It's a Dull, Dull Life

  Today I have a rare day off without being in agonizing pain.
  So...I can do stuff. Well some stuff. There's still some limits, damn them. I really wanted to try and do some barre warmups but my knees are in no shape for that. I can't express how much this hurts. Both literally and figuratively.
   I've decided then to do some coloring. I'm very much into coloring. Always have been, always will be. I think I'll start posting photos of them here when I finish some. I'm also going to clean up  some of my room. This is something that I have not been able to do for months and months and it has been eating away at me. I love cleaning. I loving getting rid of things. That's what happens when you spend 21 years living with a serious hoarder.
  I'm also writing. On here obviously but I'm beginning to feel the stirrings of a story in me. I actually came on here about ten minutes ago, decided I didn't feel like writing and then went onto my library's website and saw how many books and movies I have coming in and for some reason that inspired me  to get on here and write. I've found some series I've really been able  to enjoy lately which is something I've had trouble finding for awhile so I guess I'm just excited. So I ended up here to write about my plans for my day off. It's a beautiful day out, overcast, my favorite. I'd like to get out for a walk but I'm going to try really hard not to beat myself up if I don't.
  Not sure what else to say. Thanks to whoever  reads  this. It does mean quite a lot to me which probably makes me pathetic but I like myself a decent amount so I don't care. Quinn is munching hay next to me and throwing her toys around when they get in her way. And I've got books to read (and apparently write) so I'm gonnna take off now.
  Ta-ta.
  Erin

Pain, Pain, Go Away

  Chronic pain and fibromyalgia are not fun things. Living off of pills is not a fun thing. Not being able to exercise on a regular basis or do the things I love is not a fun thing. Pain is not a fun thing.
  It is difficult trying to explain this to people which is why I generally don't bother. I read once in a book about one of my pelvic conditions that they said it was best to go into a new doctor's office assuming that the worst pain they have experienced is getting there wisdom teeth out or giving birth. Both of these are things that last for a period of time and then go away (though of course, child birth can have lasting issues). When I do try to explain to someone what I am feeling I say it is like that head contraption in the first Saw movie. Pressure on my skull feeling like it will explode and being entirely unable to escape it because I don't have a boyfriend whose innards I can dig through to get a key to unlock myself. Oh, how I envy those folk.
  But that really only covers migraines which I get almost everyday and are also not fun.
  The last few days have sucked balls. It's been over eighty degrees which, for someone who is constantly inflamed and is prone to heatstroke, is way to fucking hot. I've had to work every single day which has made it better in that I get to be in air conditioning for 5 hours but worse because I have to travel in the heat. It's 11:17 in the morning and I'm already sweating.
  Too hot.
  I guess this is just a self pity post which is fine by me because I am waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay to hard on myself and don't acknowledge my pain enough because, like I said, I don't know how o explain it or even where to start. I'm just in a lot of never ending pain that only my doctors can understand and it really fucking sucks. Sometimes I feel like I'd rather die than take another goddamn pill just to get through a day, something that will soon come true because I am losing my insurance and can't work enough to get it.
  Everything just fucking sucks right now.
  Like this badly written post.
  Fuck.
  Gotta go take a pill so I can go to work.
  Ta-ta.
  Erin

Here and Back Again Again

  I keep coming back and saying that I will write more because I've got so many stories to tell and then promptly disappear. I hate that so much because I want to write, especially more frequently on my blog.
  I've talked a lot about my health (I think) because that's the main thing that  keeps me from moving, being able to cook, enjoy my work, much less write. The thing is, I've kind of been in denial. Well not denial but...let me try to explain.
  I push myself. Way, way,way too hard. Why? Because I like to. I love to try and learn new things and fully put myself into the things that I love. Unfortunately this applies to  my health too. I've been fighting it mostly because I've been, I am wrapped up in it. I've been able to understand and accept that my health is extremely poor which causes me to push myself even more. Work harder, move faster, etc. Now it's gotten to the point where, and not necessarily because of this, I have to take a myriad of pills just to get through a four hour shift at work. I can't push through it or tell it to fuck off anymore. My health problems have risen up, gotten right in my face and said, "Hey, it's me. I'm not going away."
  And that's what I have been unable to accept. I like to think that one day my health problems will at least get better if not go away completely but right now, they're here to stay.
  I don't write much because my pain is my life and most days are the same and who wants to hear about that? This is weird for me to say because I don't give a shit what random strangers think of me so why is it any different on my blog? I think it's because all my life I've been the joker. I can laugh and smile and "look fine" when my body's about to collapse and I want to die because of the amount of pain I'm feeling. I can do this because I have always done it. All my life I have had to hide what I'm really feeling from people but so long as I crack a joke, especially about myself, everything is fine. And so that's what my blog has felt like: entertainment for other people. Which, of course, it is but I feel like if I don't have something funny to say, why write at all?
  The thing is, I'm not fine. And it has only recently occurred to me (yesterday) that if I can, I need to write, especially when I'm feeling like hell because that's when it is most important to write. Sometimes my life is funny and I can joke but most of the time it is fucking horrifying
  It's actually a bit embarrassing to me that it took me so long to figure this out and that it's okay, haha (Okay. There's your funny for this post.)
  So right now I actually feel pretty decent. I had a good day pain wise both yesterday and--so far-- today. Just in case though I am writing this in the morning before I have to go to work and before it gets to hot to do anything but melt.
  And I have lots of stories, LOTS of them to share. Some of them will be funny, like when I rescued a bird from the sun room when I had the stomach flu and almost shit myself, and some of them will not be funny at all, they will just be real. My life of pain.
  That's all for now, I think.
  Ta-ta,
  Erin

Here and Back Again

  Hi everyone.
  I recently got back from work and  have a throbbing migraine. My medication's just starting to kick in and I've got no idea what I'm doing. I just know that I miss writing, especially on here. I think I'll just describe the things around me.
  Outside, the wind is sifting through the tree branches, making a noise I love. Rain was assaulting the roof at work earlier but that's stopped for the time being. Both are  sounds that I love to hear when I am cozy, inside, and wrapped up in a blanket.
  Which I am.
  My rabbit, Quinn, is next to me in her cage. She was just lying down in one of those positions of comfort that is unattainable by humans but now she's gotten up, had a drink of water and is currently deciding if an more of her needs to be groomed. After a big yawn she has decided yes. The grooming session has commenced.
  I am covered in a heating pad with one of my fluffy blankets over me, topped by my ballerina quilt and this laptop. Bunny is beside me watching me write. The winds picking up and Squidley's giving me the eye.
  I'm surrounded by the things that I love (such as Squidley) and wish I wasn't in so much pain so I could enjoy it more. I've even got on one of my soft Lilo and Stitch t-shirts and that makes me happy.
  My room is an incredible dump, needs one hell of a cleaning but I'm okay with that because not only does it consist of things which I love, it means I'll get to sort through it all and compartmentalize and organize which is yet another thing I love.
  I've got a number of projects in the works and now that work-work is slowing down I'll have more time to to work on them. (Work.) I know I've been saying that forever but I really need to create because sometimes I feel like I'm starting to lose myself and that's not good.
  For now though I will go make dinner and watch something while my migraine--hopefully--abates.
  Talk to you soon,
  Erin

A Bug in the Toilet

  Yesterday, after I finished taking a shit, I turned around to flush and there was a bug in the toilet.
  See, my writing has become so flaccid and pathetic that I have to start a blog post with that intro.
  It is true though.
  When I turned around there was a bug (of a type I have previously waged a war on and by "war" I mean catch them and throw them out the window) upside down in the water, flailing his little legs for dear life. I couldn't blame the poor bastard. He had just been attacked by human defecation and a heap of blood clots and menstrual blood. I looked at him for a few seconds pondering how I could get him out but considering that it felt like a crocodile was gnawing away at my pelvis and I really didn't want to reach into the mess I had just made, I closed the lid and flushed. I felt really bad and did actually flinch when I flushed the toilet but given the situation, I believe it was the kindest course of action.
  That would have been the highlight of my day but I decided to down some muscle relaxers and pain relievers and hopped on a bus to the mall which was my original  plan for the day.
  I left early because I like to go to the mall and sit in the eating area where the skylights let in so much natural light that I could sit there and read forever. But I can't  because even on a weekday the mall noise starts to act up to an unbearable degree about two hours after opening. But it was nice to have that time, period cramps and all.
  Today I am going to the ballet which warms my heart because even if I still have trouble dancing myself I will be as close to both the place and the thing that I love most in the world (bunny friend aside. Yup, new bunny, more on that later).
  I'll sign off here because I should really eat breakfast.
  Ta-ta.
  -Erin

Plan Pony at the mall. Not sure where I was when this was taken.

  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