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Knocked Over By A Feather

But It Didn't Keep Me Down…

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chronic pain

Mer the Hermit

My husband and I share a car, a 2004 Chevy Impala. We purchased it back in May with the money that I had saved up since quitting smoking back in January.

We had thought at the time that it was in impeccable shape for the $900.00 that we paid for it. It started right up and felt “safe” to drive. It didn’t make any weird sounds or anything. All good signs. We’ve had nothing but shitty luck with automobiles for years now, so cool beans.

Well, we just had to cough up about $650 to get a few important things fixed on the Impala, like the brake lines (done by a real mechanic) and the entire back brakes, with pads, rotors and calipers, done by my husband’s friend who also happens to be my weed guy.

My daughter was gone from 11am until almost 2am this morning. Her “so you don’t drive your mother insane” curfew is 1am, but I gave her an extra extension because she was going down to Akron with her new friendboy. (Not official yet, more on this topic later.)

So yeah, I was alone all day yesterday, which shouldn’t have really bothered me so much, only it really did. I spent much of my time fighting back a panic attack, because the same thought kept running through my head.

“You’re all alone, trapped inside these four walls. Trapped! Hermit Lady! You suck.”

I dug deep into my bag of DBT tricks, classics like distraction, opposite action, being mindful…and one that I made up myself…telling my brain to go fuck itself.

Kindly go fuck yourself, stupid hypervigilant brain.

My gigantic 75 pound American Bulldog named Maya helps me feel less alone. She’s the best nap partner, which we take most days, even if just for a short horizontal life pause.


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Snuggle in, it’s nap time!


I’ve had many dogs in my life over the years, but she’s special.

Yeah, I know, everybody says that about their pets, like, I have the most special hamster, he does the Chicken Dance for a piece of corn.

Seriously, she loves to cuddle. She’s into the spooning thing and what kind of dog lover would I be to disappoint her?

Bring it in, girl.

We watched Family Guy Season 13 on Netflix. She cuddled on the couch with me.


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Mommy loves you, Maya.


What? It’s cute.

So the brake job yesterday took my husband and his buddy almost 12 hours in total. He only charged us $50, otherwise there was no way that we would have put more than what we had paid for it um… back into it?

It reads funny to me, but I’m just going to leave it alone.

I suppose we would have had to start using Uber. I don’t know, I’m fucking old. Bring me a prune, get off my lawn. 

Whatever.

You’d be surprised how often I have a streak of a week (or more) of not leaving my house. On Saturday mornings I see my therapist. I force myself to go even if I feel like cancelling, but she’s been taking frequent vacations lately. So, I missed her again yesterday, now two weeks in a row, which sucked.

It’s really so much more than just a therapist appointment, it’s like a snippet of freedom once a week. And if I’m feeling froggy, I’ll even stop at the big store or the little store, dependent upon many variables that I am too lazy to list.

My only IRL friend that I have left is Cheryl, but she also has fibro, so lately our weekly lunch/movie outing has been becoming more sporadic.

I might be having a great day, but then she might feel like chipped shit on toast. Or then, she’s feeling decent-ish and I want to go bury my head in my pillow all day long. Or usually, we both feel just bloody awful on the same day, because fibro is of the devil.

Yep. You’re not seeing things. I have one friend that I can actually hang out with. They’ve either all moved away or stopped asking me to do stuff. People forget about you sometimes and that sucks, but it’s just the circle of life.


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Me either, Pooh.


I had my own car for an extremely short time back in 2014 and I rarely drove it. If I was careful with finances for a few months, I could buy my own piece of shit car, but would the cost, upkeep and insurance be worth it if I barely drove the damn thing?

Now that I can drive our car and stop its momentum, I had planned on getting out of here for a bit today, but guess what?

I don’t feel up to it, plus there’s a cold front coming in again.

Well, shit.

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the chaos I’d leave behind

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I haven’t written a thing about my health for at least two weeks now because I felt like it’s all been done before, so why bother?

But after reading Kim’s post yesterday, it stirred up all of my emotions, the ones that I have been trying so hard lately to repress. I like life better when I’m not constantly thinking or overanalyzing everything. I’m safer when I keep my distance from people who aren’t within my inner sanctum.

I put my walls back up when I get hurt really badly by someone and that happened to me…again!


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When the fuck will I ever learn not to trust anyone? Haven’t I been treated like an afterthought enough times that I should know better by now?

My mental health is precarious. The worse that the fibro gets, the more I worry that I’ll have another complete meltdown.

I’ve been spending about 60% of my awake hours stoned and if I had enough weed, I’d make that 100%. But alas, I can only get so much of it at any given time.

My bones fucking ache like a throbbing, infected tooth. Trigger points throughout my entire body are sore to the slightest touch and is spreading insidiously upwards. Muscle spasms are constant. I’m weaker than I have ever been and I’m starting to lose muscle tone in my legs.

Each time I think that I have “accepted” this lifelong sentence, with my body stepping in to take the place of a jail cell, I go back to the anger and depression stages of the grieving process.

I’m imprisoned inside this painful body until the good Lord decides that it’s time for me to leave. But then again, if memory serves me correctly, my brain gets off on telling me to kill myself.

And as my physical health continues to deteriorate, I’m scared that I’ll end up deciding that maybe I would be better off.

I’d be finally done suffering, but the chaos I’d leave behind…well, that’s the thought that saves me for now.

The Alice Cooper Lesson

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I have never admitted to what I am about to blog about, but my time has come. My intent is not to shock you. My hope is that with my words there is someone who reads this that will know they can get through today and tomorrow and the next. This is not about strength, it is about endurance. When you really feel like you have nothing left, please know that you do.

It was shortly before I received my chronic illness diagnosis that I began trying to destroy myself … drugs, alcohol, food; Rock ‘n Roll!  Except I was not in a band. I was not famous. I didn’t even have a job anymore. I did not have a healthy support system. I did not even like myself, let alone love myself. I had no sense of self nor sense of self-respect left. I could not get better, I could not even define what ailment I was suffering with. All I knew was that I was now formally broken. Mind, soul, and body. What was left for me? What could I possibly be good for?


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I will admit I was either trying to sleep away the pain or out of my mind on medication… alcohol came later, followed by food or lack of food. I simply wished not to exist. I felt I had my run at the world and somehow I messed that up? I couldn’t even die right because if this was my life now certainly I should have died in the car accident. One of the responding officers at the accident site told me if our car had stopped three seconds later the Tahoe that crashed into us would’ve come through my door and I would have been killed. What the hell? Yep. Three lousy seconds… three! I was an embarrassment.

So I planned my suicide. (I’m not going to use pretty words.) My then fiancé’ was getting ready to take his daughter home after our weekend visit. I had planned the entire weekend. We had a great visit! We went out to eat, I had spent extra time with his daughter digging for clams on the beach, we watched funny movies, we all laughed a lot. I was covering my bases, making sure everyone would have good memories of me. As he was getting ready to leave with his daughter the phone rang and it was my mom. I thought, well, I still have plenty of time because it would take him close to 40 minutes to get her home and get back to our apartment. So I began chatting with my mom, happily, I might add, as I wanted her to be at peace when my suicide was completed.

This is how very irrational you are when the plan is made to commit suicide and only the deed is left to do. There is a lot of preparation. The previous week I had made sure our apartment was very clean, the laundry was done, put away and I had made a few extra meals for my fiancé so he’d have food for the week after I was dead. I planned where I would die to leave the least amount of mess; the bathtub. I even planned on calling 911 to report my suicide before I did it, making sure I remembered to hang up immediately. I was not getting talked out of my plan! I wanted the paramedics to get to me before my then finance’ returned home. I wanted to spare him from finding my body. I knew where our gun was and how to use it. I had showered the day I planned on killing myself and put on make-up. I was so at peace and absolutely giddy that I was finally going to have some control! I – was – in – control.


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When my then finance’ walked in the door, I was still happily chatting with my mom. I was just getting ready to hang up, making sure I told her I loved her. My mood drastically changed. I had screwed up! My perfect plan was ruined! Why had I talked so long? It didn’t feel like 40 minutes? It had been 40 minutes. It had been 40 minutes! My mother had literally, unknowingly, saved my life. I have never told her this story, my intentions are not to. She doesn’t need this kind of memory. This is my memory. Almost my last memory. The pain I would have caused my loved ones shames me to this day. I am ashamed of these dark thoughts that overtook my common sense. So many consider suicide to be the easy way out but to the person who contemplates it, it seems like the only way out. These irrational thoughts of suicide seem so rational! So unbelievably “right”.

You must always fight! These are the tricks your mind plays on you when you are dealing with severe depression, pain, and chronic illness. That night was the first time I had contemplated and planned my suicide. It was not my last time of ever thinking about suicide. Never again did I allow myself to ‘plan’ my suicide. I knew that if I began the planning process, the irrational feelings of it being “right” may take over. Suicide is never “right”. You do not get to choose life or death on any given day. I see the terminally ill choose not to go on, I understand that. But when you are not terminally ill, the decision is just not yours to make.

So I began the process of repairing my mind, body, and soul. I now know myself. I now have some respect of self and sense of self-worth. Has this life been worth living? Yes! Yes! Yes! The things I would’ve missed! The life I live now! The purpose I have found! The love I have been given! Yes! Yes! Yes! A thousand times, yes! Life is not fair and it is not easy. There are good times and bad times to be lived through. To – be – lived – through! Life is all that it is because you are present in it and feel all the emotion that comes with it. Feel your life. Live your life. You will find purpose, and you will love. That is what is “right”.

FullSizeRender 56~Kim

 

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