naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
I'm having muscle twitches again.  Tiny ones.

No.  Nonononononononono.  NO.

There has to be a reason for it.  I changed something or forgot to take something a few days too many or . . . something.  There has to be some reason that I can fix because I can't.  I can't do it again.

I'm taking the right generic, I swear I am, it's the right one, it's been working, it has to keep working.

I don't want this.  I don't want this.  I don't want this.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
I think I may have kicked off the bottom of this.

I went off the Wellbutrin last year when it became too much of a hassle to get  the right generic of it AND the Seroquel, when the Seroquel was the one that was really fucking me up to be off it.  The Wellbutrin was the one thing I could let go, so for the literal first time since my initial diagnosis, I discontinued a necessary medication without consulting my doctor (I didn't have one!  Thanks, Soonercare!)  because trying to get the form of it I needed was actually making things worse for me at the time.

I seemed to be doing okay without it, and it took me literally months to feel up to trying to get hold of the right kind again, so I just . . . decided to stay off it.  If it wasn't necessary, I'd be fine.  If it was, I'd go back on it.

So a couple of days ago, I started taking it again -- Bear takes a kind that does work for me, so we agreed that I'd dig into her (considerable) stash and give it a go again, to see if it helps.

Today was better than yesterday, and yesterday was better than the day before.  That could be a coincidence, but it could also be that Wellbutrin works fast.  I'm hoping that's it.

Anyway, I'm feeling a little less overwhelmed today.

Like, don't get me wrong, I still feel like shit, but it's better than it was.  I'll take that.

naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
I hate being broken.  I am a constant embarrassment to myself in my inability to get shit done.  And intellectually I know it's not my fault, but the fact remains, I'm constantly falling apart.

I don't know what's wrong with me the past couple of weeks.  Or month.  Or however long it's been.  I've just been sleeping so much and unable to do hardly anything and have been severely resentful of anything that demands I leave the house or spend time with other people.  I don't know if it's still post-surgery exhaustion -- I mean, it's an easy answer to blame that but I've been fine up until now, you know?  On the mend.

I've been having trouble sleeping when I should, though.  Maybe it's my meds that need adjusting.  Maybe it's a mixed state trying to happen.  Maybe it's a depressive swing.  This time last year I was heading into a massive downward spiral that had me lower than I've been since I was diagnosed in 2007.  So maybe it's ripples.  I don't know. There's nothing reasonable or easy about this shit.

Add the IBS on top of it, and the fact that we only have one car and I don't have access to it during the time I am mostly awake and things are open and other people are awake, and it's just . . . I feel like I don't have a life.  I can't do things most other people can do.  Can't enjoy things.

I am happier in so many ways than I was, so I feel shitty complaining.  My life has radically improved.  That's why I'm pretty sure this is just . . . part of the illness, and not all that situational.

I wish I could just have, like, normal tolerances for things, and normal wants.  I wish I wanted to see people more often.  I wish I liked more people's company more than I do.  I wish that going to the store didn't take so much out of me.  I wish that I could accomplish daily chores more often than I do.

I just want to be a real person.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
 It will be a while before I get in to that treatment center.  I have to make the call first, and coordinate a bunch of shit.  There could be long delays, since my current gastroenterologist, with whom they will need to work for some things, is always really busy and getting in to see him could take weeks.

And, of course, I have to make phone calls.  That alone could take . . . an embarrassingly long time.  It's not stuff I can delegate, either.

I will let you all know when I'll be trying to get the money together.

naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
There's a treatment center that specializes in IBS and has what looks like a really great approach.  There IS no one cause of IBS, it's a cluster of symptoms that can be caused by many different things.  They look for multiple things that could be causing it and treat those things with medication or diet or both, in order to bring the gut back into balance.  They claim a very high success rate.

Nothing will be covered by my insurance, though their rates are reasonable (not suspiciously so, though).  I'll have to pay for everything myself, as well as cross-country travel for a couple of days for the consult and some testing.

I don't want to do this because I'm afraid it won't help and I'm so bereft of hope already.  It's heartbreaking living like this.  I hurt most days, and suffer other symptoms on nearly all of the others.

I will need help to do this.  To organize it and get the money together.

And I'm scared of throwing money away on nothing.  I . . . I can't spare it.  If it doesn't work, I'll never get that money back.

I've been in brief contact with them and they're very level and not secretive at all, and I do plan on scheduling a phone consult to really get their measure.

I guess what I'm saying is that to do this, I'll need help, and when the time comes I really hope you'll be there to back me up.  Livejournal is even deader than it was.  I'm just so afraid.

I need hope.  And I can't afford it.  I'll make it happen because I am desperate, I absolutely will, but I'm scared.

Heads up.

Jan. 2nd, 2017 08:02 am
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
There are rumors going around that LJ's servers have been moved out of the US and into Russia. 

I have no idea how credible these rumors are, I have yet to see the evidence, but a lot of people seem very concerned about the lack of First Amendment rights and so forth if it's true.  I'm not sure what to think yet.

I've backed up my LJ over on Dreamwidth just in case, comments and all, and y'all are welcome to follow me over there if you like.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
We have a new tree.  Bought it the day before Smooch racked up that medical bill, so I felt really stupid, but it was actually really cheap and I'm glad I didn't take it back.

It's pre-lit with white lights, and the ornaments are all white and silver and blue and pink and gold.  There are tiny star ornaments, and a ton of glitter.  Glitter everywhere.

It's gorgeous.  I always wanted to try a tree in these colors, and I finally get to.

The old tree was too tall for me to handle.  It wasn't pre-lit, and it was like 8 feet tall.  Putting it together and getting the lights on it and decorating it was definitely going to be too much.  I am still tired from the hysterectomy, and Bear has a bad back.

And I'm just as glad for the fresh start, you know?  This year has been really great in a lot of ways, but also really terrible, and the reboot feels good and right.

I'm still scared sometimes.  What am I doing, inviting another person into my life when I'm so fucking damaged and incapable of maintaining normal function?  Am I going to stay with her forever, (or try, anyway)?  Is it foolish to want that?  Is it okay to be afraid of that at the same time?

But . . . I caught myself just thinking about her face today.  Just . . . this one face I've never seen her make toward anyone else, this silly little squinch-and-smile.  And I think about her happy laugh, and I think about her "I shouldn't be laughing" laugh, and I think about her "utterly losing it" laugh, and I just . . . want to be here.  With her.

So I try to be good enough.  

No, maybe that's not right.  Because I'm good enough, and while I may not believe that, she does, so I don't have to prove it.

What I do is try to make her feel how much I value her.

I have no idea what I'm doing.  Parts of it are hard, occasionally.  Frustrating, even.  Not often, but it happens.  But it's the kind of hard and frustrating that feels like building something, not like getting weighed down, not like smothering.

I want to not fuck this up.  Holy god, I want to not fuck it up.

naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
I honestly feel like the amount of time left to me on this plane of existence is longer than it was at the beginning of this year.   I think I have actually gained years.

Yeah, 2016 can still go fuck itself, but . . . how often do you get a deadline extension for your own life?

There were times I wanted to end it.  I am so glad I didn't.

This was worth hanging on for.  This was worth the fight.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
Got my hands on the records for my surgery and the pathology on the stuff they removed.

The most interesting and honestly startling thing in it was that I lost less than 3 tablespoons of blood.

They removed an entire internal organ, and I loss less than a quarter cup of blood.

Science is fucking astonishing.

Also, I think my surgeon was just really damn good.

Dr. Rachel Gibbs in Tulsa, just in case you want to look her up.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
CW: pregnancy, miscarriage, other uterine antics.

So I've known for a while that I had Asherman Syndrome, where the inside of my uterus was covered in scar tissue.

And that answers, maybe, one of the questions I had -- why endometriosis?  Well, I read the other day that sometimes AS can cause it.  If the AS was bad enough to seal off a pocket of my uterus, isolating some endometrial tissue and preventing it from exiting through the cervix as it should, it would have flowed back out of the fallopian tube and carrying that tissue into my abdominal cavity where it could then set up shop and start ruining things.  Given that, when I tried to have the Essure implants placed, Dr. Thundercunt couldn't even see the opening to one of my tubes, this seems pretty plausible to me.

But there's a question I have that I forgot to ask the doctor about, and it's nagging at me because I've never had an answer for it.  Why did I develop Asherman Syndrome at all?

Endometriosis can cause scarring both outside and inside the uterus.  So that may answer how the scar tissue got there.  Maybe it's the opposite of my theory above.

But uterine scarring also usually causes lighter periods, which is not a problem I ever had.  I had medium to very heavy ones, often for much longer than a week and sometimes continually for months.  I initially spent something like a year and a half bleeding because I didn't want to have to go to the doctor for it, and it continued off and on for years -- right up until I got fitted with an IUD six or seven years ago.

What caused the initial heavy bleeding?  

Was the fact that I ignored it for over a year why I developed scarring?

Did I have a miscarriage that went awry somehow?  I might have been pregnant after the first time I had sex.  The likelihood of it is higher based on the fact that there was no birth control involved except for him pulling out.  But it's also lower, given that I was on my period at the time.  But I remember sometime right around then I passed . . . something.  Kind of like a blood clot -- big enough that I remember it still, after all these years.  It was the size of . . . I don't know, a largeish bantam chicken egg.  I don't remember if it was before or after.  I want to say after, but I don't remember it clearly enough.  It could well have been before.  But if that's what it was, could it have led to some sort of low-grade infection that then led to scarring?

My mother had tremendous problems, herself.  Multiple miscarriages between having my sister and I.  And every other uterus-bearing person in my immediate family has had problems.  Endometriosis, PCOS, undiagnosed horribleness, whatever, always something.  So maybe it's just an inherited inevitability. 

How does my thyroid play into all of this?  What about the recurrent nabothian cysts I was having all over the place, where did those little shits come from?

Googling for all of this is a terrible pain.  Especially the Asherman Syndrome.  Almost all the information on AS is about infertility, and is geared toward fixing it enough so that people who want to can carry babies to term.  Finding information about whether miscarriages cause AS versus the other way around has proven nigh impossible.

I'm truly grateful I'm not navigating these questions in that context.  I feel genuinely terrible for people that are in that position and I'm glad that there are so many communities out there helping share what little information there is and supporting people through their journeys.  I'm not wishing that information to be less available, but I do wish that the information I dig up on every single issue a person can have with their uterus didn't focus on its effects on fertility . . . to the point where other information is sometimes not even presented.  As if, in the absence of a negative effect on pregnancy, people won't still want answers.

If I had been told that Asherman Syndrome can lead to endometriosis, I would have looked into the issue years sooner.  Unfortunately, Dr. Thundercunt, who discovered I had it, refused to talk to me about it after she booted me out of her clinic for swearing and having a panic attack, so I never had a chance to learn this from her, and none of the information I was able to dig up online at the time mentioned it.  (See: the aforementioned focus on fertility, to the exclusion of all other effects of a condition.)

I'm going to take a close look at my records once I get them and see what they found during pathology.  Maybe that will answer a little of it.  Or maybe it will just give me more to wonder about.

I realize it's of minimal impact given that the organs in question are ashes in a landfill by now and I'm not suffering psychological upset from losing them -- quite the opposite, frankly.  I know it's not really materially important that I have these answers.  But I've had such trouble with it my whole life that I can't help but wonder.  What started it?  Could it have been prevented?  At what point could it have been diagnosed, if my doctors had been worth a damn and I hadn't been so fucking put off by their treatment of me?  (Given what I endured, I can't blame myself for not trying harder for answers.)

Otherwise, I'm doing well.  Hormone replacement seems to be working just as it should.  No pain for days now, though I'm still sticking to my lift limit when I can.  I just want to be sure, you know?

I'm happy with where this has gone.  Really happy.  But I'm always going to wonder what the fuck was wrong with the goddamn thing.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
I will have more concrete answers in a couple of weeks when I get my copy of the surgical and pathology reports, but wow, there was so much wrong with my plumbing.

My ovaries were apparently covered in cysts, one of them had some sort of benign fibrous tumor clinging to it, and my uterus itself was full of scar tissue and another sort of benign growth.  That's all IN ADDITION TO the endometriosis that had plastered rogue tissue all over everything.


I'm so glad to be rid of all of it.

I feel fantastic, btw.  Not, like, back up to 100%, but easily at 95%.  Only time will tell how many of my nagging little aches and pains and abdominal issues were being caused or exacerbated by this horseshit.  I can say that there was a particular sort of pain I was getting on a regular basis that was not IBS and not gas pain, and which has not yet chosen to reassert itself.  I believe it was cyclical bleeding from the endometriosis, but it may have been cysts on my ovaries as well.

I doubt this will free me of the IBS, but hopefully this will help that, in addition to utterly eliminating the actual obviously uterus-related issues I've been having all these years.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
I feel kind of like I did after Orlando, only it's a more pervasive kind of helplessness, and this time I feel actual fear.

I sit down to do something creative, and 95% of the time I can't do it.  I just don't feel it.  I'm having trouble concentrating on anything.

I sit down to try to write something hopeful and encouraging and the words are just stuck.  Not that I feel like there's no hope, far from it, but I know that people are really afraid and hurting right now and it will take time for them to be able to see it.  I don't know what I could say that could make a dent.

Love each other.  That's all I have to say.  Love each other, and stand up for each other, and do what you can to help people who are not like you whenever you can.  Be a presence for one another, now more than ever.  And please . . . find a way to get involved.  Volunteering, donating, being present for your friends who are affected by this.  Think small-scale, if you want to.  Throw some money toward someone's top surgery.  Buy someone affirming clothes.  Buy groceries for a needy family.  Make phone calls for someone who has trouble with that.  Go to the store or ride on public transit with someone who feels afraid.  There are so many opportunities to help, once you look.  So whenever you can, be the helper that Mister Rogers told us all to look for.

And take care of yourselves, okay?  You are needed.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
The birds they sang
at the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don’t dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be.

Ah the wars they will
be fought again
The holy dove
She will be caught again
bought and sold
and bought again
the dove is never free.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.

We asked for signs
the signs were sent:
the birth betrayed
the marriage spent
Yeah the widowhood
of every government –
signs for all to see.

I can’t run no more
with that lawless crowd
while the killers in high places
say their prayers out loud.
But they’ve summoned, they’ve summoned up
a thundercloud
and they’re going to hear from me.

Ring the bells that still can ring …

You can add up the parts
but you won’t have the sum
You can strike up the march,
there is no drum
Every heart, every heart
to love will come
but like a refugee.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.
That’s how the light gets in.
That’s how the light gets in.

-- Leonard Cohen, Anthem

I was going to post this song as the only response I could think of to our situation right now in the US, and then I heard.

He joins Prince and Bowie now, dead at 82.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
So I had it done, and it was pretty awesome.

Bottom line, I'm having almost no pain at all, which is uncanny. I'm a little tired but not too much so.

There was endometriosis, so the surgeon took everything from the cervix up, including my ovaries. Some of the endometriosis was on the back of my uterus, which may not have been helping my IBS, but only time will tell.

I made this recording a couple of days ago. Not much has happened since then except that I feel damn good, better every day, and am beyond shocked that things went so smoothly and continue to go so smoothly.

Check out this picture of me in my flowery cat ears and listen to my longer account, or scroll down for the transcript.

Read more... )
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
The surgeon and her office staff have been nothing but astonishingly friendly, patient, helpful, and kind.  And responsive.  I get answers to my questions in what feels like no time at all.  (Same day, usually within an hour, often immediately, and not after days and days.)

A shocking change of pace from the halfassed bullshittery I've endured from the cheapass poor-people-and-addicts general practice clinic I had been using before just switching all my shit over to the family clinic associated with my local Planned Parenthood.  (I have yet to see how useful that one is.  Probably not very, although they will at least treat me personally with respect, and they were kind enough to refer me to this surgeon.)

I'm honestly amazed I am being treated this well.  I'm part of an underclass, and with every layer you add, it only gets worse.  AFAB, LGBT, mentally ill/disabled, poor, fat....  All of those are things shitty professionals can and will latch on to so they can justify their shitty behavior.  So being treated with actual respect has become surprising.  That is very sad.  And not my fault, though sometimes it really, really feels like it is.

We'll see if this level of respect extends to the hospital, I guess, which is one I've had traumatizing experiences in, but that was many, many years ago.  I'm still anticipating having to fight to keep them from assaulting me, but I'm aware that's most likely uncharitable and at least I'm only going to be there overnight.

It says a lot, though, that the only thing that would make me feel totally safe is bringing a weapon with me, and/or preventively physically attacking someone so they know not to fuck with me.  Like, on some visceral level, I want that.  I never would do it, and besides that it wouldn't work even if I did, and I'm aware that just the desire is unbalanced and unhealthy.  But you know what?  I didn't sign up for whatever discount version of PTSD this is, so I refuse to feel guilty for my thoughts.  I'm working on it in therapy, but that takes time, and I'm under no obligation to anyone else to rush that process.

(YOOOOO how about no stories about how y'all were mistreated by medical professionals!  I love you all!  But right now I don't need that sort of thing buzzing in my head.)
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
 But surgical horror stories? Not super-reassuring.

I was really close to calling and canceling yesterday, but it was after office hours and since then I've had a chance to medicate and blow off some steam and I'm okay for now.

Just . . . please consider your words.  Okay?  I know I have a badass reputation but I'm 10% chill and 90% raw nerves right now.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
I'm having a hysterectomy on the 17th, theoretically.  Provided everything goes to plan and I don't lose my nerve, which feels like a distinct possibility.

Half the videos I've seen have been like "...they sent me home from the hospital twenty minutes after I woke up and I punched eleven wolves that same night!" and the other half have been like "it's week 273 and I'm still probably dying."  Neither of which seem at all reasonable.

I'm having minimally invasive super-futuristic robot surgery, so it's a much lighter recovery, but I'm still scared of it being utterly unbearable.

The truth is that while this is a thing that 100% needs to happen at some point, doing it right now is kind of optional, and because it's optional, if it winds up being a terrible experience I'll have nobody but myself to blame for it.

And of course people aren't helping.  They're like "As long as you're careful not to [do X really simple and vital thing] and don't mind [X intolerable symptom] you should be fine!"

Uh.  If you say so.

Or "Oh, it's not so bad after the first six weeks!  Most of the pain is gone in six months to a year!"  Are you fucking kidding me?  NOTHING short of averting immediate, impending DEATH is worth that.

The surgeon is, of course, very excited about the prospect of getting to do her thing.  And assures me that it won't really affect my sexual functioning.  I'm having a hard time getting medical personnel to understand that I like big toys and I like rough sex which means I sort of treat my vagina like a Bag of Holding and will be disappointed if I can no longer get the snot fucked out of me for fear of busting a literal seam.

I'm sort of concerned they think that because I'm with a woman there's no dick involved, when there are, in fact, several feet of very high-quality dick involved.

And, insult to injury, a resource I keep getting directed to, Hystersisters dot com, is grotesquely and rampagingly cissexist.  Like, I'm maybe 15% dysphoric about my body, gender-wise.  I'd characterize myself as "resigned."  For the most part it doesn't bother me.

But that site, oh my god.

I'm fine with having a vagina.  Honest.  What I am not okay with at all is being talked over because I have one.

Anyway, that's where I'm at.  It's scary and I'm not sure I'm doing the right thing, and half of what people tell me in an effort to be reassuring just winds up making it worse, so I feel kind of at a loss.  I'm trying to make an adult decision based on the fact that I have handled all the pain life has thrown at me this far without too much trouble, and just find myself wondering whether I even know what pain is.

It's nerve-wracking.  I'm doing my best to keep up with it but it's not easy.  And part of me feels bad for going into this voluntarily, when my girlfriend is just going to have to bust her ass to take care of me.  I don't want to be any trouble.  I don't want to be high-maintenance.  She deserves to have me fully-functional.

I don't know.  This kind of sucks.  I'm not sure I'm doing the right thing, or whether it will turn out well, and I just wish I knew what to really expect.

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.


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

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