I keep starting posts trying to properly express what I'm feeling but it's not going so well. But third time's the charm, right?
  The basic message is this: I don't want to express my opinion anymore because it's the unpopular one and I am sick of having the same arguments with people over and over and over again.
  Bam.
  I watched a Korean movie a few days ago and needless to say, the English subtitles could use some work. At the end something was said that went sort of like this (and bear with me because my broken memory is trying to remember this from poorly translated subtitles): You can't keep fighting. All we can do is continue being what we are.
  What it meant was that you shouldn't exhaust yourself fighting when things have gone so horribly wrong and are out of your control. To continue doing what you're doing and hope that that will make a difference. Basically, it's another way of putting that Gandhi quote "Be the change you want to see in the world." but I liked how the movie put it better. Also, that quote is so over used and not-followed that I don't even want to say it.
  So that's where I am at right now. I don't want to talk about my opinion. It will inevitably sneak it's way into my writings because I'm not going to stop being me. I like who I am even if no one else does. People would here say they like me! But if they knew what I really thought, they probably wouldn't.
  So while I had some horribly translated English subtitles help me out, I still don't feel like I'm expressing what I'm feeling. Maybe writing isn't the right outlet for it.
  Whatever. I guess this is the post with no point.

The Post With No Point

  I've noticed that I tend to blog more in the summer months and I believe this is because it's too fucking hot for my brain to function during the day, causing it to melt and then in the evening when it cools down all my thoughts come spilling out at once. Kind of like peeing when you've been holding it in for ages. So after watching hours of mindless shows and movies whilst trying to solve a Hard sudoku (in order to counterbalance all the mindless watching) I guess I decide blogging is the perfect Next Thing to Do. I don't have to give a shit about spilling or grammaer or spilling random secrets into the interwebs because I forgot to do that last minute edit I was going to do. (Actually, I worry about all those things even if it is "just blogging". Like polish. It is the only word in the English language that changes its pronunciation when you capitalize it and it terrifies me because I certainly wouldn't want to offend any polish.)
  This is the point in which I would make some witty quip after rambling just long enough to lose the idiots but hold onto the people who have an inkling there must be something interesting coming (or who are just really, really bored) and then BAM! I'd bring this post back around to whatever interesting thing it is I'm supposed to be talking about. (How the fuck is BAM not a word?) Unfortunately though, this post has no point. I'm hoping you gathered that when you read the title because if not my "Lose the Idiots" theory has some serious kinks in it I need to work out.
  Anyhoo, I have been M.I.A. on the internet for some time. Not that anyone's given a shit. That's one nice thing about the internet--the anonymity makes you so anonymous that no one really cares about you which is something that would normally make you feel shitty and lonely but it doesn't because the people making you feel that way don't actually exist.
  In a nutshell, mostly shit has happened this past year and I either didn't feel like writing about it or couldn't write about it and it currently remains that way. I did, however, find something that literally saved my life in the nick of time then lost it almost immediately but am slowly getting it back, so that's good, I guess.
  I'm not sure what else I can add to this pointless post. The heat has melted my brain and I've peed out all I can today.
  So ta-ta, I'm off to have a wee,
  -Me.

Identity Death

Today I Hate: Being alone. Why? Because while I usually savor my alone time this is definitely too much of a good thing.
Today I Love: Me. My stuff. Who I am. Everything that makes me me. Why? Because I'm pretty damn awesome.

Identity Death

  It always sucks when someone dies. And while there may be plenty of people who disagree with me on this, I think it sucks even more when the dead person is still technically alive. For me, I'm usually the first person I blame. I think that if someone I knew and was close to did such an extreme one eighty to the point where they don't even resemble the person I was friends with then I must have been wrong about them the whole time and am an idiot for ever being friends with them in the first place.
  In actuality, this is not the case, doesn't make much sense, and is something that I believed because everybody kept telling me it was so. Since realizing this I have gotten much better at not blaming myself. I realize that I have no choice over what someone chooses to do with their life or the pile of shit they decide to turn into and maybe that's what sucks most of all.
  Usually when this sort of personality/identity death happens after some amount of time passes and my wounds aren't quite so fresh as they had been I will check out the person because, hey, you never know (although most of the time I find, you do.)
  This happened to me not too long ago and as I looked at some recent photos of the person I found I didn't feel hurt or angry or sad. I didn't really feel anything because the only thing that was going through my head was, Who IS this person? Because I honestly didn't know. This person, looking like they are about to snap in every single photo, stressed to the max with a strained smile, always holding a drink because how else could you possibly live so many lies and all at once...I didn't know them. Even though I recognized the face it was as if I was looking at a stranger.
  At some point during all this it hit me like a good sized stone right on the noggin that the fake, pathetic person I was looking at wasn't someone I would ever want to know. The person I was looking at wasn't the same one I had befriended and who had befriended me, they were just a pathetic little child who couldn't deal with their self or their problems, who will only spend time around people who support those lies and will drink away any of their remaining doubts.
  The next thought that went through my head was, How long can someone possibly live like this? Unfortunately, I already knew the answer to that question and it is A Very Long Time, usually for their whole lives.
  When someone you care about decides to take a path that self-destructive it's not so much like watching a car accident as it is like watching a car accident involving the person you love, in slow motion, as they crumple up and die and there is absolutely not a thing in the world you can do to stop it or even to help. You just have to turn and walk away, soaked with the knowledge that you will never be seeing your loved one ever, ever again.
  I know the advice given in this scenario is very similar to advice given when a loved one physically dies. That you have to move on with your life and meet other people, etc. But I've noticed that in this situation, unlike with a physical death, you are not allowed to mourn at all. People will tell you something along the lines of, "They were never your friend," (both insulting your intelligence and making you feel like a complete ass) and that they aren't worth your tears and that's all bullshit. For me, while it's true that the person in those photos sure as hell isn't worth a second of my time or a drop of my tears, the amazing person I once knew is, even if ultimately that is not what they chose to be. They were my friend, I loved them, and I have a right to mourn them and that is exactly what I am going to do.

Ripping Me a New One: The Triumph of the Asshole or A Study In Erin's Absence

Today I Hate: My period. Why? Because the post I was supposed to post is now being posted however many days after I originally said I was going to post it.
Today I Love: Posting the goddamn post. Why? Oh, just read the goddamn post.

  Infected.
  Anal.
  Fissure.

  I want you to take a moment to say that out loud to yourself. I don't care where you are, at work, in bed, on public transport, just do it.

  ............................

  Did you feel it?
  "Infected anal fissure" is something that sounds nearly as horrifying coming out of your mouth as it feels trying to shit when you have one. And I should know because for the last eight months I've had a number of them.
  What started out as my usual hemorrhoid issue acting up quickly turned into a thrombosed hemorrhoid (when a blood clot forms within a hemorrhoid. Much more fun to say aloud than to experience) and took a turn for the even worse until I was stuck lying on one side or the other all day every day with the exception of a short walk if my body allowed and trips to the kitchen to heat up food. And the bathroom, of course.

  For eight months.

  There were (and still are) other health problems I was trying to juggle at the same time making things even more difficult but to keep some of my privacy and to prevent this post from becoming an ill written (ha ha) novella, I will stick to one thing and that thing is my asshole.
  Your asshole ripping open is something most people seem to try not to think about which is understandable but when it happens to you you find it is impossible to think of anything but(t) and before you know it you find yourself writing on a blog about it. Imagine not being able to walk up a hill or stairs without feeling it reopening, bit by bit, with every step. Or not being able to go anywhere or hang out with friends because you have to do a sitz bath every single time you go to the bathroom because even pee irritates it and it is impossible to carry around the amount of ointments you have to apply afterwards. Or reaching down to apply one of those ointments to feel not the skin of a human but that of a reptile and finding yourself wondering if David Icke really is right about lizard people (a true horror). Or not being able to sit or stand or wear pants. And let us not forget the fun surprise you get every time you go to the bathroom: whether you are going to have A) explosive diarrhea (which also irritates/creates anal fissures and hemorrhoids) B) a poop too hard to pass without ripping the fissures open again C) bleeding, either from the fissure, internal and/or external hemorrhoids, or something else or D) All of the above!!!!!! :D
  Anal fissures--especially infected ones--are really beyond words is all I'm trying to get across. Being able to go to the bathroom and just poop is something I think most everyone takes for granted.
  I tried a round of antibiotics which did improve the state of my butthole some and help with that purple-black reptilian skin, but every five to seven days, without a doubt, no matter what I did, my butt would rip me a new one and I would find myself grabbing onto the roll of toilet paper trying not to scream as I desperately tried to poop.
  Then, as if all that wasn't bad enough, one day early last month I was having some extreme discomfort in my belly and looked in the mirror to find I resembled a woman four months into pregnancy (which I most definitely was not). After a clean ultrasound I was beginning to consider sticking a pin in my stomach to relieve the "I'm going to explode" feeling so I could eat and move again.
  No one could find out why I wasn't healing up and after a month and a half of being able to eat no more than two very small meals a day and dropping weight I don't have to drop, I walked into my doctor's office (after yet another round of antibiotics which helped a little more though with the same end result) and told her I think I have an ulcer.
  I came to this conclusion after reading up on symptoms because while most applied one really stuck out to me: the unexplained back pain that some patients with ulcers experience and that perfectly described my unexplained back pain. Putting all that together with the two plus two of my life my lovely, fantastic doctor didn't even blink when I told her.
  I have been on PPIs (stomach acid suppressants) for four days now and have already experienced improvements in all areas. I can't decide which is best: being able to go for miles long walks again, traverse hills, work my way up to eating real meals, not having reptile skin, being able to skip a sitz bath here and there, start up ballet again, sit for any amount of time, actually looking forward to pooping (!), feeling so much better that I FORGOT to put on an ointment last night, run again (even if only for a few seconds), wear pants and underwear again for realistic going-out amounts of time, or that I can write a run-on sentence THIS LONG about all the symptoms I have that have improved!

  It feels truly magical.

  And right now, though it's still a ways away, I am so looking forward to being able to walk the four miles up and down hills to the grocery store deli area where I most love to sit and write, especially letters to my pen pal (whom I desperately need to catch up with).

  I know what I will be doing this summer. ;)

  I suppose you might find it weird or gross that I'm talking about this stuff online or at all for that matter and that's okay because sometime during all this mess I was sitting hunched over on the toilet with my head in my hands in agonizing pain when something in the recycling caught my eye. On the packaging from one of my hemorrhoid wipes it said, "You are not alone" (followed by a registered trademark symbol because nothing says "you are not alone" like a trademark symbol) and gave the statistics of adults in the U.S. who get hemorrhoids.
  Dear God, I remember thinking, we can talk about shoving anything and everything up our asses for sex but we can't talk about hemorrhoids?! That's what's gross?!! There is something severely wrong with my culture.

Today I Hate: The heat.
Today I Love: ORGANIZING AND CLEANING AGAIN, OH MY GOD.

Hello everyone! Just here to say I have a post I plan on putting up tomorrow (I know, it's been awhile!) but am unable to do so now because it needs to be edited and I simply cannot do that yet for a number of reasons.
So, tomorrow.
'Bye for now,
-The Gloom

Enough is Indeed Enough.

Today I Hate: Panic Attacks. Why? Because they suck.
Today I Love: Tea and not getting sick. Why? Because I am absolutely, no way in hell, getting sick.

  Haven't done any internet stuff in awhile for a number of reasons, mostly because I find the internet to be a disgusting cesspool of stupid people and gross things (also present in the real world but far worse online). I have been working on stuff but am reluctant to post most of it due to the aforementioned cesspool of whatever. I have mostly been journal writing and comic planning but I feel more and more like the internet is not the place for me. It is not this great, wonderful place where you can share ideas, improve, and "find your people" like everyone seems to think. Unless of course you are one of the f*cking insane, torch wielding majority or are willing to bend to the will of the f*cking insane, torch wielding majority when they start blocking/deleting your accounts and silencing you when they see something they don't agree with even though they accept everyone and everything and I'm pretty certain that is exactly what would happen here if I actually posted any of the things I really want to write about.

  So I will probably post stuff again sometime but for now I am just keeping myself to myself because I have really had enough of people, both online and in the real world.

Enough is enough.

-Me.

Brief Comic Update

  More people have been asking me lately about my comic and how it is coming along so I wanted to post an update there rather than elsewhere. It is here.

Sitzing and Sipping

Today I (Still) Hate: My broken piece of shit body.
Today I love: Bunny, who I can hug on the toilet when I'm scared to shit.

  At 5:30 this morning I found myself up to my belly in a tub of warm water holding my exceptionally large skull & crossbones cup of black tea and balancing a book on my knees at the same time.
Shortly before this I was sitting on the toilet for the second or third time Waiting to Shit, a basic bodily function that has become a disgustingly cruel and frightening game. My arms were crossed over my stuffed rabbit, holding him close to my chest while I took deep breaths and tried to visualize pooping "smoothly and naturally" as I had been instructed. For once in my life I have found a situation in which visualization (sometimes) has an actual effect on whatever is going on. Unfortunately, as I discovered yesterday, when the poop hits the pain spot and the pain starts to scream no amount of picturing a shit sliding out of my ass painlessly is actually going to make the shit slide out of my ass painlessly. Hence, the stuffed animal.
  About that time I realized I had left my morning cup of tea in my room where it was now either a pleasantly drinkable temperature or unappealingly lukewarm. I decided to cut all attempts at shitting short (I did manage some but still with bleeding) and raced to my room to fetch the tea while I waited for the warm water coming out of the bath tap to realize it is supposed to be warm water (which can take anywhere from one to infinite minutes). I returned with said cup of tea and placed it on the floor near where I would be sitting repeating to myself that I had better not knock that over, I had better not knock that over. I didn't--and was quite proud of myself--and this was about when I plunked my butt in the tub of too hot water (I can never get a consistent or appropriate temperature due to my stupidly cold limbs) and finally got to enjoy my morning cup of tea with a sinking heart while Bunny looked on with that happy look he always wears on his face on when I feel like killing myself.
  As I sipped my tea and read my crappy book (any book so long as it is not my story) I tried very hard not to think about the rest of the day as my mornings have become the best part of them.

Sitz Bath Adventure

  I tried a sitz bath today, a sort of last ditch effort after getting some really bad news from my doctor's office today. For those of you who don't know, a sitz bath is basically a warm bath that you can put epsom salts or essential oils into but I am just opting for the warm water due to my wrecked pelvis.
  Anyhoo, because I don't have a bathtub and since I'm really tiny my doctors told me I could use the basin I do my hand washing in instead. So, like the mindless dolt I am I took the tub and, out of habit, filled it up to where I do when I wash my clothes. When I was done with that I realized it was in the shower and I couldn't lift it out and so, with some help from the wall and my legs, I got it over the ledge and onto the towel I had set on the floor. As I went to lower myself into it my brain began screaming a warning at me.
  "ERIN! ERIN! ERIN! ERIN!" it offered helpfully.
  I ignored it and lowered myself in further. The water rose up to my belly.
  "THERE IS FAR TOO MUCH WATER IN THIS TUB."
  I let myself drop to the bottom of the tub and water gushed out over the edge.
  It's okay, I told myself. I'm on a towel.
  My brain sat quietly in the background.
  But then it occurred to me that I still had to lean back. I did so and with every millimeter a far greater amount of water than that flowed out. This was about when 6th grade science class--quite literally--came flooding back to me; something involving a fish tank, some water , and a toy boat. After a short time of this I began to feel extremely stupid but I justified my actions by not realizing the amount of mass my barely-there ass has.
  "Alright, Brain," I gave in, got out, re-lifted the basin and, with some help from my legs and the wall, I got it on the ledge and dumped some water out.
  I repeated this process once more until I was not flooding the bathroom.

  And that's it. No great climax I'm afraid (though I did remember to check the water level before I dumped it out so I won't overflow next time). I think there was going to be one but I've forgotten it as my sister's got me watching The Legend of Chima which is more mind numbing than any amount of side-lying (alone) could ever be. :)

Things that Can Only Be Said...

  My sister walked into my room yesterday to find me buried underneath her laptop finishing up some comic work.
  "Hey," I said to her, "Could you do me a huge favor and get me that USB? The one in the teacup,"
  We both smiled as the weirdness of what I'd just said soaked in.
  "Things that can only be said in my room."
  She looked around for the USB but didn't spot it.
  "The one with the horse in it," I added helpfully.
  "It's in the teacup with the horse in it," she laughed. "Things that can only be said in your room."