Rebuilding The Beast

I know I've said it before, but I will say it again, my hubby is a rockstar.

Today was the eclipse and maybe that had something to do with it. Or maybe it was the fact we are both super sore and tired of the current way of things. Literally. My husband has back issues and so do I. Ever since I injured myself, my back has never been the same. And coming out of the hospital and looking at all the debt collectors who want money for those visits, has really crushed me emotionally. I can't live like this. My doctors say I am too fat. I am over 200 pounds and I am a tiny person. I am only 5 foot 3. This is not good for me, and not just because of the Fibro and other Chronic shit. I know some of my weight gain is the drugs they put me on, but not all of it. And I have been eating for comfort a lot. Because it is one of the few vices I gave myself excuses for.

No more.

I told my husband I wanted to hurt less. That I should change my diet like my doctors say. That I need to exercise more, but carefully, so I don't cause more injuries. He agreed, and said he should do it too because he feels like shit as well. He wants to be stronger for LARPING, and so do I. I want to be able to do fights more. I like fighting. I have always been a fighter. I don't feel defeated anymore. I feel angry. And I am going to use that rage to get healthier.

It helps that my hubby wants to do this too though. Having a workout buddy who can bitch you out when you need it and wipe your tears is essential. It's going to suck a lot to start with. We are gonna slowly phase out junk food from our house and replace it with veggies and protein. We have decided a routine we are going to try that will help build strength and muscle, then we will go into endurance. I told him my pace will be slow to start, and I am gonna get mad a lot. Especially at myself when I cant do what I think I should be able to do. I know he will support me and keep me inspired to keep going. He knows me. And I will do the same for him.

I think what made this more real was when I admitted to myself that this is just another part of my life. I won't allow all this chronic illness shit to dictate who I am. I am a fucking bad ass. And I will be a bad ass again. This was a minor setback. My entire life up till now has been a hard fucking road, so it's no different that my damn mid 30's be hard as well. This is just how it is, and like my past, I will overcome again and prove them all fucking wrong.

I am better than chronic illness. I'm a Kweenybeast. And I will go out like a fucking beast.

Pain Journal: Day To Day Sacrifices

Everything takes sacrifice. I have known this my whole life. But with everything that has happened this year, I have also learned sometimes you don't get to choose when you have to sacrifice or not. I don't live in the delusion anymore that fate exists or that I have complete free will. Loosing these comfortable illusions have made me wiser to what really matters.

The day to day choices we make to either improve ourselves or not is what matters. Yes, some days are going to be harder than others. Some days I am going to just feel like shit, emotionally, or physically. Some days I have to struggle to just get out of bed, and that will be my little victory of the day. Sometimes all I can have is words to comfort me, because touching me or anything else of that nature is going to cause more harm then good. Sometimes I go into an event knowing I will hurt later for it. These and many other things, are the little sacrifices I do to continue to exist in this world.

It can be a real challenge. I spent the weekend having a blast with friends, playing monsters, refugees and salvagers in the LARP. I had fun. But on Sunday when I woke up I knew even the little I did costed me, and I was going to pay for it probably all of next week. I am hoping I feel better soon, but I don't count on it. I do what I can to ease my pain until it reaches a point I can do creative work through it. When it's really bad though, all I can do is rest and try to distract my mind from things.

But I knew what I was getting into. I didn't realize how hard NPCing is on me though, because this LARP I went to is different than the others. It's one of my favorites for sure, but I don't know if I can NPC for it anymore. It's so high combat that I couldn't avoid being in combat, even when I was supposed to be a non-com character. It happened twice, and I do enjoy battle, but I can't do as much of it anymore. Constant battle is not good for me. I end up hurting myself later to a high degree. My heart wants to be in combats. I always give my characters the option to fight for that reason. But an NPC is not a character. I have to do what is good for the story, not what is good for my personal ambitions.

I need to be more assertive too with my needs. I know I try to not burden people, I worry way too much about that. I am afraid of pushing people away, which I have done earlier this year. So I struggle with what I need, and what others want from me, and if I can't live up to their expectations I feel shattered. Every time. Sometimes I think I might be assuming they expect things from me, but I can't tell. I am afraid to ask. I am afraid of letting myself down too. My husband says I have a fear of success and that is holding me back. But how can I be successful when I can barely keep up with the world anymore? When my pain holds me back? When I need pills to just be "balanced" so my mania doesn't destroy me?

My heart is heavy, but I am still here. Those of you who love me and worry that you could loose me to the darkness, don't. Your light keeps me from falling back into the pit. Thank you for being there for me. I'm going to find a way to overcome all this, even if I can only do it on a day to day basis.

In time I will wrangle my monsters and turn them into wild dreams. For now, I am going to nurse my broken body and try to not hate myself for not accomplishing anything.

Chronic Werewolf Update

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.

Medicated Wolf

These chronic wolf-woman observations are brought to you by the song Comfortably Numb.

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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.

There are always side effects.

Wolf Demons

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.

But I've come to an understanding...

And in that knowledge, there is strength still.  

Today's Answer.

"You have Fibromyalgia."

Such a simple phrase. But somehow hearing a pain management specialist say it makes it more real. Even wrote it on a piece of paper. I showed my husband the moment he came through the door.

It's real. I'm not just a crazy person. I'm crazy and in real pain.

I told the doctor about my pain and he listened. Really listened! About the nights I don't sleep. About how when I am manic I can cause a flare up because I do crazy things and push myself. He did the point test. And he told me what was wrong with me.

He diagnosed me.

There is a part of me that is darkly laughing. Not sure if it's an actual laugh or something twisted. Because I don't WANT this to be real. I am fucking tired of having issues with my body! I am beyond happy, so I know this dark laugh isn't full of joy. Because answers aren't comforting. My emotions are turbulent. Laugh like a madman and howl at the moon.

I think I might break down and cry later on. When no one is around to hear it. Because I can't take people's eyes right now. Don't want to burden my husband with my shitty emotions. Everything hurts right down to the core of me.

To the fucking quick.

My mother's laughter fills my head too. Her evil bitch laugh. Such mockery and vengeance in her laughter. She did curse me. Thinking of her makes me rage. Because sometimes, even when you win, you loose.

I haven't won anything gang. But at least I have an answer.

"Dearly" Departed

I've been a really moody bitch all week, and despite myself, I have set parts of my life on fire and salted the earth. It was an extreme reaction from me, and I realized my bipolar is flaring up right now. Despite the meds. Lots of stressors are pulling at me to help with the flares I am having physically and mentally, and when I saw what tomorrow was going to be, my mood the last few days has made perfect sense.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of my mother's suicide. And I am wondering which part of me is deciding this year it's going to hurt. I mean, I always remember the day they found her, not the day they buried her. I sometimes even get the months mixed up. Some years I pretend nothing happened, others I flip out and lock myself away. I'm so messed up I can't even grieve about my mother like a stable person.

But I do grieve. And I always will.

You never get over a suicide. Especially since she was one of my main abusers growing up. Growing up with her taught me you had to scream to be heard, you had to fight to make the pain stop, and you can't trust anyone. Family is a comforting delusion other people get to have. No one will take care of you but yourself. And if I stayed in her house for too long, I'd become an addict and a monster too.

My mother was 41 when she died. She had enough drugs in her to kill an elephant when they found her dead in her hotel room. She did it in a place I had fond memories of before the incident, Niagara Falls. I used to love watching the rushing water. Forces of nature are amazing to me. I recall Houdini went over the Falls in a barrel once. I try to focus on that now.

I have speculated why she did it several times, but I honestly will never get that answer. It's just another mystery, like so many things in my life, that most people don't have to deal with. And the thing that really makes grief about my mother hard is that there are no real good times to fall back on. I have a memory here or there, but I can tell you they would fit on less than 5 fingers if we counted them. Which is a sad, horrible state of affairs. My mother was not a happy person, was untreated for all sorts of mental disorders, and was usually on more drugs than she needed. I'm sure she was probably trying to self medicate, because there was shit wrong inside her body as well as her mind. When they did the autopsy on her, they found growth on her bones. She used to try to scare me and tell me, "One day Kweeny, your body will betray you too. You'll get sick like I am. And your life will be all pain."

She wasn't right often, but when she was...

When I broke my tailbone it felt like my mother's curse had come full circle. Like I couldn't escape a life of pain and madness. And when I went into the hospital this year, it shattered me. I have had a hard time returning to my core self since. I wake up in drug hazes, I go to sleep in drug hazes. I have cold sweats and nightmares. I wake up in horrible pain that makes me grit my teeth every morning. I am a pariah to some, to others, just a moment in time. I still have bipolar swings, and I am not happy with how I am coping.

So I am not okay this year.

A friend suggested I draw, but my pain about my mom might make that actually physically too much for me to bear. My mother never supported my creative pursuits. I told her I wanted to be in a band, she laughed at me and told me I was too ugly. When I drew things for her, she would only point out their flaws and tell me to quit trying...

Sometimes she literally beat the dreams out of me.

But I am going to try finishing my painting I started the other night. Even if the voices are really loud tonight and my pain is really intense. I will see how far I can get before I just cant do it anymore. The painting is emotionally relevant to what I am dealing with right now.