other times

Sometimes it's a rough day. 

Sometimes it's an off week. 

Sometimes it's a mug of warm tea and a good book kind of afternoon. 

Sometimes it's an hour of silent sobbing in the bathroom. 

Sometimes it's a horribly lonely bout with depression. 

Sometimes it's abject fear of going to sleep, because what could I wake without tomorrow? My vision? My semi-working legs? My ability to speak and sing and smile?

Other times it's a plan for a violent, angry, thoroughly visceral painting. It's envisioning every punch, every slap, every expression of my feelings toward the betrayal of my body. Because fuck MS. 

It Goes to 11.

Presently in hospital for an eye issue, got diagnosed with MS. Two brain lesions. Next up: the spinal tap. 

My body is the lemon on the car lot of health. At least the staff here are wonderfully caring and will give me the xanny I need to get through this horror show. 

naptime, aka continued hope this is all a terrible dream. 

To Eleven

The overheating that goes along with the fibromyalgia causes the ibs to act up which increases stress which starts the whole process all over again with added insomnia which makes me overheat which upsets my guts and so on and so on until hey it's morning so it's time to eat food take pills which kicks the ibs back into gear and with that comes the nigh inevitable overheating and did I mention the pain in every muscle and joint yet because that's a constant occurrence that had a beginning once upon a time but has no end in sight no matter how many meds I take or life changes I adhere to or diets I adopt at my team of doctors' advice there is no end. 

So I breathe. 

Turn the meditation to eleven. Inhale. Exhale. Find the joy in the moment. 

One of the cats gallumphs onto my lap. 

Breathe. 

Sandpaper on my pinkie, and I am lost in the calm of his purring, his one shining eye. Breathe. 

truth

I hate my body. 

I hate my faulty pain klaxons. 

I hate my brain. 

I hate my hateful thoughts. 

I hate hate. 

I...I hate hating my body and my brain. 

Is My Depression Showing?

Lately, I am struggling. It feels like the air is thick with it, a fog of dense depression. This time, I also fight with my own romantic, fairy tale self, because I need to make changes, not just fantasize about them. So this battle is a bit tougher than previous times; not only the empty, aching nothingness, but also the knee-jerk reaction of escape within my imagination are against me. 

I am not hopeless. 

I am not helpless. 

I will prevail. 

Depression lies. 

Remember that: Depression lies.

Depression LIES. 

Back again

Road trip was cut drastically short as my bones, muscles, and depression ganged up a bit. there were a few dodgy moments before I accepted that my plans needed to change, but here I sit: alive. 

Expletive Deleted

Pros: 

I'm on a road trip!

My friends are wonderful!

My car is running great!

I've seen and hugged two dogs!

Cons:

I can't stop crying

my body betrays me every moment

at 38 I've the strength of an 83 yr old

there is no end in sight

my pain is constant

Selfish:

I don't want to end my trip early but it seems I have to, if I want to get back to home base. 

Remember: 

Depression lies. 

Depression lies. 

Depression lies. 

ps

repost from postsecret.com

Sunday Goods

Descended upon my mom today with dinner and general silliness. That's good. 

Ready for my road trip (I think). That's good. 

Hoping for a chill evening. That's ...

...car races on the teevee. Next to my head. There are other rooms, I could take a long bath. That's good. Good idea. good plan. good night. 

Secret's Warren

Each and every Sunday since, a long time ago in a galaxy far away, I first encountered Frank Warren's Postsecret I've wished for someone to share them with, to laugh and sigh and aww together, reveling in the human experience...I'm still wishing. 

That's my secret. </3

Liar, Liar, You are Fired

This post could be about the recent Trump/NBC rigamarole, but it isn't. 

id like to fire my lying depression. 

it's back. 

again. 

ugh. 

Infrequent

Fucken Fuckity

In the month of October both my bff Gran and our middle cat Pants passed away. 

The broken little pieces of my heart are starting to accept it. But Oh, those searingly painful reminders; how deeply they penetrate, in stabs and slices. 

Grieving is not what I want to be good at, but at almost forty, it seems inevitable. 

Love your loved ones. High-five your liked ones. Smile gently at strangers.

We are made to love.

Dear Brain

While you delight me most often with your immense imaginings, I must ask that you cease having imaginary conversations with the following:

- exes

- the dead

- yourself

Please remedy the situation posthaste. 

Yours,

Consciousness 

Hibernation

Just let me sleep, at least til the next crushing blow. 

Bed Rest

Forced bed rest, huzzah.

Well, forced by my body. Stress + fms (arthritis x old) = nervous exhaustion. No social media, no stressful calls, no nothin' until my strength has returned. 

I'm so sorry to those I disappeared on, but this was a sudden moment of oh-shit that needed immediate attention.

<3

Back to rest now.

Several of Seven

Dopey

Sleepy

Sneezy

Grumpouchy

That's one, right? 

My empathy is draining me. 

There have been many times I've wished for the emotional detachment of the sperm donor, but in my ever-loving heart I know my life has literally* been saved by feeling empathy. Both mine and others! Given the choice, I'll keep my fragile heart just the way it is, taped up bits and all.

*original meaning intended

Too much

As I write this, I realised that "too much" is not an accurate description of life at present. 

Kitten, kitten, old cat, gone cat. 

Four thousand dollars for gone cat care. 

(Another lost one added to my list)

Gran, my Gran; evil strokes, Alzheimer's, hospice.

Sofa city, kitten patrol, ouch ouch ouch.

Consolation, motivation, rah rah you!

Exhaustipation, nightmare visions, fatigue, meds, boo.

I need. 

Part of my heart will forever be broken; I'm running out of tape. 

Fonziepants Sleeps.

We had to send our sweet one eyed guy to sleep last weekend; sudden, sinister, and devastating lymphoma. He was fine Tuesday. He was gone Saturday. My heart hurts. Achingly, hollowly, painfully raw.

Uncertain

Just a few minutes ago, I learned of the death of someone who was once my friend, then my stalker. Uncertain does not encompass my feelings at present, but it is close. He was an artist, like me. He had mental health issues, like me. He had self-destructive tendencies, like me. He had voices in his head...unlike me. Those were what broke him, I think. I do not claim to know, as I had to block his access to my life after he became threatening a few years back...which he brought upon himself. He's free of them now. He hung himself. 

My tears are for the man he wanted to be, not the man his demons made him.