Today was a pretty good day. I was exhausted and sore, but not to a point that it's hard for me to function at all. So I enjoyed it. Not only that, I got to spend time with one of my good friends who is moving to Seattle. Seems like a lot of my true friends keep moving away lately, which is hard but I get it. Change happens. I'm glad that this change is a good one for my friends, because I ultimately want the best for the people I love. I won't lie and say I am not sad to see people go.
We talked about my health a little, and I have had a long hard road. Where I am now is better than where I was in Feb, but it hasn't been easy. I have my medications for my brain and medications for my body, and so many different kinds of medical professionals. All of this has been overwhelming and I have had to learn new coping mechanisms. I have come a long way.
I hate living with constant pain. I hate not completely trusting my mind. I have a list of complaints, but at least things are slowly getting better. They had to get worse before they got better, but in the end things are adjusting. A lot of what I do to cope is adjusting.
My husband and I have been really busy in the last few weeks too, so we are trying to slowly unwind. I don't function on the same energy levels as most people around me, so I need to take down time to recover if I push myself. It's like my energy bar is always at half, while others get a good nights sleep and wake up with a full bar. It sucks, but I learn to adjust to that as well.
At least despite all the pressures lately, things have been good between my hubby and I. I am always thankful for that. I have an amazing relationship and I know it. I am proud of it. We've been through a lot together and have come a long way. A really fucking long way. With border crossings and everything.
Now I think I will rest up and watch some silly shit with my husband. One of my favorite distractions.
These chronic wolf-woman observations are brought to you by the song Comfortably Numb.
---
It's getting easier to tolerate all the medications I need to just reach half of normal functioning power. I feel like I am constantly an outdated, broken down, model of a creature called Kweeny. Some wacko that was lovable. A person who used to maintain relationships in a healthy way. Someone people once referred to kindly as Kweenybeast. People respected hir. They knew ze was nuts but for some reason, weren't afraid. They didn't leave. They didn't drop hir like a hot rock the moment she flipped out. It didn't matter she was insane. She was still welcomed to the group and made to feel a part of it.
I'm on pills to regulate my "imbalances" in the brain. No one knows the terrors I have seen in my life, right up to this year. Being locked against your will, screeching like a banshee to be let out. No one caring that though your mind is shattered, your body is too, and it's flaring up right now due to stress. I really do feel like a ghost these days. A Ghost trying to remember who ze was.
It's hard to sleep still. My body is getting used to the drugs. The same drugs people constantly tell me to NEVER STOP TAKING, as if I do I might revert to my crazier self and do unspeakable things! It's cool, don't worry reader. I won't stop taking them. You don't have to deal with me at full strength anymore. You don't have to deal with me at all if you don't want to.
And unlike before, I won't be broken when you leave.
Thank you meds. Thank you for taking a lot of my fucks away.
Being bipolar is like having waaay to many feelings all at once, all the time. On a high swing, things are fucking amazing! It could be anything from eating cake, to your wedding day. They will be about the same fucking awesomeness, and it will feel really good.
The down swings though...
Let's just say I have stared my death in the face more times than a person should.
Some of my pills I take are for that. For the bipolar/emotional crap. And I should never stop taking them. EVER, EVER...or else I turn into a werewolf and eat the world.
Some of my drugs are for pain. I take a combo of things for pain, because pain is one of the few constants in my life. I can depend on pain. It won't leave me know matter how much I cry and beg. I am done judging myself for my drugs. I have to take these things and that's that. I want to make things, go places, see the world outside my house. I want my skin to not hurt in sunlight or shade, I want to dance without costing myself spoons for tomorrow. I want to go to a convention and not sleep though half of it because I hurt too much.
Always because I hurt too much.
I know I have to be careful with this path, because my mother was a pill-popper. She smoked things, but mostly she loved pills. She got whatever she wanted from her quack doc. I watched him as a child giving her drugs, handing her packages of pills. It's been hard for me to adjust to this life. This strange sort of half-life I maintain with medication. I'm trying to teach myself to call it that, to not always refer to it as drugs. Not because they aren't drugs, but because I need a better way to look at the situation. So I don't allow people to treat me like her.
If I ask for medication, it's because I fucking need it. I don't do it for a lark or to get high. A lot of the stuff I take I can't get high off of anyhow. I don't do drugs. I medicate. I am trying to be a better me, even if that me has lost her sexdrive and has become numb.
When she opened her eyes, it was all
around her. Clinging to her spirit like quicksand. She felt like
everyday she was sinking. Everyday, she was carrying a stone around
her neck. Or sometimes it was the shoulders. Or maybe it's actually
in her tail bone...
Pain, it was a part of everything now.
From the very tips of her toes to the top of her head. It controlled
the temperatures in her body, or when she felt pins in her skin,
crawling up and down her body like bugs, or how every morning her
back ceases and she has to painfully stretch to try and unlock it,
pain controlled it all. A pain she was told wasn't real enough to
matter. She won't die from this. That would be too easy. No, a
creature such as she is made for suffering, not for living. That is
the curse of the change.
She no longer had the moon to blame.
Because this werewolf was born a wolf, the human part of the wolf
came later. She was raised by werewolves. They were just like her,
fighting with inner demons that life conjures up. The problem was,
they hurt each other, and so they fed their demon-wolf selves.
Feeding the dark wolf. Becoming something more.
The struggle inside is excruciating,
and manifests itself on the outside.
