~Ouch

I hurt. Simple, but right on the nose. I hurt.

Yes, it's the usual mental/emotional crap, but on top of that, it's a bazillion physical complaints.

For now, I can't afford the medications that might help. For now, I try damn hard not to bitch... about anything. I'm lucky that I have a roof over my head. Beggars can't be choosers... Beggars can't be complainers.

Stifle Stifle Stifle

Suck it up

Life goes on


tediously

~another rant

...and so, you take a risk

I wish to fuck someone had taken a risk with me

I wish someone would have begged and pleaded

...a heads up

...a watch out!

...but no... nothing


I forgive you, brother

022405 ~blog comment reply

The blog does help, sometimes. Venting is VITAL. Stress is just plain BAD. Venting helps with the stress. Blog = Vent = WOOHOO! :) So, yes, the blog does indeed help. Time and ability allowing, I hope to continue typing. ;)

~The School of Cutter

It seems that the next degree I should get is one in Neuropsychiatry. Without one, I won't be able to handle this disease o' mine. My degree in Psychology and the one in Gender Studies just aren't enough now. I thought that maybe, if I could just consult with a Neurologist, I'd be good to go, but apparently, Neurologists don't have to educate themselves well enough to effectively treat people who fall outside of the "majority". Not that this comes as any surprise, but it still annoys the piss out of me.

So, I'll start studying and researching... at least, on the days my brain allows me to. No one else is going to do it for me.

~I hurt therefore I am

Figuring the whole MS thing out is tricky. Yes, I've been living with it for years, but being that it has progressed to this point, and finally having a name for it, puts a twist on everything I've learned to do to keep myself going. I guess the biggest tricky thing is simply whether or not I even want to keep going.

Too, I've had dreams for years. The ones where no matter how hard I try, I can't communicate with people... they can't understand me, or I can't make my mouth work... and the ones where I'm in a wheelchair.... these dreams are pretty spooky now. Premonitions? I don't know. Could be.

As of now, aside from the cognitive problems and bouts of obsessiveness, compulsiveness, paranoia, rage, and depression, I have to figure out a new way to deal with the daily physical problems. I've written the physical problems off for about 20 years, with the help of many shrinks, bad doctors, and their explanations. I can't write them off anymore. It was all in my head, literally. Now, the problems scare me in a whole new way.

I don't know the difference between a "flare up" and just another shaking spell or bout of back pain or hand pain or shoulder pain or weak ankles or insomnia or nausea or vertigo or fatigue or headache from hell or gotta go now! or blurred vision or numbness or pins and needles or oversensitive ears or feeling like I'm being beaten in random places with a lead pipe.

I don't have arthritis. I didn't drink too much the night before. My shoes fit fine! I don't have an alter who limps. I don't have an alter who is deaf in one ear. I don't have an alter who has the eardrums of a canine. I don't have an alter who is catatonic. I have MS.

Multiple Sclerosis. It means "many scars". The irony of that does not escape me.

~Quote for the day

The great thing about suicide is that it's not one of those things you have to do now or you lose your chance. I mean, you can always do it later.

- Harvey Fierstein
(my personal hero)

~all none maybe

It's difficult to write. I'm pretty much stuck in my own head. The thoughts and reactions I have to this, that, and the other thing seem better left unexpressed or not acted upon. When I have the least bit of control over it, I do my best to "stifle". It's not just that I feel no one "gets it" or cares, it's that over and over again I get infuriated because I'm misinterpreted or thought poorly of. There's nothing that pisses me off quite like someone assuming and then claiming to understand me, or even worse, when someone compares their life to mine. "I know you" is not something anyone on this planet can honestly say to me. No one knows me. Half the time, I don't even know myself. Everything I say is a lie, and it's also truth at the same time.

I try not to attempt to define things. It makes my head hurt. Defining something is making a decision. Very often, I can't even decide which foot goes first while walking. I can't tell people what is right or wrong, good or bad, true or false. The answer is always yes and no.

I determine what is right by what feels right. It's the best I can do. Problem is, often, I don't feel a damn thing.

~Turn It Off

My brain is full enough, permasnot aside, I just can't seem to get things into words. I suppose that it's like the proverbial "deer in headlights". It's all just too much. I have to focus on the really important things like... breathing... and whether or not I remembered to put my pants on. Yes, at this point in my life, those things actually do take effort. It happens sometimes.

My head feels crowded... unable to focus. It's all I can do to just get through the day. I have to tell myself not to think... don't think, it only goes in circles... if I think, it'll take me an hour to even decide whether or not to go to the bathroom. So far, I've been lucky there. I manage to make up my mind... to stop the debate before shit happens.

I want to keep in mind, maybe hide it somewhere in the permasnot, "this too shall pass". I guess that it would help if I actually believed it. I think that at this point in my life, I'm just plain out of hope. Permasnot is permasnot. MS is MS. My brain is my brain.

I do the best I can.

Think I'll try to stop thinking now. This entry is long enough.

~Life hurts

I sure wish my head would clear. I wish I could blow the permasnot from my corpus callosum. That's what it looks like to me... permasnot... rot... shit...

shit for brains.

~You

I hate you.

I hate you with so much intensity, it's obscene.

I want you to die... painfully.

You are what gives me faith that evil does truly exist.

You are what gives me faith in my own purity.

You are what gives me faith in RIGHT.


Notice I said "WHAT" and not "WHO".


You. I hate you.

~Beary Funny

As someone who has spent a lot of time in lock up, I think that I have the right to say that this:

cracks me the fuck up!

I wish people would put more energy into actually helping people, and less into protecting them from what they think might offend them.

(Speaking of assholes on the net...)

I think that after the last 7 months or so, I'm done with giving assholes the time of day. :\ It's embarrassing that I blew my life to hell for someone so horrible (hence the missing archives). I'll heal though. Always do.

Next on the MS bandwagon (cont'd 5)

The test results did come back. That was the appointment yesterday. Apparently this Neurologist cannot tell me what type of MS I have, or how long I've had it, only that I definitely have MS.

The appointment didn't go well. Like I said, I don't want to go too far into it, but the whole "what are you?" thing was in the air, and that always makes me beyond irate. Add to that the constant pushing of the newest head med (if I hear Zyprexa one more time I'm going to snap), and the fact that it seemed he was more concerned with my high blood pressure and cholesterol level than looking at my MRI... it's same shit, different doc. Anything but actually listen to the patient.

By the end of the appointment, I was no further informed than I was a month ago, and even more confused.

~A plague I call a heartbeat

So, I have MS. Now, I suppose, I have some decisions to make. There are some drugs, which may or may not help to prevent future "flare ups". Nothing un-does the damage already done. I suppose they consider this an attempt at preserving "quality of life". That's where I have to start thinking. Quality of life? Quality of life!?!?! My life has SUCKED SHIT! Do I really want to keep going with more of the same?

I could get into details... rant on and on about what I've gone through in my 35 years which has made my life so fucking horrible, and what is still going on, but what good would that do? Do I need permission to check out? At what point is calling it a day valid, understandable, or at least forgivable?

So, do I wait until I need someone to wipe my ass for me, or do I just check out while I can still take responsibility for my own actions? Is dying with dignity even a remote possibility?

I'm tired. I'm always tired.

See these eyes so green
I can stare for a thousand years
Just be still with me
You wouldn't believe what I've been through ~

Next on the MS bandwagon (cont'd 4)

I won't go into a rant. I'll just say that I hate doctors and hospitals and people, in general. Yes, the appointment pissed me off.

I, positively, have MS. For the moment, that's where things stand. There's no doubt there.

Next on the MS bandwagon (cont'd 3)

Spoke with the Neurologist, on the phone, just now.

My cholesterol is high. No shit.
My right eye is off. No shit.
My right arm is off. No shit.

My B12 level is fine. ok...

So, what the fuck do I have!?!?!?!?!?! What the hell else do you have to rule out!?!?!?!?!?!

Going into my appointment tomorrow, laptop and MRI in hand, hopefully leaving the anger and attitude at the door.