Yeah, I know, I've been quite absent of late. That's partially because I don't want to wind up saying the same things over and over again, which would probably happen, and partially because I just don't have the gumption for much besides waking up, moving to couch, occasionally getting up for pain meds or bathroom or whatever food I can handle that day, managing liquids, and returning to the horizontal position.

I've started doing this thing where I'm working with a coach to try to make money from home, working online, like a go-at-your-own-pace class type thing. Selling stuff on eBay, that's what I'm working on right now. It's hard, though, really hard, when the word "energy" is a dim memory of a time gone by, and nausea stalks the streets, seeking whom it may devour. Hint: it's me. I have to force myself to sit up and try to focus and learn, and many days it just doesn't happen.

I've basically spun down into a crumpled mass of "I can't fucking DO this anymore!" and I refuse to budge. Symptoms have flared up and recruited other symptoms that I hadn't become acquainted with yet. I started doing some more research on EDS this week, but I stopped after a day or two because it's too dismal of a prospect, knowing what I'm in for. It did help me to get some ideas as to what this chronic nausea and vomiting problem might be related to, though. I'm throwing up all the time, and when I'm not throwing up I'm either so nauseous that I can't stand up or sit up or my stomach is threatening to toss the cookies. Sometimes I have a day where I'm alright, but they're getting fewer and farther between.

Don't get me wrong, there are some good things happening too. It's not all crappy. My sister sent me a pastel rainbow colored alpaca stuffed animal for Christmas, whom I have named "AlpaCapone", and he goes almost everywhere with me. My cats are a delight, generally as a rule, and my husband continues to be the thing that keeps my heart going. I have a friend that has come to mean the world to me, and she's been a breath of fresh air, being there when I don't have the energy to reach out. I've stopped interacting on social media, for the most part, because I just don't have the energy to reach out, and I don't feel like I have much to share at the moment, at least nothing that people need.

~Alpacapone in his gangster hat~

Sorry this is brief. My brain is just not wanting to flip on the "eloquent" switch, plus I'm typing away as the husband tries to sleep next to me, so I figure I should wrap things up. It's not that I want to be a downer or have a huge pity party, it's just that this is where I am right now. I found this website called themighty.com and I'm excited about it. There's a particular story I read on there the other day that was just what I needed--just read the comments where I say so!--and it helped to pull me out of my huge depressive funk by realizing that it's okay to fall down and fall apart sometimes. I'm really discouraged with the fact that I have a rare, incurable, systemic, degenerative set of diseases that makes my every waking moment a misery and will only continue to worsen as time passes. I don't know what to do with the enormity of that fact, and I don't know how I feel about it except for "angry". I'm trying to figure that out, trying to learn how to live with this. Anyway, here is the story I read that helped give me some peace: "To the Person With Chronic Illness Who Feels Like You’re Falling Behind". Fyi, the girl who wrote this also has Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, so I know she gets it. So, yeah. That's it for me for now. I need to take some pain medication and try to sleep so I can maybe accomplish something tomorrow. I'll be back soon to vent, I promise. I need it. The words are starting to choke me from the inside.

I'm watching "Dance Moms" right now (just for background noise), and I can't believe what I'm seeing. These little girls are regularly decked out in more makeup than most women wear on a normal basis, and it just doesn't look right. The cast and crew are just setting things up for drama after drama, and these girls are caught in the cross fire. I feel so sorry for them. And there is just so much grumping, grousing, picking apart, and negativity. I would absolutely wither in such an environment, no matter what the situation. Those little girls are damn good dancers, though. I envy them their strength and vitality.

On February 6, we lost Cortes. I glanced outside just in time to see him looking up from lapping up a puddle of antifreeze that had leaked out of Corey's truck. I rushed him to the nearest vet that would take him, the first being too full and busy, but the second vet that took him in was amazing, so I'm glad we went there. They pumped his stomach and gave him charcoal, but the tests following that showed that he still had 3 times the fatal amount of antifreeze in his bloodstream, and what happens with antifreeze poisoning is that it mixes with the calcium in the cat's body and creates a kind of sticky, cloggy mess that clogs up their kidneys and induces kidney failure, which is a horribly painful and drawn out way to die. I couldn't let that happen to Cortes so I chose euthanasia, which was the right choice but horribly painful for me. I had time with him to hold him and say goodbye, I held him during the procedure, and then they gave me as much time as I needed afterward to hold him and just cry. I couldn't afford the cremation and urn and I didn't want his body to bring home and bury, so I opted for the "mass cremation" (cremated with whatever other animals and disposed of however they do it) and the clay plaque with an imprint of his forepaws with his name imprinted below the prints. They did a phenomenal job with the clay plaque, crimping the edges and making the prints and the words clear and legible. I was thrilled. I plan to paint it and hang it in the living room along with a favorite picture of Cortes in the frame given to me by a good friend specifically for that purpose. A week after Cortes's death, I received a card in the mail from the vet's office expressing their sympathy and signed by all the employees.

Corey and I are both bummed. Cortes was his favorite, and I, of course, love all of my animal babies fiercely. I don't have children, my womb refuses to house them, and the way things stand with my medications and diseases I won't bear children myself. This means that my maternal instinct is funneled into channels it might not otherwise be so present, and that means that my fur babies mean as much to me as anyone's human babies mean to me. Señor Drogo doesn't feel the same way that I do, but he cared for Cortes and misses him a lot.

About a week ago, we took in a new cat that needed a home. She's a calico, about 3 years old, such a love sponge and a purring machine. She will start purring, loudly, if I so much as start talking to her! I have a vet's appointment for her in a week because she has a really bad case of ear mites, one ear being entirely full of gross crusty brown stuff, the poor poor baby. Oh, her name is "Fancy". She was a pound kitty before the previous owners got her, and now she's in what appears to be her forever home. I have better pictures on my cell phone, but haven't been able to get them on the computer yet.

Things have calmed down, at least within me. I've had a lot of blows one after another for some time, but things seem to be slowing down and settling, at least temporarily. I have been beading more lately, trying to work up some sort of an inventory to start my Etsy store with. Just the prospect of doing something solid and with a purpose is exciting and fills me with giddiness. I miss that. Being in the house all day and frequently on the couch or in bed is really kind of dreary after a while. I want to go backpacking and antiquing and run errands and all the good old things I did before! I suppose I'll just have to think of ways to adapt them to my current physical abilities. Backpacking probably is out of the question, though, as I learned recently for a disability appeal form that I can only walk about 300 yards unassisted, and that's without carrying any weight at all. Hey, maybe someone will rig up a Bran and Hodor type situation and carry me on their back in a basket?! Hehehehe…

Besides beading, though, and being generally crafty, I'm working on another project to get my medical bills organized and keep track of how much I owe on each one. The idea is that I'll send in incremental amounts regularly rather than waiting until I have the whole amount at once, which will never happen. Ten dollars here, thirty bucks there… that much money can easily be spent on superfluous things, so why not put those bucks to good use? I'm going to use my old dry erase board calendar with the cork strip along the bottom to write out the company/office I owe money to, the balance owed, and at the bottom I'll pin the paper bills, to be discarded when the bill is paid off entirely. I think it's a good plan, one that will help me greatly. I'm more of a visual, touchy person and just having a stack of bills that I can't pay all at once has done me no good, and will continue to do me no good. (Guilty confession time: I've taken to throwing medical bills into a pile, unopened, because I just don't want to see the numbers that would simply ramp up my agitation. What I don't know can't hurt me… right? lol)

Oh yes, there's also the small matter of my oral surgery this Wednesday. I'll be put under and all three of my wisdom teeth will be removed at once because of serious impaction. (I am simply "missing" one wisdom tooth. Guess it never grew.) I'm going to have to eat nothing but soft, mushy foods for an unknown period of time, as I heal slower than the average person. The oral surgeon has seen many patients with chronic pain and autoimmune diseases, which is a relief to me, and he predicts that my healing time will probably be about double that of a normal person, which is to say three weeks to a month, possibly more. I wonder at what point I'll be able to switch from baby food type meals to a more solid diet? Well, if nothing else, at least I'll lose some more weight over this incident. I can almost guarantee it.

I'm reading The Swiss Family Robinson again, and I notice that every time I do my turns and phrases of speech alter slightly and become a little more old fashioned, as they are in the book. I'm still uncertain as to whether it's really a fictional account or true, but I don't have the heart to look it up because I'd liked to believe it's more of a survival manual than an interesting tale. Seriously, though, that family would break the bank if they played Jeopardy! It seems like they know every friggin' thing to do with nature or animals from all over the world. All. over. If I were stranded on a "desert" (I think they are using "desert" as an archaic term for "deserted", as it's really a subtropical island near the equator) I would rather have the father or the older brother with me than anyone else in the world because I believe that they would increase my chances of survival so greatly. Give the book a brief perusal; you'll see what I mean.

The next few days I intend to spend packing and preparing for a stay of a few days at my grandparent's home after my surgery, and I'd like to get some more beading done as well. I bought a bead/findings organizer last week and setting it up will be quite a chore but so worth it in the end. Lately it seems I've been doing nothing but sleeping or reading, sometimes crafting and all times petting and playing with the cats. It's not so bad of a life, what I've got going on, but still… it does get a bit monotonous and irritating after a while. I still don't know what to do with the fact that my pain is a life-long load I must bear, so for now I've tucked that thought away and out of sight. If I don't, it threatens to become overwhelming and drag me right back into the depression I have so recently escaped from.

For now though, it is, as my mom used to say, "bedtime for bonzos"! Or "Shadrach, Meshach, and Tobedwego!" (That's a joke based on the name of Daniel's companions in the Bible.)

I broke down crying today during my appointment with my "lady doctor". (Yeah, I could just say gynecologist, but I honestly like the phrase "lady doctor" better. It sounds more elegant, don't you think?") Well, not breaking down as in sobbing, like buckets of tears, but I did cry and she handed me the tissues and I felt a little embarrassed because I try to keep my crying to a minimum, and definitely private and not in front of my doctors. She was very understanding, though-- I love having her as a doctor. I only see her once a year, but she's awesome.

She asked what had transpired in the past year, so I gave her a quick rundown on my health, on the status of my marriage, of the stress that we are under (and that's where I started crying), etc. She was very sympathetic and encouraging, and she said that she hates the diagnosis of fibro the most for her patients because it just causes so much pain and horror in their lives. She is a total believer in fibro and how it can wreck a life, and we even had a little chat about pregnancy and fibro, the risks and challenges, etc. She really wished me well and had good wishes for me that I would find out, through the doctors and tests, what on earth is really going on so we can treat this and get it under control.

Get this: even my gynecologist, after just a brief rundown of my health changes in the last year, says straight out that I am dealing with something beyond fibromyalgia. There is another disease at play here and we haven't figured it out yet, but it is continuing to drag me down and make life feel more and more impossible. I want to find the line between reality and complaining, but I also just want to vent and explode into the atmosphere with a supersonic silent scream at how hard every day is, how much I miss my old life, and how sick I feel every day and night, how much acute agony I chronically endure. Since I got taken off of the hydroxychloroquine until my appointment with my rheumatologist in Phoenix, my joints have jumped in on the pain parade full force, even more so than before. I am not aware of a single joint in my body that doesn't ache on a near constant basis, even without use or pressure.

I hardly do hot baths anymore because putting weight on my hands to lever myself up and out of the tub is almost unbearable; walking is painful at all times because of my knees, ankles, and all the articulations in my feet. Did I mention that I received news at my last pain doc appointment that I basically have gout?! I'm a 26 year old woman. How the fuck can I have gout?! So I got this paper that lays out the foods I can and shouldn't eat, but I'd just started to revamp my diet a bit and make it healthier so I can lose weight hopefully, but the gout paper basically told me to continue eating the way that I have been! Just with more veggies. I think it's just going to be trial and error, really. This gout thing is in conjunction with my pain doc's sincere conviction that I have a type of rheumatoid arthritis that doesn't show up on the AI blood tests, but that there are definite ways of diagnosing. That's a very valid theory, especially considering my poor joints now that I'm off of the lupus/RA drug and doing so much more poorly. (My friend with the same type of RA as the doc is postulating takes hydroxychloroquine for it and it helps her. We both think that, you know, if I'm taking an RA drug and it's helping and then I get off of it and I worsen, that combined with other clear symptoms makes a pretty strong case for seronegative RA.)

By the way, a blog that I follow regularly, chroniccurve, has an entire post called Seronegativity for Dummies, and I strongly suggest you check it out if you're at all curious about what the heck I'm talking about. She's a great writer, a strong advocate, and does not spread misinformation. Best of all? She's totally my age or maybe a bit younger, a peer! I love it.

I am looking forward to my appointment the first week of December at the rheumatology department of the University of Arizona. I hope it will be a good and productive experience. Yes, I'd prefer that the doctors are pleasant and funny and good looking as well as intelligent and diligent, but honestly all of that falls on the back burner when I regard information and a correct diagnosis. What would you do for a Klondike bar? I think the question is, what would you do for a real live answer? If I just had a reason for my every increasing pain and continuing fatigue, it might make it easier to bear.

I realized this week that even though he loves me and he is totally there for me and is my #1 supporter, sees everything… Corey will never really understand what life is like for me, what it's like to be sick like this, none of that. (Random insert, but I'm really tired and falling asleep while typing this, so I closed my eyes for a very long blink and had a momentary dream/vision/hallucination of passing out and being lowered to the ground by my group of friends… the ground that was made of various kinds of ice cream. Woooooow.) So, back to Corey. See, he rarely even gets sick, and any pain he's experienced has been acute in nature, not to mention that he's good at putting mind over matter and ignoring the discomfort. Sometime I'll have to share the story of when he sprained his ankle at school in the morning, walked on it the entire day without seeing the nurse, and then walked home. Crazy dude. Crazy! But because of his lack of experience with prolonged pain and sickness, he really has no vantage point from which to really see into my experience and sort of assimilate it into his own, to pretend that he's me in a way.

Honestly, that realization was a little bit devastating to me. I knew he had my back but I had always just kind of assumed that he knew exactly what I was dealing with and was choosing to be dense at times. Oops. Heh. But no, he doesn't truly get it, and that's okay. Who does, really, unless they've lived it? I mean… I know what it's like to have my bones feel like they're filled with fire and etched with acid; I know where the articulation of my joints are because the ache is particularly sharp, thick, and overwhelming there. I know what it's like to literally be crippled by pain and not be able to take a step forward or stand at all, even sit, due to epic levels of concentrated pain in one area or another. I know what it's like to suddenly be dizzy and lose my footing on a completely flat surface. I know the jolting awake from a presumably sound sleep for no apparent reason (or because the pain followed you into your dream and it got too overwhelming), maybe just once that night, or maybe again and again and again, every hour or half hour, and I know the feeling of overwhelming gratefulness that I don't have to try to drag my invisibly battered and bruised carcass into work every day. Objects fly from my hands when a twitch attack strikes, I can't walk, and it jerks and jolts already painful muscles and tendons and joints. I need the walker to walk, especially with my very low back having decided to give up on me in excruciating spasms and weakness at totally random intervals, but my hands hurt badly from the weight on them as I push myself along with the walker and from having to grip the handles the whole time.

On the other hand, that same walker allows me independence that I would not have otherwise, and it allows me to walk a half an hour or more every night, pain or no pain. It's cleansing, this walking, and Corey joins me for that, too. It's during the walk, during the errands on his day off, that I realize he will never truly get it unless it happens to him. Good god, may it never happen to him. He hasn't the patience or the proper personality to deal with such unrelenting pain and the constant onslaught of old and new symptoms that always keep you off balance just a little. He does not have the good humor to laugh through or about a particularly painful day or hour or situation. He turns into a grouchy, mean person when subjected to large amounts of pain that are "semi-chronic" (lasting for more than a day). I've seen it first hand! So really, it's better for everyone involved that I'm the sick one, not him.

As you can see, there is much for me to think about and feel when it comes to my current "lifestyle". I didn't choose it but I do have to make the best of it because it's not going away, not anytime soon by my guess, and I'd rather not waste a huge chunk of my life just waiting to get better so I can begin being the person that I want to and doing the things that I want to do. Hell no. Corey summed it up pretty aptly when he said that there was a lot of "trauma" around the change in my life and my sicknesses, and he's right. There is a lot of trauma, stuff that I need to work through, and I really want to. I tried a particular place this week that seemed promising based on a lead from Bisbee when I was visiting the other week, but the people here were somewhat rude and quite unhelpful and it did not pan out at all. No counseling for me at this time; can't afford to add another doctor to the mix right now. Not when every penny of what I use to pay my doctors and get prescriptions and such is a gift from family or friends or somebody. God I hope I can sell these crafts that I've made somehow. It's the only way I can think to make some money right now that's within my physical capabilities. I haven't made much in the past few weeks, though. Been too… depressed. Sick. Totally unmotivated on top of feeling so feverish and flu like and drained and just blah. I'm still super shocked that I actually had a great time in Tucson and wasn't all that ill.

I blame our mattress, actually. My sister in law's mattress helped keep my pain down, I think, but ours beats me up like hell. We need either a new mattress or one of those memory foam topper thingies for it, and we also need new pillows, like, SO bad. Have for a couple of years now. Anyway, I can barely keep my eyes open, and I'm just rambling at this point in any event. Hit me up if you wanna buy us a mattress or pillows, or if you wanna buy some crafts, yeah? Keychains, beaded autumn wall hangings, necklaces, earrings, painted prescription bottles, and more. Maybe I'll do pictures some time. Maybe. If I remember… and feel like it. Heh.

Also, I was just hit with a strong but irrational desire to go to the zoo. What's that about?

It's so strange to be filled with this overwhelming feeling of nostalgia, as if I am overflowing with a past sense of myself. I swear that these past few days, I've been transported to my years as a teenager. I couldn't say why, absolutely cannot put my finger on it, but… I still feel like that old ghost of myself, wandering around empty halls in search of…?

It could be the crazed nightmares, the fact that Corey is gone and not around "all the time" like he is normally. That's quite reminiscent of my teen years. Most of my dreams have been about lack or loss of control, about danger and physical harm and incidences of great stress. Could be that I feel a little lost, a lot exhausted, very unsure of things and myself and just plain done. Tired of being an adult, so I regress?

It's strange, falling asleep at 8 pm because I'm wiped (again, and after being awake only a few hours) and waking up at 1 am, shuffling out to the familiar scents of my own home but feeling disoriented, empty and weepy somehow, as though disaster has struck elsewhere and yet I'm still affected.

I'm wrapped up in a blanket on the couch, watching Dirty Dancing for comfort. Something about the music and the sight of Patrick Swayze grinding his hips every which way is soothing ;)

I have this sort of premonition feeling that this trip I'm taking in a day or two is going to be important for me, personally, for my personal growth somehow. I haven't really gone off on my own since I got really sick, so that could be part of this strange feeling and the anticipation/loneliness that I'm feeling.

I tell you, it is just strange to feel a decade younger again all of a sudden… especially when that past self and current self are overflowing with a sense of… um… whatever it is? Above and through it all, though, is the same sense I had as a teenager, and that is a desperate and deep craving to be loved intensely and obviously, wholly and completely, in a way that makes me feel totally safe and surrounded, like a song or a movie. Totally unrealistic I'm sure, but the craving is still there (and probably exacerbated by a month plus of celibacy). And it's been there my whole life, the stage of uncertainty set by abuse and neglect and a casual indifference of my specialness. So we're back to that, and I hope this time to move through it with strength and purpose, or at least just an awareness.

I really don't care to be a teenager again. Too much uncertainty. It's funny how we pretend that it goes away when we become adults. I don't think it ever does, really… Heh.

I'll admit it-- sometimes I get really angry at how "easy" other people have it in their lives. I mean, yeah, okay, everyone has their stress and troubles and hard times but some people just seem to have a charmed life, you know? Yes, my incredibly troubled and grueling life is definitely the source of some good points, such as the personal strength, insight, and empathy that I have honed, but sometimes it'd be nice to just have it kinda easy for a while you know? And it hasn't been. My whole life, without exaggeration, has been one fight or another for sustenance, sanity, survival… what's up with that?

And then, just when everything was finally going my way… my health tanks. I was so happy. I was in school, pursuing my dream career, I was planning my wedding, working hard for a cause that I loved with a boss that adored me, I'd paid off my school debt, made huge headway in counseling… I had it made, man. I was good. Things were looking up. But then, then, everything fell apart around me and life is harder than it's ever been. Maybe. Life was really hard during the decade plus of abuse too, though. It's hard to say.

It's just not fair, man. And it pisses me off.

However…

There is good news. I have finally found a doctor that is both willing and able to help me with my pain! I'm diagnosed with "intractable pain" which, according to Wikipedia, is "a severe, constant pain that is not curable by any known means and which causes a bed or house-bound state and early death if not adequately treated, usually with opioids and/or interventional procedures. It is not relieved by ordinary medical, surgical, nursing, or pharmaceutical measures. Unlike the more common chronic pain, it causes adverse biologic affects on the body's cardiovascular, hormone, and neurologic systems." (emphasis mine) Doctors kept getting hung up on "fibromyalgia" and "chronic pain", missing the bigger picture of my pain, but this doctor gets it, and he wants to help me very much. I could cry. It was seriously everything that I had hoped for.

This is the dr's website, Dr. Porcelli. I have to drive 4 hours to get there, but to get my life back? SO worth it.

I was incredibly nervous, because I was afraid that I was just going to get shut down again and I have nowhere else to turn for help but the emergency room, and that is horrendously expensive. (Seriously… I have no idea how I'm going to pay all of the ER bills. *sigh*) He was very cheerful, funny, and engaging right from the get-go, though, and we chatted and joked back and forth the whole time. He looked at my chart and symptom list and was immediately like, "Yes, you definitely suffer from intractable pain! You've got one foot in the grave, huh? Just one banana peel away from packing it in!" (I thought that was funny. This was after he saw the "draw these shapes on this outline of a body to describe what kind of pain you have and where" chart that I filled out. It was pretty well covered in scribbles.) He thinks that with proper pain management I can actually go back to work part time in the future! Also, after a physical examination he discovered that my eyes have been damaged some from the pain, but they will heal when my body calms down.

The plan is to do a long acting opioid with a lower dose one for breakthrough pain. The ones he gave me this month aren't working very well and I'm still spending about 5 or 6 hours a day soaking in the tub, but we can address that at my next appointment. I'm working on getting physical therapy started, trying to do regular massages, and I'm also starting a few supplements (vitamin C, sublingual b12, omega 3 fatty acid, etc.) to boost my general health. I really want to start eating healthier again now that I'm more capable, but really, I'm basically just happy to have meds at all and to know that things are only going to get better from here! I mean, today my friend the Artist came over and helped me clean the house, and I was able to do quite a bit! The house is so tidy now. Ahhhh… we got to things that I've been wanting done for months, or at the very least since I got out of the hospital. It feels good to see my home in order again.

Also, I applied for disability this past Monday, and it was actually a really fun experience thanks to the lady who did my interview. I should get word in about 3 to 6 months, and she says that it's about a 50-50 chance as to whether I'm approved or denied. We'll see. I'm definitely going to appeal if I'm denied, no worries about that.

Oh, and I'm going to make an appointment with a geneticist this next week. Still pursuing further diagnosis, especially since Dr. Porcelli agreed adamantly that while fibro is part of my problem, it is definitely not the entire issue that is causing me to be so sick and in so much pain. So… we shall see. I've got my money on hEDS (Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, hypermobility type). I fit the criteria so, so, so well, and a large majority of EDSers are either misdiagnosed or not diagnosed at all. The most common misdiagnosis is fibromyalgia, from what I understand.

I'm learning to live with this broken body, even as I try to figure out in what ways exactly it's broken, but it's not easy. I'm pretty resentful at times, especially when I can't get the help or answers I need or when I see my peers traipsing around and fulfilling dreams and stuff that I wanted to do and cannot join in on and will possibly never recover enough to achieve.

Like pregnancy. Due to the nature of my pain, I will probably be on strong pain medication for the rest of my life. That's just a fact of my life. (Ugh, my poor organs…) The implications of that, however, mean that I would have to stop my pain meds (and a couple others) in order to carry a baby, and that's not something that is feasible for me at all. Remember how I ended up in the hospital and ER a ton last month? Yeah. Just like that. And do you think that the stress of being so sick and in so much pain would be good for a developing fetus at all? Not a chance. Either way, my baby is at a distinct disadvantage while residing in my womb.

I'm never going to be able to carry a baby of my own, and that grieves me something awful.

People don't understand. I've shared with a couple of friends, and with Drogo, but the response I get is "Don't worry, you can adopt! There are other options. Have you thought of surrogacy?"

You guys. That's not the point, not the point at ALL! I know I can adopt or do a surrogate pregnancy. Creating offspring is not the issue here, the issue is that I am never going to be able to carry a baby or give birth, and that's something I've wanted for a long, long time. It's just another precious dream ripped callously from my heart and tossed carelessly on the midden. I don't care if I can adopt; I care that the vaunted experience of childbearing, one that I've already had bitter experiences with, is now beyond my grasp, through no fault of my own, and there's nothing I can do about it.

But folks don't seem to catch that, even after I explain, so… I just let it go. Whatever. Who cares if Cassie's world and future is shrinking and dulling, hope and happiness sloughing off like dried up scabs?

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so I thought that instead of blowing out my breath, I'd throw a few (hundred) pictures at you instead. A collage or a scrapbook of sorts chronicling the state of affairs. It was kind of fun collecting these pictures. I was on Pinterest and I just got this urge to start saving them because I wanted to do this, so… here I am! All of the photos can be found on the Pinterest board Character Inspiration by h. grace, so photo attributions can be found there. (Except for the food and scenery photos. Those I've picked up through the years and have NO idea where I got them. Sorry!) I am not going to bother with each and every picture.

CAUTION: There are a few NSFW (Not Safe For Work, read: slightly pornographic or containing profanity) photos in here, because this is my blog and these are my deepest thoughts, and, well, they run a bit dark and sexy. Sorry. You've been warned. There's only a sprinkling, though. Like, 8, in the midst of the, what, 100 others? And I made sure to keep it cleaner than I might otherwise, because I know there's some of you reading this who are more sensitive to that kind of thing than others (i.e. no penises, no genitalia, and no full on boobage. I gotcha. No worries ^_^).

How things are between me and Drogo right now

 

 

How (who) I (still) am inside

  

 

 

How Drogo is

How life feels right now (for the most part)

The things I yearn for and miss the most