the things that irks me a little is when people ask how I am, then tell me that they hope I feel better soon, or better yet, "get better". I'm always tempted to take the easy way out and just say "fine", but I realize that this would only feed the monster. Once I say "fine", the next time that I'm actually honest and say that I feel pretty horrendous the person is going to wish me well so that I can go back to being "fine".

I'll let you in on a secret. Now that my life has altered so drastically, I don't actually mean I feel "fine" when I say that. It just means that I don't want to bring you down by telling you that I feel awful, because you either are made uncomfortable by my physical misery or you will pity me (which is a completely different animal from the genuine compassion that my support system exudes... which is why I'm lying to you and saying "fine", because you're clearly not in my support system.). Also, it could mean that I just don't have the energy to explain why I'm not feeling fine, and what exactly is wrong with me, and that I'm anticipating some sort of advice that I don't feel like dealing with or dodging. This is especially true for very religious/in the medical field/a natural health and healing advocate/some combination of the three/good god help me if it's all three people. Another possibility is that I sense that you are merely making polite conversation and you don't really care how I'm feeling, so telling the truth would only a.) make things awkward, and b.) imply a level of friendship and confidence that I'm not willing to bestow on the likes of you.

I guess it's just that, if you don't know me, then I'm obviously not going to go into gory detail unless asked. (Hey, sometimes it happens.) If we're only acquaintances, then I'll probably go with "fine". But if you know me, even if we're not close or you're not a part of my support system, then you should know that I'm pretty damn sick. You should also know that it's not going anywhere, so wishing me a "get/feel better soon" is basically just blowing hot air up my butt. I'm not getting better, folks. I might be sustaining, sometimes, but barely. I feel like I'm getting worse, just from the sheer numbers and scale of my symptoms. My life is hard, and hearing "feel better soon" feels like a casual dismissal of everything I work so hard to do. I'm upright, and maybe even dressed. Do you know what an accomplishment that is? So telling me to "feel better soon" is just like... so minimizing. Taking it and scaling it down to the level of the common cold. Like telling a double amputee that you hope they feel better soon because you twisted your ankle last week and you totally know how they feel.

It's just that... I mean... "feel better soon". If you know me at all... then you'll know that I won't. I'm not going to. And I don't want to be all Negative Nelly here, but I'm just speaking from practical experience. I mean, yes, we can all hope that I feel better, that my symptoms recede, and that I can live a normal life again, but... I guess I've kinda given up on that. I mean sure, it'd be nice, but my focus has shrunk to dealing with the immediate present, to getting through each day. I might take things a week at a time, but that's about as far out as my scope goes right now.

And you know, I'm sure it comes from a place of "I don't know what the heck to say to you" and "I genuinely care about you and wish you the best". It's just the way that I'm taking it. It's not how they mean it. I know this. But it's still irritating... yet I choose to just let it go, because I know it's on me, not on them, to navigate the world with this handicap. I don't ask them to bend to me, watching every word they say. It's unrealistic and unfair. So I'll just come here, let off the steam, and then make my merry way back into the world. I mean, shoot... I didn't know a thing about chronic illnesses or chronic pain until it smacked me upside the head, so how can I expect everyone else to know and understand what I'm going through and where I'm coming from? There's just no way.

Ok, so I know it's dumb, but...

Remember that post I did over on FighterZine? Well there's this lady that has commented twice, and both times she's like "Oh, I wouldn't focus so much on the fibro. Just worry about wedding planning and being happy and forget about it!"

And that makes me feel super invalidated.

Which is dumb, because I know that everyone has a different experience with fibro and other chronic illnesses, and everyone has a different perspective on how to handle situations. I am actively focusing on remembering that and taking it into account. I'm not mad at her or wishing her ill or anything.

I guess I'm just annoyed that, clearly, she didn't read the part where I talked about how I have to use walkers and sticks and stuff, or the part where I was in ridiculous amounts of pain and dealing with mad fatigue. It's like, why would you even comment about that when I'm clearly coming at this from the angle of someone who has to take fibro into account in her daily activities?  Whoopee for you that you don't, but don't hassle me because I have to.

And really? You don't have to take any of the advice you read on the internet. If it doesn't apply to you, then move on. It will apply to someone else, and that's great. Don't poke at me just because it doesn't fit your situation.

Seriously. Anyone with common sense would know that I'm not advocating focusing all of your wedding planning energies on your sickness, just as spending every waking hour thinking about fibro is foolishness. It's depressing. It's draining. It's unhealthy. The intent of the post was to share what I found helpful as I took the fibro into consideration while planning a large event. Did it eclipse my focus? No. And I don't really think that I should have to spell that out.

So this lady just kind of annoyed me, is all. She's not a troll, I don't think. I'm just still so new to writing and dealing with my chronic illnesses that I'm sensitive to all manner of criticism regarding either of those topics... so when I'm criticized about my writing that has to do with my chronic illnesses, it's like a huge Self Conscious Fest in my brain.

Aaaaaaand... I'm over it. Back to packing. :)

I don't really wanna be back home.

Being on a honeymoon was nice, because I could pretty much say, "Eff you, world, you don't exist to me right now!"

People call me? I ignore them. I don't feel like talking.

Emails? They can wait.

Texts? Eh... I answered some from J, but that was it.

And I still want to be able to do that. I think I'm just worn out, but... I don't want to care about anything right now. I feel so super-apathetic... and still so tired. Tired in the very core of me.

Don't want to do school.

Don't want to do work.

Don't want to sort and store wedding stuff.

Don't want to talk to anyone.

Don't want to answer the SAME questions over and over again... (it wouldn't be so bad if I weren't so "meh", I think.)

Yes, I'm enjoying being married. Actually, it's pretty much exactly the same as before, except now I have to answer a bunch of questions, act enthused, and remember a new name. That's why it keeps hitting me in sporadic, giddy bursts that I'm actually married now, because it all just feels so... the same.

It's like having a birthday. People keep asking you, "So how does it feel to be ____?" And you're like, "Uh, the same. I didn't wake up with a magical shift in life purpose and meaning. I don't feel any different than I did the day before my birthday, sooooo... yeah."

Yes, I'm enjoying my honeymoon... or I would be, if you'd leave me alone! lol.

I think I just need to go to bed! I'm cranky. It was probably the traveling. It wore me out. (And all the walking from the past few days... and all the being-super-sick the week before, and all the wedding crazy from the week before that...)

So. Back to regular life. No more lounging in a hotel room or soaking in a nice deep tub/jacuzzi. No more ignoring phone calls and homework. I gotta get back to being a responsible chick.

How boring.

Damn. I did it again. I overextended myself... but I was feeling pretty good today! (In spurts...)

Yeah, and that's why I overdid it, I'm sure.

I came down with "fibro flu" this evening, and it's hanging around... at least I don't have chills (yet?), but I do actually have a fever this time. That's pretty unusual.

Sorry to bore anyone who's reading this with a constant run-down of my symptoms... but hey, I'm not here for you, am I? ;)

So anyway... bleh. I've got a date tomorrow with BJ to go shopping and out to lunch, and I wanted so badly to clean the upholstery on the couches...

I know that the fibro flu usually is the herald of a flare, but really? I don't have time for this! I've got a life to live! Come onnnnnn...

I'm sorry I did too much today. I just... I couldn't' help it. There were so many things to do, and it was a beautiful day, and I actually had energy at times, and... maybe I need to go back to the "thing a day" rule. I've gotten away from that, and I keep catching myself overdoing it. But I'm not so bad as to only be able to do one, I swear. Two. Two things a day.

And tomorrow, my two things will be my outing with BJ (and yes, I'll take my walker, so I don't wear myself out completely...) and cleaning the upholstery. I'll clean the couches after my outing, so if I'm super tired, I can nap as needed 'cause I'll be at home.

Yeah. That sounds like a good plan.

Ugh. Nausea and pain and stuff... even mint tea isn't touching this upset tummy. Sucks. I'm going to sleep.

Oh, wait... I need to shower tomorrow, too. It's been the max amount of days... Dang.

Okay, okay... three things a day? lol

I'm excited-- I was able to purchase a large heating pad off of Amazon tonight that has the option of also being a moist heat pad! It was fairly inexpensive, with many good reviews, so I went for it. No more of this hot water bottle that I have to get up and reheat every twenty minutes and shift around to different achy spots. Now I can use the heating pad and the water bottle, if I so please. Also, it's a "king size", which means that it will cover most of my back with ease, not to mention that it has variable heat options. *sigh* I'm just so happy!

The best part is that I have some extra money stashed away to be able to treat myself in this way :) I realized that I have like, 60 bucks in my bank account that has no purpose assigned to it-- just "savings". (That has not happened in a very, very long time!) I have the temptation to spend it, simply because I'm not used to having money to spend ^_^ I won't give in to it, though. I'm more practical than that. I'm going to scoot on down to Jiffy Lube and get myself an oil change and inspection. My car is very valuable to me, and I confess that I haven't been very attentive to it... It's so sturdy, it just kinda keeps going no matter what, and I don't want to take that for granted.

And this week, I'll be able to sock away a few more dollars from my allowance, which is nice.

Health-wise, it's been a bit rocky. I didn't have to use my walker today while I was out and about, but I was battling "fibro fever". I have begun experiencing this phenomenon recently, but it wasn't until I saw someone else refer to it on a fb fibro support page that I realized it is something other fibro-fighters experience. Basically, it's like I'm feverish... but with no fever. I feel achy, my skin is sensitive, and I have intense chills. Not only do I get the chills, but it's like I'm constantly hot and cold at the same time. I put on a blanket because I have goosebumps, yet at the same time I'm sweltering. Weird. I had it bad during the period when I was unable to get my painkillers, and I had it today. Fortunately, the meds kept the worst of it at bay, though they did not touch the brain fog or the incredible fatigue.

My guts are still bleeding. Bummer. And I had to resort to cleaning out my colon again a couple of times. But, on the bright side, I've got my upper endoscopy scheduled for a week and some change hence! (Bright side, you say? What's so bright about that? lol)

I'm still learning to be kind to myself and not "push" as hard.

I had been making progress on the pain meds, being able to go up to 6 hours between pills on some days, which was very exciting for me! Yesterday and today, however, the time period got cut in half, roughly... and it was hard for me to accept that. My pride wanted to wait the extra three hours, though my body was telling me that I had better take that pill if I wanted to be able to walk or sleep.

And it's still hard for me to look at days like today, which was a mostly "resting" day (to me), and see it as time legitimately spent.

I feel lazy, y'all. I feel impaired.

I know it's not so, but when I can't do things, or when I have to so significantly alter the amount of things that I can do in one day, well... it just messes with my head.

I hate having to explain myself to people. I think I'm just gonna stop.

I hate feeling like maybe I'm not doing my best after all... like all this is just because I'm not trying hard enough...

...like maybe there really is something wrong with me because I'm "so young, and shouldn't have to be on all those meds" and "shouldn't need a walker" and shouldn't this and shouldn't that.

You know what?

Fuck that noise.

Shouldn'ts are just as bad as shoulds.

I think the Should Monster just put on another mask to get to me. Because, really? Shouldn't just leads right to should. If you shouldn't do one thing, then obviously you should do another.

So if I shouldn't need a walker, then I should be walking without assistance.

If I shouldn't need to take all those meds, then I should be able to get along without them. I should be able to make it work.

I should be healthy.

That's what it all boils down to. This message that somehow I am not what I "should" somehow inherently be.

And they're right, in a sense. I don't like living in a world where toddlers die of terminal diseases. It shouldn't happen. It's not right. It's not fair.

But the fact that they are sick at such a young age reflects not a whit on their value as a human being, or their ability to live life to its fullest, or what have you. It doesn't mean anything other than that they were unlucky, and they have a harsh battle to fight.

So I'm unlucky. Deal with it. But it's not my damn fault that I'm sick, and it's not my fault that it happened while I'm young.

Would it be better if I waited until I was 80 to get sick? Would you prefer that my body is worn out before I try to fight this battle? Does that somehow make it "fair"? Does that make it better?

Who says old people "should" have walkers and "should" be on all kinds of meds either?

Being sick sucks, no matter your age.

By the way, you know what else really grated on me this weekend? I realized that one of the reasons I was so annoyed about the attention my walker got was that not a single person out of that whole huge crowd said a word about how awesomely I had decorated it. Its presence was practically offensive, even though it is beautiful. I mean, it's like a mobile piece of art, but did anyone notice? No. It was just "Oh, you have a walker. What's wrong with you?"

I would have like to have heard, "Oh, you have a walker. Wow, you really made it look cool!" Or something to that effect. I've gotten several compliments on the Bling Chariot, and fun conversations when I'm in medical settings. Maybe it's cause they're used to seeing people with problems, and the average person isn't. But, still... acknowledge my effort, people!

I'm trying to make the best of this in all aspects, and I feel like I'm just getting cut down left and right by people outside of my support system. Why is that?

Maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm just hypersensitive or something.

Maybe it's 'cause it's late and I need to be sleeping.

Yeah, that's probably it. (But I've been thinking about that last walker bit since yesterday, so I know that's legit! lol)

I get moody on the weekends. Kinda cranky, kinda irritable, kinda way more introverted than usual...

...and I think a lot of it has to do with "Nerd Night".

It's not the fact that all these people come over and hang out and play games. That's not it at all. In fact, I rather like the idea of having a weekly game night. It's cool.

I just find myself increasingly frustrated by the purposelessness and lack of productivity that characterize the people that end up hanging out over the weekend.

Maybe it's just that I've always disliked weekends. Routine goes down the drain, and you never really know if it's going to be a good day or a bad one... at least, that's how it was growing up. The stability of school/work is gone, and time stretches endless and unstructured before you. Meals may or may not happen. I may or may not be locked in my room. We may or may not go to church. G may or may not be in a crappy mood. Mom may or may not be happy.

The days were just... blah. Empty. Purposeless. Threatening.

And it's different, when you work hard during the week and then on your days off you want to just chill, like C does, or his brother D. But even then, they aren't just constant vegetables, you know? They do stuff, they read things, they learn, they discuss...

S and his friends... when they're over here, they watch stupid, mindless shows/cartoons or play video games. They sit. Or they go to the store for more soda. That's pretty much it.

And I hate, hate, hate coming out the morning after Nerd Night to find my house dirty, some person on the couch, and everyone just... sitting. All day. Dishes in the sink don't matter. The messed up living room doesn't matter (because as long as you're sitting in the mess, it doesn't exist, right?).

It's just so... unproductive. So pointless. I hate having all that in my space.

I just have to remind myself that it's not that much longer... and when we get our house, we won't have people staying over, lingering the whole weekend. Right now, it's S's friends, so I can't say anything... 'cause he lives here too.

But it's these pointless people... Dirtying my house. Eating my food. Disrupting my study time. Taking up my space. Stinking up the house with their smelly feet.

Can you tell I'm annoyed? I get this way.

It threatens my routine. It poisons my vibe. I don't like it.

Get the hell out of my house.

Go be pointless somewhere else.

Note: I talked to C about it when he got home... actually, I apologized in advance for being cranky, and he insisted that I tell him why I would be cranky. He says he understands and it's okay. He also pointed out that, while I'm okay with the idea of Nerd Night, I have a difficult time with the reality of it. He's right. I don't mind it in theory at all, I think it's a cool thing. However, it's the reality that accompanies it-- the loud noises late into the night, the dirtying of the house, the extra people, etc...

We didn't come to any conclusions about it, as in there were no offers made to change anything and I didn't demand any. When we're in our house, C will have a "man cave" where they'll be playing. It'll be a different situation entirely, and I know this... so I can deal with these annoyances now. It's really not worth making a big deal about, especially because it's partially just how S chooses to live his life. I can't be like, "I don't like your life; knock it off!"

Anyway, it just felt good to express my frustrations, to be heard and understood, and for it to be okay that I was annoyed without any negative repercussions.

I did, however, make it a point to ask C last night if they could have Nerd Night somewhere else next week, as it will be the weekend before both of my finals on Monday, and I MUST have that time to study and sleep.

Note within the note: C has begun voluntarily including me in his finances, so I know where his bank accounts are at and how much he can expect to be pulling in the next month or so, how much he'll be paying in bills, and just about when he'll be ready to get the ball rolling. Just a couple more paychecks...! Anyway, it makes me feel good that he's including me in that; it puts me at ease, and I feel trusted. Since he's mostly supporting me now, it probably feels more like we've got the "joint finance" thing going on than before.

One thing I am so, so, SO looking forward to about "The House" (when it's just me and C, of course) is that I will have full reign of the kitchen. It will be a Safe kitchen, since C doesn't really cook, and he understands the importance of my eliminating even incidental allergen contamination. (Did I mention that I'm going to start cracking down on purchasing items that are processed in facilities that also process my allergens? Yep. You know that's gonna save me money on groceries! ^_^)

S, however... doesn't seem to grasp this.

I've stopped doing the guy's dishes. Since I implemented the Separate Sponge Policy (they have a sponge for their dishes, I have a sponge for my dishes) and have taken to using the same bowl and plate again and again, I've noticed improvements. I realized that doing regular dishes along with mine and using the same sponge was basically smearing allergic things all over my eating implements and my skin. No bueno.

At first S was really good about doing his own dishes. But the past few days... they've started to pile up. And for me it's kind of a matter of stubborn pride. Like, dude, I'm busier than you are, I'm allergic to the stuff you eat, so you're going to do your own dishes, k?

But last night when I came home from class, the counters are spattered with flour, there's a bowl of seasoned flour sitting out, and he fried his flour-covered food right next to where my muffins were cooling!

Really? Really??

I know it's hard to grasp these things when you don't have to worry about what you eat. But I guess what annoys me the most is not that he doesn't understand, but that when he does stuff like that it takes away my ability to choose. If I decide that I want to ingest an allergen and pay the cost, that's one thing. But when I am exposed with no say-so, that annoys me. Actually, it makes me a little angry.

So I'm really looking forward to having my own Safe kitchen. Until then... I'll keep coping the best I can.

And no, I'm not cleaning up that flour mess. I did that last time, with rubber gloves on. (I will, however, clean the counters again after he does, to get rid of as many lingering flour smears as I can. He's not as... thorough... as I am.)

And really? How do you ask someone to not make food in their own house? You don't. So I just have to put up with it, I think.

Can I just carve out a little space for a bitterness party? Just for a moment.

(More like overwhelmedness turned desperation turned bitterness/frustration.)

I understand that your job is to answer phones and give info, and you're damn good at what you do. Cutting me off in mid-sentence like that to crisply inform me of the standard approach to a situation has left me reeling with awe and respect at your expertise as a secretary. (I can only pray that you're not the doctor herself, otherwise I'm already biased against you.) I just want some effing help, okay? I wouldn't be calling you unless I was at the end of my rope. I'm not a frickin pleasure seeker out for a cruise through local doctor's offices.

Specialists. So damn hoity-toity. Well, I don't have a primary care physician. You wanna know why? Because I'm poor, that's why. Does that mean you won't help me?

I didn't even get to ask my question, you brisk b----.

How in the everlovin' schmiggedy do I get help with this?

I'm so tired of being sick.

And I'm so tired of being brushed off by doctors.

I wouldn't even consider dealing with your office again, O Most Exalted Of Secretaries, except that the professor I like and highly respect recommended you.

Hopefully it's enough to overcome my distinctly anti-jerk bias.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled, optimistic programming.

I'm alive! And only slightly sore :)

Yosemite was mostly great, partially an annoying ordeal that I couldn't wait to complete. I missed C, and wished that he were the one hiking the trails and soaking in the view with me. Alas...

The sights were fantastic. The drivers were not. This did not help my sympathetic system dominance at all.  You know, fight or flight? Yeah...

I got to check off "see that giant tree with the tunnel in it" off my 7 Wonders of North America/bucket list!

I fell in love with a mini-Taylor guitar my friend currently has. It's.. amazing. A steel string, but with a nice, low action. It hardly tore my fingers up at all, after hours of playing.

I had Jamba Juice again. Mmmm... Jamba...

I ate too many nuts and got super sick. (Could also have been from the general stress of the trip?)

I hung out with my friend :)

I got a bumper sticker for my guitar case.

I studied as well as I could, and managed to pull a 90% on the test. (That's great, because I was uneasy about this one... the peripheral nervous system just wasn't really sticking in my brain for some reason.)

I caught up on some sleep on the drives to and from Cali. Though I didn't sleep too well while there, I did have a crazy dream in which the end of the world began and people were going all anarchist/destruction in the streets and... ended up in a song-and-dance number, the chorus of which went like: "Welcome to humanity, flamingos and flambe..." That's what I woke up to in the wee hours of the morning!

I was very happy to get back home to my creature comforts, and to be reunited with my love. I'm working on a wedding website that will not only inform the wide world that I'm engaged and planning to marry this great guy (yes, I am announcing, regardless of my fear of other's opinions!) but will also solicit donations toward the wedding budget in lieu of wedding gifts from a registry.

I think this trip is the first time I've ever gone hiking in a dress and flip flops. Hmm.

I've still got a few things to complete for myself tonight before I turn in, so I'll be off. I'm skipping group tomorrow night, so that I can wind down and regroup (get it? re-group? hah!), because the trip and the packing and the studying and the traveling (oh, the traveling!) were wayyyy more stressful than I anticipated, and I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed suddenly.

Cheerio!

I think this whole "sleeping" thing is over-rated. I mean, really. 9 hours a night? What a huge chunk of time that I could totally spend on fb! (Sarcasm. I jest, I jest.)

I'm sitting on the bathroom floor because S crashed on the couch and C is asleep in the room, and I don't want to wake either of them.

I'm so looking forward to when C and I have a place for just the two of us. Maybe it's all part of the balancing act, but I just have been... annoyed, I guess... with having to expend the energy it takes to interact with someone other than C throughout the day. (And he's either asleep or gone most of the day.) It's like... when I get home, I just want to be alone. Don't talk to me, don't bother me... just leave me alone. But S is social, so he wants to talk. And for a while that was fine. But now I feel a little bad, because I feel like I probably come off brusque for now apparent reason. Sorry, but I just don't want to deal with you.

On a related note, I do not like mead. Too bad, because I thought that I might. Nope, it tastes horrible, as do most fermented drinks. (I even have a hard time with kombucha.)

WARNING: I NOW TALK ABOUT BOWEL MOVEMENTS. If you're squeamish about that type of thing, now would be a good time to quit reading.

I ache. Part of the reason I'm up so early. My knees especially, my ankles some... just like old times. And my colon hurts. I'm actually waiting for my chamomile "tea" to cool down so I can do an enema. I skipped last week, which was a mistake, because my poor colon got all irritated. (I could tell by the size and frequency of my bowel movements. Classic IBS status. And the liquid ended up sloughing off large amounts of bloody mucous. Blergh. I chose chamomile specifically for its soothing qualities. Hopefully I can get a handle on this irritation.) If it's the "first time" (i.e. if I skip a week or two), then the rest of the week is pretty miserable. Constipation. Bloating. Distress and pain. But if I do it regularly (once a week), then my bowel movements even out and get regular, and I just feel a whole lot better.

Couldn't sleep. Finally dozed off somewhere after two a.m. (and I'd been in bed for hours, thankyouverymuch), woke up at 5-ish. At six, I finally got up to get some peppermint tea and get this ball rolling.

I'm still doing good, I think. I just hate hurting. And I hate being gypped on sleep.

I think it has to do with addressing issues. This kind of flare-up/feedback is not uncommon for me... at least these days. The past couple of months.

Seems like I've got a mix of new health probs and old body memories comin' back at me.

What a mix.

It's too bad I don't like mead. I could drink my problems away.