naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
It's still most days that something goes wrong, and even a little pain leaves me nervous and wondering if there will be more, and if so, when, so it makes it uncomfortable going anywhere.

My gut's latest trick is attacking me if I drink too much at once.  Even water.

I can't even drink water.

And eating what most people would consider a "full meal" tends to be too much for me.

Keep in mind, I am not less hungry or thirsty than most people.  I still need to eat and drink just as much as anyone else.  But I have to do it in little bits if I want to avoid pain.

A person with executive functioning issues having to split meals up into smaller, more frequent meals.

Guess how easy that is for me?  Guess how often I manage it?  Go on.  Guess.  I eat two full meals on an average day.  It has to be a very good day before I get to 3.

And wow, this constant threat of pain makes every aspect of my health care more fearful.

What if I hurt myself and need to be on pain pills?  Those constipate you, and the IBS sure doesn't need help doing that.  The remedy for that is laxatives, which cause intestinal spasms that are agonizing.

Anything that causes diarrhea or constipation gives me literal pain in my asshole.  Hemorrhoids, or just plain acid burn.  OR BOTH.  Disgusting, yes, but fuck it, I've stopped trading on my sex appeal here, and I'm too fucking tired to be embarrassed anymore.

What if I wind up in the hospital for something?  Will they provide me with food I can safely eat?  (Fuck, will they even treat me with dignity?)

What if I wind up losing my gall bladder (all the women in my family have)?  That causes digestive woes for many people, the majority, even, who have gall bladder surgery.  I don't need more acid shits!

What if I wind up having to go on a specialized diet for insulin resistance/diabetes?  That would leave me unable to eat anything.  I can't eat fats, and most proteins are dicey.  No dairy.  Vegetables are pretty much right out.  Fruit is iffy.  Taking away carbs would leave me with literally nothing to eat.  (This one is at least comparatively unlikely; it doesn't run in my family that I am aware.)

Like, laugh if you want, but this stuff keeps me up at night.

My guts just attacked me a couple of hours ago and while it wasn't that bad as these things go, I don't have the spoons to deal with it again.  I don't want to eat, but I'm hungry.

I'm tired of it.  I don't want to live the rest of my life like this.  And unless they make FMT more widely available for IBS, then make Medicaid pay for it, I'm going to have to.

I mean, poop transplants, wow, that's its own traumatizing nightmare that I would rather jam a fondue fork up my nose than seriously discuss at any length, but at least it would offer some hope provided I could stop having panic attacks long enough to do it.

I can go back to the gastroenterologist, I guess, and try to get him to prescribe me Rifaximin again, at the higher dose a couple of studies show it was effective for IBS, and hope that the higher dose gives longer-lasting effects than the lower doses did.

There's just so few options for treatment, and even managing it this well has required me to live off of chicken and rice and chicken noodle soup for months now.  So like, best case scenario the way things are right now, I can still only eat like five things, but I'm not in pain.

Worst case scenario, it just keeps getting worse, I can eat nothing, and can't even drink water.

All that said, my life is amazing and I am very grateful because 2016 may be a disaster on a "the entire rest of the world" level, but for me personally it has been pretty fantastic.  Yeah, there was the whole "I can't get my meds" issue, but that's sorted for now, and the divorce stuff is painful in many ways which is pretty unavoidable, but . . . yeah.  I'm happier than I have been in a long time.

Just.  You know.  Being able to DRINK would be nice.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
Everything has just felt . . . flat.

I have things that need doing, and I even do some of them, but my heart isn't in it.  It's not even like depression, where there is nearly always a place to get away from it, whether that's video games or reading or playing with pixel dragons or writing or RP, it's just a matter of finding it.  This is just . . . I do the things I want to do, and I don't enjoy them.

I'm too tired and numb to do much, caught between feeling awful and feeling awful for feeling awful because I lost no-one personally and I'm not a part of the group most affected by it, only the LGBT community as a whole.  I'm angry, but it's an overwhelmed kind of angry because it feels like there's nothing I can do to stop people from being so fucking awful.

Assholes talking about this want to blame Muslim people, to which I say bullshit.

They want to blame mental illness, to which I say bullshit.

They want to blame frustrated homosexuality, to which I say bullshit.

The man was a hater, and he wanted to kill.  So he did.

Being Muslim, mentally ill, frustratedly gay, does not make you a wannabe killer.  But people imply it does, piling up more shit on the doorstep of Muslim people, mentally ill people, closeted gay people.

And people will do doughnuts around their own assholes to try to avoid saying that it was flat-out homophobia, which our nation is positively seething with right now.

I grieve most for the LGBT Latin@ community, dealt an incalculable wound.  One that has been largely overlooked in discussions of the tragedy.  Race has been erased, and we must not allow that to continue.  Not outside the LGBT community, nor within it.

I fear most for the Muslim people who will suffer for this, especially LGBT Muslims.

This happened during Pride Month, during Immigrant Heritage Month, during Ramadan.  This is a time for celebration, for appreciating history, it is a sacred time.  The larger LGBT community needs to close ranks around these people.  Protect them, as Tumblr says, at all costs.

I'm avoiding news as much as I can because the commentary is shit.  I avoid talking about it with people, even people I trust, because it's a near guarantee that something incredibly stupid is going to fall out of their mouths at some point.

I'm mourning for the wider LGBT community.  But I also see a lot of hope coming our way in the future.  

This will become part of our history, another wound to add to all the others.  And we will draw together over it, like scar tissue knitting over a wound.  We will remember it every June by coming closer, by saying the names, by remembering, by taking joy in what we have left of what was, and in celebrating what is new.  

Because while there are new names with no heartbeats behind them now, and while there will be more of those between now and next year, there will also be new names and heartbeats next year.  Just-Out folks of all ages, people newly married, newly escaped from abusive families, people participating in the community in new ways, living their truth.  

This must never be forgotten, we must use this pain to make others understand, we mustn't back down.  We must use this to find new ways to reach out and demand that the world change.  But we must also find new ways to feel alive and love one another.  The sole legacy of this should not be of anger -- though our anger is beautiful and so necessary -- but also of creation and hope.

We are making so much progress, and hostility directed at us is one of the first signs of that.  It is meant to force us back into invisibility.  To silence and terrorize us.

And it's just not going to work.

Right after I heard the news I went and climbed into bed with my sleeping girlfriend, and I lay there with my skin against her skin, floating in a fragile sort of peace because she didn't know yet, and I comforted myself by thinking that even if this is taken away from us by violence tomorrow, we would still have had it.

And that even though this loss has been incalculable, even though the world and the wider LGBT community has been robbed of these vital presences that were so needed, nothing can erase them completely.  Much has been lost, much will never be made, never be done.  But what was done and what was made has not been wasted.

I comfort myself with that, too.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
 "Amanda" grates on me more every day.

Lovely name, really truly lovely, but . . . maybe it's just the radical change in circumstances, leaving behind 20+ years of history, but I don't feel like that person any more.  Not just that, but . . . it's a woman's name.  I'm uncomfortable with that, too.

I have no idea what I'm doing.  I'm assured that's okay and that my identity is still valid.

I, uhh, just wish I knew what that was.

Because I have no clue.

Pretty sure I wanna be "Alex", though.

Plants!

May. 12th, 2016 09:05 pm
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
I briefly mentioned our little container garden yesterday.  Here is my favorite part of it.  Some sort of Echeveria, I think? I’m not sure. 

Whatever it is, it is precious and luminous and fat and so obviously happy to be here (in short, everything I strive to be) and I love it to pieces.

PLANTS.


Echeveria?


It has two secondary rosettes and is making itself another new friend, I think, of to the right near the flowering stalk.  It is slightly translucent, even with the waxy coating, so it has the softest shadows imaginable.  I really love it.  It is so friendly-looking and sweet.

I have no idea what its little friends are off to either side, but I need to pot them.

Behind it is a pot with a rose of Sharon, some lamb’s ear, and some mint, and the yellow flowers I was talking about yesterday.  Totally surprised me.  I have no idea what they are attached to.  I think it might be some variety of Sedum?  I seem to remember my sister saying that when she gave it to us.
naamah_darling: Picture of a treasure chest with a skull and crossbones on top. My art! (Artistic)
But it's not not magical.

I am finding new ways to be content every day.

When you're in a situation where more harm is being done than good, and no forward advancement is happening, no amount of "little things" can bring you happiness.  I would get angry when people would say "relish the little things" and I'd be like WHAT THE FUCK do you expect me to do, just ignore how unhappy I am in favor of going "Oooh, flowers!", is that what you want?  How are flowers supposed to make me feel better when I can't breathe?  Fuck off with this "little things" shit, stop telling me to be content with cats and sunbeams and the occasional bath.  I'm bleeding out.  I don't need hot tea and a good book.  I need HELP.

Because that's what being in a bad situation will do to you.  All those nice little things are still there, but it's impossible to enjoy them, impossible to take comfort in them.  That's not a failure of perception, it's not ingratitude, it's just the effect pain has on a person's spirit.

But I'm in a situation that is working for me now.  I am in a situation that is demonstrably bringing improvements to literally every area of my life.  I'm discovering I'm strong.  Have always been strong.  Should never have had to be as strong as I was.  And now I have room to use that strength for more than survival.

Bear is playing video games, taking a deserved break after we both spent time together listening to podcasts and working on ponies, and I just went out to my little container garden and picked some real, fresh rosemary and used it on some chicken I just put in the oven.  I washed some of our new dishes.  The cats are staring out the front door, and the sun is bright and clear.  I just saw a cardinal in our bushes.

And when I went outside, I noticed that one of our plants bloomed overnight.  Just boom, and suddenly there are tiny yellow flowers out of nowhere when there were literally no flowers yesterday whatsoever.  I don't know what plant it is.  It's something my sister gave us in a big flowerpot of mixed plants.  But it's there, blooming brightly like everything in its life is going right and it's happy right where it is, and I realized that here, here is forward progress, and evidence that I am not fucking everything up.

The little things didn't lift me out of the bad place.  But suddenly being able to appreciate the little things again lets me know I'm not still there.  I hold my cats or sit in my bath and I think I am enjoying this.  I am happy right now.

And it's not visible in my words, but the other half of this miracle, the part that isn't simply "No longer in a bad place!", is Bear, and her presence as a wonderful, beautiful companion who I am grateful to have in my life every day.

It's a good world that has her in it.  It's a good life we have together.

I am less afraid every day.  I am happier every day.
naamah_darling: Picture of a treasure chest with a skull and crossbones on top. My art! (Artistic)
This is Astraea!  She is a cartographer, astronomer, and navigator.

She was a Patreon reward pony for the lucky winner of my yearly drawing for $15+ patrons.



If you guys could help spread the word about my Patreon, that would be swell.  We took a big financial hit the week before last when Bear lacerated her toe and twisted her ankle.  She was only able to return to work yesterday.  We could really use the boost.

I want to get up to 50 patrons and $500 by the end of the year, and I think those are both doable.  The second will be a little harder, so I could use all the help I can get.

Patrons get access to full photo shoots for each custom as well as more behind the scenes stuff.  Patrons at the $15+ level get entered in the yearly drawing for a custom pony.

So if you or your friends are into supporting queer disabled artists, here's a good chance to do that.  The money helps pay bills, buys my meds, feeds us, and gets our cats closer to adequate vet care.

If you want to signal boost on Tumblr,
that post is right here.

In the meantime, how gorgeous is this babe?

The nylon of her hair is very fine and translucent, so delicate that the color shifts slightly depending on the angle - the white looks blue where it's viewed in oblique light, the blue looks purple, the purple looks pink.  It's not an effect I was able to capture adequately, but you should know about it because it makes her absolutely radiant in person.

I honestly think she might be the prettiest custom I've done.  I don't know.  It's hard to say, so many of them have been so beautiful.  But I am especially pleased with her.  You know how sometimes you hit exactly what you were aiming at?

Yeah. 

You know how sometimes you hit it right out of the park, better than you had hoped?

Yeah, that.

Really happy with her.  I hope you enjoy taking a look!








Again, her full shoot is available on Patreon to patrons of any level, even $1.  Please go give it a look!  Help us support ourselves!

Thanks, everyone!
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)

At this point the struggles to get adequate treatment are severely interfering with my ability to benefit from that treatment.  If it weren't for the fact that I can't sleep without the Seroquel, I'd say it's not worth it at all.

I went to go see about the results of the genetic test today.

First, I waited for over an hour and a half because the fucking staff and the fucking doctor forgot about me.

Next, they didn't even have the goddamn test results.

So I wound up talking about the potential test results and their potential usefulness with the guy, who was . . . trying, I guess.  But he seemed pretty . . . I don't know.  Condescending and dismissive, but in a way that I find it hard to explain so that it sounds legitimate.  He wasn’t very responsive, either.  I just don’t think we’re a good match at all.

Part of me wants to say maybe it’s the enormous goddamn chip on my shoulder.

Another part of me is like "No, you didn't make that up, and the chip on your shoulder is there for a goddamn reason."

So I have another appointment in two weeks for I don't know what, and when they find the fucking test results the doctor is going to call me and we'll discuss a plan.  I'm inclined to skip the call and just go to the appointment.  Hearing issues make phone calls unpleasant for me.  But that leaves me with two weeks of nothing.

I should be used to being put off by now.

The therapist I'm supposed to be seeing runs the clinic.  I just have to make an appointment to go see her.

The appointments I keep having to make are keeping me awake.  Keeping me from getting my sleep schedule brought back around.  And when they are fucking pointless bullshit  they just make everything worse.

I HATE THIS.

I want to quit so badly.  I just want to fucking quit.  I’ll deal with being sick.  I just want to be left alone.

Meh.

Apr. 16th, 2016 08:10 pm
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
TW: eating disorder stuff

The IBS had me in such pain that I lost about 30 pounds last year, and I spent a lot of time unable to eat to satiation.

Now that I'm cooking my own food I'm relatively stable, and have been able to eat as much as I want.  That has led me to regain everything I lost (and will probably wind up regaining more because that's how yo-yo dieting works, even when it's not intentional), and what's worse, I'm having a recurrence of the behavior I had after years of starving myself: I'm eating a lot, and almost constantly throughout the day, because that's what food deprivation does.  It makes you hungry.  Not hungry in a stomach growling sense, but in a deeper way.  Hungry on a cellular level.  It's a compulsion to eat and it's almost impossible to ignore.  Doing so is upsetting -- it reminds me too strongly of doing it deliberately, reminds me of how miserable I was.

I know that resisting it only makes it worse and makes it last longer, but I still have a lot of issues around my size and it's distressing.

I'm still dysphoric about my body.  I don't know if that will ever change.  And this is not helping.

Stupid IBS.  Just another way it fucks me up.

naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
For now we have the Seroquel situation under control.  I have a generic that works.  Thanks to Bear and her therapist for taking the ball on that one and making it happen when I didn't have the strength to do it.

All that's left is the Wellbutrin and I have a sizeable stash of it.  Thank you to those who helped me obtain it.

And I may not need it, I don't know.  While I was off the Seroquel, I had to stop taking it even though I had some, because it's very activating, and made it even harder to sleep.  And I've been all right without it.

The other news is that I was offered genetic testing to determine what other antidepressants and antipsychotic drugs might work for me.  It could be there is a better answer all around.  I'm very excited about this.  Aside from it being SCIENCE! from THE FUTURE! it's also an avenue of enquiry with the potential to yield valuable data.  So I had the cheek swab done yesterday and will have the results in a couple of weeks.

Neat, right?

All of this undermedicated nonsense aside, especially now that I have a couple of days' worth of solid sleep under my belt, I am feeling better than I have in ages.

My situation has been complicated -- more complicated than I can or want to discuss here -- and difficult for a long time.  Resolving that has been tricky and sometimes frightening, but also necessary and freeing, and I am feeling it more each day.  Bear is a tremendous help in that regard.  I love her deeply.  We are a strong unit.  I have confidence in us.  And confidence in myself, that even if this doesn't work out maybe I really could find a way to make it on my own.  Maybe I really would be okay.  Maybe I'm not the unsalvageable mess I've thought for so long I am.

I'm not as scared of the future as I was because I can actually see a future, instead of just . . . hopelessness and more of the same, going on forever.  I'm still scared, yes, but my life feels like it belongs to me again.  It feels real again.  I feel real.

Sometimes I feel like I should have done more to make things right, and every day I feel that I should have done what was necessary sooner.  Then I think yes, but I did do what was necessary and I did save myself.  I survived.  Even if it was difficult, and sometimes distasteful and unfair.  But I survived.  And that's enough.  I should not have to be ashamed for anything I did to survive.

There is so much I wish I could say, but I have to leave it at "I am happy here."
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
I dreamed that Bear and I were trying to get things fixed up, but someone kept undoing all our work, and our things kept getting lost, and it was all quite frustrating.

It was full night outside and we hear the sounds of a parade so we go look, and it's some kind of weird (but beautiful) Midnight Carnival thing.  People in costumes, in masks, carrying banners.  Strange animals.  Dancing, singing, drumming.  It's spilling over into the park across the street, and we decide to go put on some costumes and have a walk, because fuck working to fix a mess we didn't make.

After a while, all the motion and noise gets to be too much for me, so I excuse myself and go walking back the way the procession came, where it's quiet and dark and soft.

I see a paddock, and I can see a stable up near the crest of the hill.  I call out and two horses gallop down.  They're friendly, and follow me along the fence as I climb the hill toward the house.  There's an old woman there at the top of the hill, watching me.  She's grey, wearing a grey robe, and unbelievably ancient.

"Was that you in the street just now, calling to my horses?" she asked.

"Yeah, that was me," I said, not sure if she was going to be angry for interfering with her animals.

"You looked so beautiful.  Just dancing and spinning as you walked."

"I wasn't dancing."

"Well, maybe it was something else, but it was you."

I'm confused.  I wasn't dancing.  Seriously.  Like, I'm happy, I'm in love, but it's not the same thing.

She just shrugs and points up.  "Look how clear the stars are," she says.

I look up and there is Orion, huge and handsome, and more stars than I have ever seen in the night sky.  And there are shooting stars, dozens of them, streaking the sky.  It's unspeakably beautiful.

"I'll be right back," I say hastily, giving her arm a squeeze before I tear off running down the hill.  "I have to get my girlfriend."

I run back to the festival and grab her.  "Come with me!"

"Why?  What is it?"

"Just . . . come with me!"

She's excited now.  She knows if I'm this worked up, it has to be good.  So she comes with me and we say hello to the horses and we climb the hill where the old woman is still waiting wordlessly.

"Look.  Look at Orion," I say, pointing out the familiar shape.  There are even more stars than before, and clouds skimming overhead, thin and pale but still flickering with lightning.  It looks like Orion is wearing some sort of badass celestial robe.  I can almost see him, like a picture laid over a picture.

As we watch, shooting stars keep falling by the dozens.  Some of them white, some blue, some slow, some fast, some leaving long trails and some just brief flashes of light.  Then the actual stars themselves, the real stars, begin to twinkle and put forth sharp rays of light that stay in the air, hovering.  It looks very strange, but it's also quite beautiful.

"What are those?" I ask.  They look like . . . music.  Bright and fearful music.

"They are called swords of light," the old woman says.  "It means the celestial ones are dying."

I don't know if she means angels or the stars themselves or both.  I don't ask.

Then the stars begin to go out, flashing brighter before vanishing, leaving the rays quivering to nothing in the air.  It's like watching someone turn the lights off on the entire universe, and I know that the most distant ones are going first, coming nearer and nearer as we watch them wink out and fade.

It's the literal end of the world, the end of everything, the Universe taking back its one great muttered Word.  I am terrified.

The old woman says nothing.  I don't know if Bear can even see her, or if she knows what is happening.  When I look over at her, she looks completely calm.

Without speaking, I reach out and take her big, warm hand.  

It's the end of the world and that's the only thing I want to do.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
After trying three times to make myself understood and failing, I asked my social worker to fix this one very simple problem I had been unable to crack.  One phone call from her should have done it.  Five minutes, tops.

Four hours later, nothing.  Then a response saying that someone should be calling me, and if they couldn't fix it, to have them call her.  Wow, how many opportunities for someone to drop the ball can you count there?  Because I count at least four.  It was frankly an unacceptable response.  So much so that I didn't even dignify it with an answer because what do you even say at that point?  You have time to call someone and explain the problem and tell them to call me and then let me know you did that, but you don't have time to call them and explain the problem and then add the extra two words necessary to tell them to fix it?

I had to literally go down there with Bear and rattle a cage.  Took less than five minutes once I got it in front of the right person.

Which wouldn't have been that big a deal if literally everyone else involved in the process had not failed spectacularly to do what they were supposed to do, leaving me so frustrated, upset, and alone that I spent forty-five minutes crying uncontrollably into my pillow while casually observing myself doing this from somewhere far away, not really certain why I was crying in the first place.

That's dissociation, in case anyone fails to recognize it.  That's bad.  That's scary.

I don't know how to make myself understood.  "This is important.  I have been off my medication or undermedicated for three months; I need you to prioritize my care because I am at acute psychological risk."  How much more explicit do I have to be?

When I am in this state, I am not capable of steamrollering over problems without hurting myself.  But that is what I keep having to do.  I am constantly being asked to do more, to keep going, when I am clearly in desperate need of someone else to take the reins.

I am fucked up right now because the people I should have been able to trust, that I had been assured would help me, fucking failed.

I'm sure there was a reason for this.  I'm sure the reason was...well...reasonable.  It often is.  That's the worst part.  It's nearly always something totally understandable.

At this point that doesn't matter.  I can't keep coming in second to everyone, because that is how nothing is getting done.

And if I get angry at understandable delays I'm the unreasonable one despite the fact that taken as a whole, these delays are the most unreasonable aspect of the whole thing.  I try to make myself understood politely, and nothing gets done.  I just get hurt worse.

And at this point, I can't even articulate what form "getting hurt worse" would take.  I don't know what that would even look like.  Catatonia?  Because, I mean, that's happened before.  I don't particularly want to go back there.  I need to not be committed, thanks, because at this point I have less than no evidence that they wouldn't just beat me to death with socks full of gravel.

I don't want this.  I'm tempted to just find a way to do without the medication entirely because that would honestly at this point be easier and healthier than trying to get hold of it.  Maybe if I gave it time I'd be okay with just the Lamictal and nothing else.  Sure, I'd always have the pain of knowing that nobody who was supposed to care for me professionally actually did, but that's not a new sensation.

I want to be able to give people good news.  About all I can say is that the paperwork I needed faxed was faxed, and the applications for the prescription assistance programs are in theory where they should be.  That's forward progress, but not good news, and it certainly isn't the result of anyone else's work, just the result of them doing, without exaggeration, less than five minutes' worth of work.  Filling out and faxing three forms that have stupid-proof instructions at the very top.  How hard is that?  You'd think they were having to start at "inventing fire."

I won't be able to take up the matter of my case manager with her boss until Tuesday, assuming I can get out of bed.  I have had no reliable rest.  Getting up early or staying up late at least two days/nights a week because of actual appointments, and the rest just because things are so fucking broken.  At this point I don't even want to sleep because it just brings another day around, a day in which I can be ignored and disappointed.

I wish I knew how to give up, I wish I knew what that looked like, because I would very much like to do it.

Tonight I ground up the last of my shit-rate generic Seroquel and dumped it into grape juice to cover the flavor.  I can still taste it, and it's still bitter as hell.

Nothing changes.

Bottoms up.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
So tired from cleaning that everything else is going to hell because I can't keep up.

It shouldn't have taken four days to clean one bathroom, I simply was not expecting to have to do even a quarter as much, and the repairs are still not finished. My dad is having to pay for it all, because I'm a broken fuckup who can't support themselves.

Now because of that, we got behind cleaning Bear's apartment up before her move-out day, so I did that all in one day yesterday, but now I'm way behind on my own stuff: the kitchen, my bathroom, my bedroom, grocery shopping, and the laundry. All of that has piled up into a morass that will take days to fix.

This shit has been constant, and maybe that wouldn't be a problem if I were still on my meds but I'm off the Wellbutrin completely and have only 2 days of the shitty Seroquel left. Four if I stretch it which would mean little to no restful sleep, but also would keep the discontinuation symptoms away a little longer.

So I'm doing this starting with very few resources and plunging into negative spoons pretty much daily which, if it persists, is going to put me in a scary place, psychologically speaking.

I'm still navigating hell trying to get the meds sorted out. Having to go to doctor's appointments when I have no car of my own, and when I'm sleeping during the day so basically every appointment is either keeping me up late or getting me up early. Maybe having to go to the city shelter for the homeless to see what their pharmacy can get me, which means documenting my need which means pulling together a bunch of paperwork. And going down there when I have no car and have to borrow Bear's or catch a ride (inconveniencing someone else, which is VERY STRESSFUL).

I feel like a small animal being constantly shaken and pushed around so I can't get any rest. I keep thinking "Tomorrow I can relax!" and shit keeps coming up or going wrong and keeping that from happening and I am so TIRED. I NEED A BREAK.

Being poor is expensive, a lot of work, and is emotionally and physically draining.

I just want time to rest and I thought I would have more of that but about four critical days got ripped away from me and the fallout from that, the scramble it sent us all into, has fucked up a LOT more than four days.

I also wanted a few days as an airlock to maybe move some stuff out of the way and finally paint my bedroom or something. Just something nice for me, you know? Because when we moved in here in 2008 I spent my energy on getting the rest of the house fixed up and by the time I got to my room I was just exhausted so I let it go because I felt like I didn't matter. Well, I DO matter. And I didn't want this to happen again. And it has. And it isn't my fault so I just feel like I'm being punished for thinking that maybe I deserve a little better.

Pharmacies and paperwork and doctor visits and phone calls and running around and waiting every day to hear if anything has changed. I don't feel like I'm ever going to get on top of this shit.

I need to be left alone. Just...leave me alone, please. Jesus, I need this to be over.

And a lot of it is complicated enough that I can't outsource it effectively. And I can barely keep what I'm supposed to be doing straight.

This is so fucking frustrating. I could deal with the psych meds OR the house repairs/cleaning. Not both.

People keep pushing me to keep going. No. I need someone to do this for me. To get me my meds. I can't keep this up. I am so close to breaking. It's been almost three months. THREE MONTHS. I need to REST and I need to be SAFE. And people keep telling me it'll be over soon, and it just isn't TRUE.

Not true at all.

I am so tired.

I am trying so hard to fight.

I just want it to be over. Please.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
The move is going very, very well.  Bear and I are already both happier despite the chaos, and despite the fact that my medication situation is still up in the air and I am not sleeping normally at all so I spend my time split roughly evenly between utterly exhausted and wired like a six-year-old chugging Red Bull.  Sometimes simultaneously, like now.

There have been some unexpected issues popping up -- a broken window, toilet repairs, replacement of hopelessly filthy carpet and replacing it ASAP with tile of some sort, replacement of some rotten floor molding, new blinds, repairs to the kitchen sink, lots of little things like that -- so we're tackling those on a case-by-case basis.

My dad is helping, but I'd like to avoid having to lean on him too heavily when he already helped us out so much by securing the refinancing of the house.  So if anyone wants to kick five or ten bucks our way, we would be very appreciative.  I'm naamah@gmail.com for purposes of paypal.

I hate to ask, but this is a very uneven time.  My disability benefits will be changing but we don't know how much, or if my assumption that they should be going up is correct at all.  Things are slow at Bear's job (tip your pizza driver, folks).  We're bleeding money from little things -- a ton of extra cleaning supplies, prepared food that is easy to fix but costs more, gas money, packing supplies, all that sort of thing -- so budgeting is hard.

We aren't in trouble yet -- I'm asking for a little help before we get there, hoping to keep it from becoming a real problem -- but anything you want to send our way, even if it's just a few dollars, would be appreciated.  Again, I'm paypal-able at naamah@gmail.com.

I would also be remiss if I didn't point out that you can become a patron over at Patreon.  I'd like to break 50 patrons and $400 in the next few weeks -- once the moving situation has settled down, I'll be focusing on that, but if you want to give me a kick start there, I won't complain!

As an aside, for those who have asked for my new address, it's not changing.  Sargon has moved out, Bear has (mostly) moved in.  That's all.  It's business as usual for me.

Thank you to everyone for your patience and your support.  This is absolutely a change for the better and I am very excited and hopeful about this new chapter in my life.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
I have switched my medical and psychiatric care to two small clinics that work in partnership with one another to provide patients with complete, integrated care.

They specialize in low-income individuals and help them to access the governmental and private assistance programs for which they quality.  To that end I have been assigned a case manager, a very smart lady who has already identified several ways she can help me dramatically.  Not just with the meds, but overall, disability-wise.  I met with her today for the first time, and we get along swimmingly.

If Soonercare/Medicaid spits the prescriptions out and won't pay for brand name, we're changing the game and going through the manufacturer's patient assistance programs for my meds.  I thought I didn't qualify.  Turns out I was making a mistake on the online eligibility tools, one I had no way of knowing I was making.  Correcting for that, I may quality for both.  That would be tremendous.

We also discussed ways to maximize my disability payments.  She seemed rather disgusted at the amount they are giving me, and is confident we can raise it a little.  It's all in knowing what the actual rules are and filling out the paperwork properly.  I did my best, but my best was never going to be good enough, because there are so many things I couldn't know and didn't know how to find out.

So she's going to be a huge help.  And she makes house calls.  Obviously I like this woman.  (So does Etrigan, who asked her to play fetch.)

For now, it looks like I'm in good hands.  Of course things could change and these people could turn out to be the Actual Worst Oh God, but so far everyone involved in my care is on the ball and backing me while I call the shots.  The pharmacy knows what's going on and has promised to help me find an affordable, digestible generic if everything goes south.  The NP who is my Doctor is doing everything he can.  Everyone is nice.  I like them, they like me, we laugh a lot, and we are all doing our best.

Shoutout to Sargon, who has been very helpful this whole time, despite having a shitton of other stuff to juggle.  Very much appreciated.

And a major, major shoutout to my darling Bear, who is the one that rang the right bell when she threw herself on the mercy of her therapist and said "PLEASE HELP MY FAVORITE PERSON."  Her very capable, resourceful therapist.  Who owns the clinic.  Personally.  And essentially said "This whole situation is stupid, get her in here right away and we will fix it."  If she had not thought to do that, I would long since have gone past "treading water" into "actively drowning".

And love to all my local friends who have helped or offered to help or who will help in the coming weeks as we settle out this moving business and get me back on my meds and hopefully fully functional (as functional as I get).

I am very lucky to have all of these people in my life.

Things are still rocky, I am still psychologically unsteady and I'm very tired and still quite frightened, but as of today there is a very real possibility of getting this fixed.  Keep your fingers crossed!
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
People tell you to "get help" and I am starting to hate that phrase more than any other in the English language because it almost never actually works.

Like, what do you think I am trying to do?

I need help, I have asked for help repeatedly, and I am simply not getting it.

Two months now.

I can't keep doing this. I don't want to die, I really don't, but I need this to just. Stop.

Everyone around me is busy or stressed -- often because of me, and let me tell you what a great feeling that is. Fucking up other people's lives by complicating them at the worst possible time, and not being there for them when they need me.

I can't do it myself because even with notes I can't remember what is going on or who is doing what. I reached some kind of cognitive short-curcuit about two weeks ago, my brain just crashed and I haven't been able to reboot it since then, despite trying like crazy.

At this point I can't even effectively ask for help from anyone new because I can't explain the situation and without being able to do that, I start over at square one every single time, costing me days at least. More like a week or a week and a half.

I'm so utterly adrift.

And I'm scared.

I just need this to be over. People tell me to hold on and I'm starting to hate that phrase too. What does "hold on" even mean? What other choice do I have?

I hate being broken. I hate being treated like worthless trash, thrown out again and again. I hate that it's easier psychologically, that it *feels better* right now, to believe that I'm garbage not worth saving than dealing with having to fight all the time. I mean, if I deserve it, then I shouldn't fight it, should I? And that's a relief. I honestly want to give up and that scares me.

I literally can't go any further.

I just need my meds. You know. The ones people want you to be on when they tell you to get help.

I know it isn't true that I'm worthless, but how else am I expected to feel when I can't even fight for myself for whatever scraps of progress are there to be made?

I wish I believed this will change and I just don't. I don't.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
I'm convinced that being this flat for this long is placing an unreasonable burden on my girlfriend, and that when I finally bounce back, she'll collapse.  I don't want that to happen to her.  I also don't think I could handle it.  I'm not in any place to give emotional support right now.  Not if it's intensive.  And she's going to need it because the anniversary of the break-in is next week and we're getting ready for this huge upheaval/move and I just don't know where it's even going to come from.

I want this to be over.  People keep asking me what the holdup is, why is it taking so long, what's wrong, and it's like -- GUYS! I barely knew what was happening before I collapsed last week.  At this point, my reasoning for instigating this whole "fuck your awful generics, get me on the name brand" thing completely escapes me.  I thought this would save me trouble in the long term, and all it has meant is I don't have my meds and I can't get anyone to fix it.  I keep getting told no.  I don't even know what I'm doing anymore!

I don't want to hurt myself, I don't want to die, I just want to be safe.  I just want to feel fucking safe.

I'm so scared, and I'm so tired.  I spend almost all day in bed, and am sleeping between 10 and 14 hours a day because I am simply exhausted.  I was physically weak before all this started, either from the flu, or from the meds not working right and the resulting withdrawal.  Now I'm physically weak because of all that and I'm barely eating because I don't have the wherewithal to do dishes/make food and because even if I did I'm sick and tired of eating the same four things because the IBS is fucking insane, so it actually takes effort to eat even when the food is put in front of me.

I'm cold all the time and my body temperature is between 1 and 2 degrees below normal at all times and I don't know if it's stress or not eating or the thyroid thing -- not helped by the fact that I don't remember to take my Synthroid most days because the antidepressant I usually take with it is NOT THERE RIGHT NOW and because refilling my weekly pill container comes pretty close to making me want to cry because I feel so stupid for instigating this when I could at least be taking shitty generics and pretending there wasn't a problem, instead of fighting it -- only I'm not fighting, I have fucking given up.

My schedule has gone completely nocturnal so I miss every fucking phone call and half the time I don't fucking know what they are even about because my mental process is so fogged at this point I . . . I just don't know what's happening most of the time.  I can't remember anything.  And the other half of the time they're about things that require more phone calls to fix and I just can't do that, not every time.  I mean, I do pretty good.  I return a little over half (I counted) but I can't get them all, and when every problem takes between 2 and 5 calls to resolve, that means things just don't get done.

And I feel fucking disgusting.  Like a grown-ass human being shouldn't have to have people telling them to take their meds and eat their food like a fucking infant, but here I am, about to give up on that, too.  There are people who have it so much worse.  I feel so worthless and selfish and weak because I can't deal with even this level of adversity, and it's not that bad.  I mean, I'm not being denied pain meds or cancer treatments.  It's not that bad.

I really, really need to know why that clinic manager was so fucking nasty to me, and I need someone to hold her accountable.  I probably never will see that happen, because there is no fucking accountability for these people.  And at this point, shit has gone south on me often enough that it's starting to look like it really is my fault somehow.  That whole "the only common denominator in all your failed relationships is you" thing.

And all of the solutions to all of this require me doing something.  I can't do anything.  I just want to scream.

Jesus, I'm so fucking hungry.  And all I have the energy to do is eat pieces of bread, or a breakfast muffin.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)

 




Bear and I need to bring in some money for the move, so we're listing ponies, Buy It Now only, on Ebay.  Come check it out, and boost the links on Tumblr if you have one.  We'll be listing more as I get photos taken, but here's what we have for now:

You can see all my auctions here.


Talitha and Polaris, the Ursa Major and Ursa Minor ponies, are available here.


The snow ponies are still available; I've split the pair.  Flurry is here and Snowdrift is here.


You can see all Bear's auctions here.


Bear's Frankie Stein Monster High/My Little Pony mashup is right here.


Click the links for Bear's Grumpy Bear and Bedtime Bear baby pony customs.


Again, reblogging is much appreciated, as is, obviously, buying.  We are looking forward to moving in together finally but there's gonna be some expenses associated with that, and we could really use the help. 

naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
Between the doctor's office, the pharmacy, and Medicaid, I've been either off my Seroquel and Wellbutrin, or horrifically undermedicated, for over six weeks now.  The withdrawal tremors in my hands have stopped, but I'm still getting random twitches.  Just not every two minutes anymore.  It's maybe a couple times an hour.  Trying to get it sorted has been utterly demoralizing and overwhelming.

The crowning fuck-you was A) discovering that my doctor's office not only doesn't take the version of Medicaid I have, it has never taken it, not in the entire time I've been going there and they just somehow never noticed this, and B) the clinic manager threatening to call the police on me for no actual reason I can discern, making me feel utterly unsafe ever going back there.  Also making me feel like pond scum, AND sending me rushing for help at the last minute, still unmedicated.

So yeah, it's been horrible.

I haven't been sleeping.  I get a few hours a day here and there, but I have nothing resembling a schedule anymore.  The stomach upset this has provoked has caused a flare-up of my IBS bad enough that I'm getting symptoms too gross and embarrassing to mention here.  I basically have no control of anything, and have exhausted my emotional resources for dealing with this shit.

And the big move is coming soon.  I don't expect to be functional even then, not at the rate things are going.  I'm lucky to not be in a mixed state, but this is getting dangerous and I can't seem to get anyone professional to care enough to move on this.

So fucking unbelievable.

So yeah, that's what's been going on, and why I've been scarce and slow to get things done.  I'm a mess on a good day.  This is . . . extraordinary.

See you all on the flip side.  I'll either get my meds sorted out, or adjust to not having them, just like I didn't have them for 20+ years.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
I know a lot of you are going through shit and I'm sorry for not reading or keeping up.

I love you.  I don't know what that's worth, but I care, and I'm sorry.

I'm just dealing with some shit of my own, and I'm scared, and I can barely take care of myself right now.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
 Congratulations to everyone who made it through this shitshow, and peace to those who did not.

May the next year be a good one for all of us.

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