Pain Journal's Greatest Hits: I'm Not Okay - My Chemical Romance

I'm Okay.

Don't mind the bags under my eyes. Or how hollow they look when you look deep enough. Or the fact that my eyes are half glazed from medications, and half empty from pain. The pain is really bad, but it could be worse. I've been down this road before. What's hurting me this moment is my mental state, not my pain levels. I'm trying every trick I know to keep myself as present as I can be. Because everything inside me wants out today. It doesn't help today is the inauguration of Trump. I'm not someone who can pretend this guy doesn't look like a train wreck straight to hell. My friends are all scared and horrified. Except for the odd ones who support him, and confuse me to no end. How can anyone support someone who has no real respect for human life? He's an abuser. Classic behavior. I have spent my whole life trying to get away from his kind, and instead I find myself being in a country ruled by one.

But I'm Okay right?

Yeah I got nothing to worry about. Just struggling to have my dreams in a world set on crushing them before they even start. I'm crying a lot this week. For frustration, for mourning, for even having normal reactions to too much stress. I can barely survive day to day, and I'm living in a really shitty situation right now I can't fix easily because guess what: EVERYTHING COSTS MONEY. All hail the almighty Trump Dollar. I'm just over reacting...

I'm totally Okay.

I just had to take extra seroquel last night because of how manic depressive I am right now. I started hearing voices again. That's a scary place to be. So I did what you do when a flare up of your bipolar happens and it scares you: You take more drugs. Then those drugs numb you down to the core and you sleep all the time...

I think I'm Okay...

But I also think about horrible things that haunt me like ghosts. I think too much right now. On all levels. I have a laundry list of things to do and it feels like more things get tacked on then taken off. I am fighting off another nervous breakdown, because now would be a really bad time to be hospitalized again. I'm slowly trying to dig my way out of this mess I am in, but I'm not even at half battery. I'm not even sure I still have a battery to charge.

I'm not Okay.

And that's just fine. I'll take it day by day until I really am Okay again. Today is just not that day.

Kweeny's Pain Journal's Greatest Hits: Veteran of a Thousand Psychic Wars

Life doesn't pick favorites, even if it looks that way. Some people are extremely lucky. They know how to do crazy matrix moves through life, dodging bullets and carving out their life path with ease. It may not be that easy, but it sure looks like it from where I stand, looking up from the abyss. I envy those people. It's hard not to when your path is etched in pain and horror. It's hard to see the beauty of those few precious moments in your own life where things aren't that bad. Because there are so few of them, a battle weary warrior like myself can't keep a hold on those moments as easily as some. It's was trained into me at a young age that life will always be unfair, and not just unfair. Utterly and completely cruel. Because even those few moments of joy will be turned into a whirlwind of pain if I start overthinking everything, or I start listening to the voices that remind me of what a failure I am at living and thriving in life.

Some things just never leave you no matter how many times you rise from the ashes. Some scars come with you through each transformation.

Because the human body remembers all your suffering.

You're seeing now a veteran of a thousand psychic wars,
My energy is spent at last, and my armor is destroyed,
I have used up all my weapons, and I'm helpless and bereaved.
Wounds are all I'm made of!
Did I hear you say that this is victory?

I feel like the worst person to be in love with. Trying to find some living soil to plant seeds in is hard when your heart is a wasteland. I've messed up every relationship I have ever had, at one point or another. Not because I wanted to drive them away, but because I was scared. Scared that someone could love me the way I have always wanted in my secret heart. I wasn't picky the first time I prayed to God, asking for someone to love me. I was a good Catholic girl then. I had a prayer shrine and I talked to the Virgin Mary.  Still talk to her, but she wears different faces for me now. Being Pagan helped me open myself spiritually. But I just wanted to know real, loyal, passionate love. With anyone at all. I just wanted to know what devotion felt like. What compassion and inspiration would do to a soul as wounded as mine. My first reaction to pain and fear is to burn it all to the ground and salt the earth. I don't like this compulsion in me. Once upon a time I believed this was a good way to protect yourself from harm. It's not. It just denies you any chance of making love work for you.

Sometimes things change though. People grow tired of certain behaviors and so do you. Sometimes people die. Or you have to deal with toxic people because you got no where else to go. Or marriages fail. Or you just can't open up like you used to and it gets thrown in your face.

I am a veteran of a thousand psychic wars. My brain is full of trauma and weirdness. I will never be normal. Never be a nice girl you an take home to mom and dad. I have wounds that bleed on the regular. Reminding me I haven't left the war, because it lives deep inside me. Boneyards full of the dead and forgotten. I am not a nice girl. I'm not even a girl at all really.

I'm going through some hard shit that has driven me out of my home. Though in all honestly, that place isn't a home. I wish it was more of a rest stop, but certain factors make that difficult. I won't allow toxic people to force their way into my life. I've had more than my share of assholes in my life, and some of them I was born to. So I don't want to play out an old song and dance from my youth, but with different faces. I don't deserve to be treated badly. I don't treat myself as well as I should, but I know when someone is treating me wrong. Disrespecting my life and choices, and telling me how to handle my life. Unless you live in my skin, you don't get to do that. I won't allow it. Especially if your shit doesn't smell like roses.

Back into the fray. Because that is just where my luck takes me.

Make pain bend.

My heart Is A Wasteland

Today has been a horrible day after a fantastic weekend. I let my reckless desires come out and I danced among them. I fell smitten for another beautiful boy who is equally as queer as I am. I showed him my feral, chained beasties and he wanted more. He pampered me, gave me gifts, sang to me. He made me believe I could do this again. Do the poly thing and open my steel doors of my inner world. Open so completely, all the bats fly out and the demons escape from hell.

Because my heart is a wasteland. And my body is the cracked, desecrated earth my dreams lay barren on. I am a thing stitched together with madness and horror. Nothing grows in my fields.

Sometimes I hate myself so completely it takes all my scraps of willpower to not fucking blow it all up.

My heart is a wasteland from all the nukes I drop on it.

It's been a while since I wrote. And for good reason. I'm struggling to not go hollow inside. I want to succumb to my artwork, to be possessed by inspiration and creativity. I want the muses to take me and ride my skin like a battle horse.

But there is always a cost. The closer I am to magic, the more insane I become. Hanging on to reality is already a Herculean feat. And this month is like a play-by-play in my head of Kweeny's Horror Stories: The Christmas Special!

A lot of terrible shit is bubbling up from the rivers of poison in my wasteland. Flashbacks, fibro flares, nightmares, no sleep, nerve pain, panic attacks...you name it. I'm a fucked up Kweenybeast right now. I'm fragmenting too. Dissociation is a bitch. Been reaching out to trusted folks for anchors in the storm. I feel like I cant stuff it all back in once I open the puzzle box. The demons inside wait for me to drop my guard before they tear my world apart.

I dont think I could date anyone who cant ride some storms with me and hold my hand while we crash against the rocks. I need my lovers to be just as fierce as me, so when I test them unfairly for the ghosts who tried to destroy me, they dont run for the hills. So when I finally drop my armor because I cant be the strong one all the time, they dont trash my bleeding heart with carelessness.

I'm fighting the urge to nuke this new, budding relationship I've started. And it was me who asked him. Though he might have been thinking the same thing towards me. But my mental illness won't let me trust even that.

Fuck you my graceless heart.

Creating My Life

Things have been rough around here, especially financially. Moving to Seattle took a lot of out of us, and we have very little family support to boot. Living in our tiny apartment costs more than it's worth. Debt collectors keep calling me to remind me I owe them money for being in the hospital last year, our car needs repairs, I need a job that pays at least 800 dollars a week, but I can only work from home due to the pain levels I am in, and I am opening my very own online shop with things I make with my own hands.

Life has been rather stressful you might say.

In a fair world I could just make art for a living and live off that. But I'm not stupid.  I know I need to find something real soon, because things cannot go on this way. Having people nag me about it only makes me angry and gets nothing solved. I know what's going on. I'm not blind to it. I know somehow we need money, and I don't want to end up in the hospital again because I tried to do a job in the outside world. I can't get disability in this country because I have never had a job here. I spent my working years in Canada. I live in the weirdest grey area you can get, trying to scrounge what I can where I can. I might have to start a fundraiser, but I don't like begging for money. I want to earn it. It's why I made my business to begin with. It's something I can offer in exchange for that paper shit. I am not broken because I have chronic illness. I just have to find alternative ways to get funds. If anyone has helpful suggestions on what I can do to supplement the art gig, please let me know. Things are getting desperate.

On the positive side of things: I am happy to report I am days away from my shop Marrow Minded Crafts opening! I am nervous, because anything like this takes so much work to get off the ground, but I am happy as well. I get to do something I enjoy doing, that makes others happy! YES! I love my little shop, and I am happy with all the commissions I've made for others. Now it's time to branch out. Making things makes me feel empowered and creative. When I think of something I want to try, I just do it now, instead of agonizing about it. Maybe I am just done dreaming. Dreaming is important, but don't get stuck doing only that. Dreams take work. You need to commit to your dreams, and even if it takes years in the making, don't give up.

Things are going to get better. Because I demand it. #dontfuckwiththequeen

A Day in the Life of a KweenyBeast

I wish I could tell you that when I wake up in the morning, it's like I am a warrior of old, strapping on my armor and picking up my heavy sword. That sounds much more like how I see my inner warrior getting up. But that's not how I do it.

I get up and gasp in pain. Instantly as I reach consciousness, I also feel horrible back pain. Sometimes I wake up in sweat, even on cold days. But right now, the weather is tremendously searing-ass hot out, and I am melting down to my bones. So I wake up sweaty, and I shrug. The pain is what I am now worried about, and I drag my sad ass to the washroom. I take some pain meds, then my psyche meds, then my supplements. I grab my cremes and start smearing them all over my back. Slowly the pain bows down for a while. I sigh and brush my teeth, one hand holding my body up on the sink.

Once I have fully medicated myself I eat and then do yoga. I do 20 mins or so and try to do as many poses as my body will allow. Sometimes, like today, I feel numb inside. I do things, but I am not feeling it. I can't handle the heat. It feels like it's burning my skin off and I am not even outside. Sweat is still dripping off me in rivers. I try going down for a nap to see if it helps. It doesn't. I wake up feeling nauseous. I put my clothes back on but they hurt my skin. Everything hurts my skin, even air. I'm trying to keep up my liquids because I need more than most people. I decided having a bath would cool me down. For a bit it helps. My skin no longer burns me. I even added some bubbles because I could. It's kinda lovely here until my neck screams at me. Party pooper.

I try doing art today. Or do some house work like cleaning the kitchen. I loose myself in art enough I ignore the horrible pain in my back returning. By the time I notice it, it's really bad, and broke through my creative flow. Now I am upset. That touched me past the numb place. I'm crying softly but I don't know why. No one is in the house right now but the cat. And she has heard me cry before. But I swallow it half way down. I just don't want to fall apart right now. It's not as bad as I am making it out to be...

But it is bad. Really bad. My muscles spasm. My heart aches. Nerve pain shoots through my body.  I want to be successful. I want to be functional. I don't want to fall apart like my mother did. I won't give up...

I fall to my knees, like a wounded warrior. Blood pools at my knees and I see a broken sword in my hands. I am tired from the fighting. The constant fighting. When do wounded warriors get to rest?

But I know the answer to that.

And so I get up, clumsy, and smile for my loved ones who come home from work. Tonight I get to cook dinner. The pain in my every-place makes this feel like cooking in hell. Even things I enjoy doing, are hard. But I will do them despite my body's protests because they are mine, not the illnesses. I eat dinner, I tuck my loving husband in. And then I am alone with my pain. Again.

I sometimes like it though, but not always. I spend a lot of time alone. I work better alone too.

But I only work at night when I didn't work in the daytime. I rest now. I sit and watch a show or a movie and I rest. If I cant sleep due to pain, I make my space as comfy as possible. Because I had a hard day. And I am learning that I need this to be sane. To get through the hard times.

And I rest until I get sleepy. Then I drag myself to bed, take my night meds, and go to sleep. And I hurt. But exhaustion has the upper hand tonight. With her dark tendrils, she holds me and I pass the fuck out.

My wounds bleed out through the night through my armor. Because I don't have the energy to properly take it off. It feels like the weight of the world. My world. My weight.

This is how I endure a bad flare up day. It's not really exciting. Just a day mostly wasted to thrashing with my Chronic Illnesses. The days I can get shit done, pain be damned, are magical. I cope the ways that work best for me, and sometimes, just enduring the pain is all you can do. It too shall pass, but sometimes the wait takes forever.

A Day in the Life of a KweenyBeast

I wish I could tell you that when I wake up in the morning, it's like I am a warrior of old, strapping on my armor and picking up my heavy sword. That sounds much more like how I see my inner warrior getting up. But that's not how I do it.

I get up and gasp in pain. Instantly as I reach consciousness, I also feel horrible back pain. Sometimes I wake up in sweat, even on cold days. But right now, the weather is tremendously searing-ass hot out, and I am melting down to my bones. So I wake up sweaty, and I shrug. The pain is what I am now worried about, and I drag my sad ass to the washroom. I take some pain meds, then my psyche meds, then my supplements. I grab my cremes and start smearing them all over my back. Slowly the pain bows down for a while. I sigh and brush my teeth, one hand holding my body up on the sink.

Once I have fully medicated myself I eat and then do yoga. Sometimes, like today, I feel numb inside. I do things, but I am not feeling it. I can't handle the heat. It feels like it's burning my skin off and I am not even outside. Sweat is still dripping off me in rivers. I try going down for a nap to see if it helps. It doesn't. I wake up feeling nauseous. I put my clothes back on but they hurt my skin. Everything hurts my skin, even air. I'm trying to keep up my liquids because I need more than most people. I decided having a bath would cool me down. For a bit it helps. My skin no longer burns me. I even added some bubbles because I could. It's kinda lovely here until my neck screams at me. Party pooper.

I try doing art today. I loose myself enough I ignore the horrible pain in my back returning. By the time I notice it, it's really bad, and broke through my creative flow. Now I am upset That touched me past the numb place. I'm crying softly but I don't know why. No one is in the house right now but the cat. And she has heard me cry before. But I swallow it half way down. I just don't want to fall apart right now. It's not as bad as I am making it out to be...

But it is bad. Really bad. My muscles spasm. My heart aches. I want to be successful. I don't want to fall apart like my mother did. I won't give up...

I fall to my knees, like a wounded warrior. Blood pools at my knees and I see a broken sword in my hands. I am tired from the fighting. The constant fighting. When do wounded warriors get to rest?

But I know the answer to that.

And so I get up, clumsy, and smile for my loved ones who come home from work. I eat dinner, I tuck my husband in. And then I am alone. Again.

I sometimes like it though, but not always. I spend a lot of time alone. I work better alone too.

But I only work at night when I didn't work in the daytime. I rest now. I sit and watch a show or a movie and I rest. If I cant sleep due to pain, I make my space as comfy as possible. Because I had a hard day. And I am learning that I need this to be sane. To get through the hard times.

And I rest until I get sleepy. Then I drag myself to bed, take my night meds, and go to sleep. And I hurt. But exhaustion has the upper hand tonight. With her dark tendrils, she holds me and I pass the fuck out.

My wounds bleed out through the night through my armor. Because I don't have the energy to properly take it off. It feels like the weight of the world. My world. My weight.

This is how I endure a bad flare up day. It's not really exciting. Just a day mostly wasted to thrashing with my Chronic Illnesses. The days I can get shit done, pain be damned, are magical. I cope the ways that work best for me, and sometimes, just enduring the pain is all you can do. It too shall pass. Sadly, pain should pass faster than it fucking does!

Pain Journal: Calloused Heart

I'm sitting here listening to one of my favorite spoken word poets, Shane Koyzan. Every time I hear his poem To This Day, I cry.

Except today.

I'm numb to the very core of my being. It's how I can cope with the whirlwind of emotional and physical crap I am dealing with right now. I was dumb yesterday, having had a wonderful visit with a friend then trying to nap to get some spoons back. I ended up with less spoons than I started with, which was a bummer. So I totally forgot until I had to go take my dose for the evening, that I needed to get my refill on my drugs.

It happens to everyone once in a while. But when it happens to me, I get super fucked up.

My hands are trembling so bad, I feel like I am coming off of crack. This is the price I pay, among other symptoms. My life is full of warning labels and chemicals. Sometimes, they make me feel empty. I feel like that now. I had some mania this morning. I woke up earlier than normal and had a had time getting to sleep. I spent most of the day doing chores to burn off the mania, which was causing flares throughout my body because everything is connected. It really is true that if your mind isn't stable, your body wont be either. Especially if like me, you are super sensitive.

I hate that I need chemicals to function. I hate that I sometimes live in fear of the day my drugs run out. I hate that I can't just fucking be a functional human being. I had to go through a lot of mental bullshit to get to a point where I am now. I used to fear drugs of any kind. Even Tylenol was scary to me, until I started hurting in ways that make you loose all sense of dignity and pride. I do what I have to now to stay stable. My personal war keeps me fighting for my health and sanity.

But when I am numb like this, I force myself to say something, anything, and be heard. Because I need to be. I need to know I am not alone. That this shit happens to other Chronic Illness Warriors too. The loneliness gets to be too heavy. Sometimes the horrible shifting between beast and beauty leaves me with nothing left to give. I lie in the wasteland of my suppressed tears and wish something would give enough that I could feel a release of the pain. Just a little. I will take any little bit of peace right now.

Today I feel a callous on my heart. And I don't have the tools to deal with it. So I will ride it out to the bitter end, where I will probably be on my yoga mat weeping. Maybe tomorrow.

Tonight, I endure.