Again with the Snow

Cabin fever, you're the one 

who makes nighttime not so fun

Somewhere, a meadow has daisies and butterflies waiting for my worship. 

Fucken winter. 

20 Whatsits

If one more fucking cliquey cheerleader sends me a friend request on the face books I may go postal. NO, I will NOT go to your reunion. Yes, I was in your class. No, no, NO. You chose a venue with no fucking ramp. Fuck off. You don't even know who I am. Asshats. 

Aah, exclusionary tactics; you've been there all along. 

Hic

Omfg hiccups. 

Medical Wrong Righted

I've recently had my medications on my mind. Perhaps because of the increase in insomnia gerbils or depression hamsters; I don't know. Regardless, this is my tale.

A while back, before we had my meds figured out, my doctors had me trying out different pills, hoping to find a formula that worked. One made me fall down, which is a big problem when you can't get back up unassisted and your hub works until midnight. The doctor who put me on those pills is no longer my doctor, as he treated me like a junkie looking for a fix instead of a patient looking for help due to his careless prescription. One of my satellite doctors put me on another pill, hoping it would cut the chronic pain and regulate the depression; that one brought on several sleepless nights spent obsessing over suicide. OBSESSING, yo. When I called that doctor and sobbed at her, she had me immediately stop taking those pills and scheduled me for a visit the next day. Because holy shit, she CARES. Some pills made me cry uncontrollably; others gave me searing headaches or tore my already fuckled stomach up; some took away my appetite or tripled it, and others caused such a disturbance that I no longer recognised myself. Hallucinations, lucid nightmares, suicidal intentions...all in the name of quality of life. MY life. It took several years and many, many sleepless nights to find the right combination of medications, exercises, doctors and therapists to get myself where I am now, in a pretty fucking sweet place where I love my life and I love living it. Sure, I don't get out much, but I do create crazy things whenever the mood strikes me and I can read any goddamn book I want while cuddling with either of our ridiculously cute cats while listening to anything from Shubert to Diamanda Galas! I may have no commute, no paycheck, and no happy hour, but I do have control over my health (to a degree) and control over how I spend my hours - and I like to spend them laughing.

So the moral of the story is this:
 If you don't recognise yourself due to your medications, CHANGE THEM.
 If you want to life your own life, CHANGE IT. 

But most importantly?

Be as authentically YOU as you possibly can. If you need medications to help you in daily life, well rock the fuck on and take them! But if you feel that the meds are causing you more harm than good, no one can tell your doctor but you --and you must demand that something be changed! At the end of the day, we have to depend upon ourselves.

Our own badass selves.

To Err is..

Letting go of the shit piled up in my head and my heart. Tons of cliches and memes say to "forgive and forget," and "move forward from your anger," and I'm sorry, but it is fucking tough to forgive some things. You know the tropes; abusive relative, abusive partner(s), authority tossers, and so on. Sure, I can forgive the kid who tried to knock me down, but a. we were ten, and b. I knocked his ass down flat. But can I so easily forgive the beaters? The molesters? The repeat offenders? As far as that last goes, I should forgive myself for being so gullible for so long. But that's the other side of letting go; forgiving oneself must also occur, and that's the really difficult part, for me. Progress is being made, yes ma'am, but in my mind's eye I am climbing a mountain that reaches to Jupiter equipped with only a plastic trowel.

I keep climbing, though, learning what I can and, yes, dropping the shit that has taken up residence in said head and heart for far too long. I suppose that, as most of those monsters-of-my-past are...well now, what are they, exactly? 

Scraps. Remnants. Refuse. Trash. Garbage. Putrescence. 

Trash day's a comin'.