Every Witch Way, But Mostly Dead

2018-04-082018-04-08 Miss Poison Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Complex PTSD, Depression, Emotional Pain, Enough, Escape, Exhaustion, Fibromyalgia, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Writing April, Complex PTSD, Depression, Emotional Pain, Empty, Fibromyalgia, Observations, Physical Pain, Stress, Survival, Triggers, Writing, Zero Emotional Support

Authors’ Note: **POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING**

Yes, the title is spelled correctly. Yes, it’s intentional.

Most of my weekends are spent doing things I’d rather not do. The weekends were once my refuge for sleep, quiet, peace, laughter, productivity, cooking, more laughter, and space. They are now filled with rushed moments, trying to pack a lot of time into a few hours here and there. I almost NEVER get to do something I genuinely want to do, and despite the fact that I am being supremely honest about that, I can’t say it doesn’t gall me. It does. There’s not a lot about my current life that I signed up for. I find that’s a repetitive theme these days.

On one hand, a person might try shaming me by saying I don’t appreciate what I have. I don’t recommend attempting that tactical method with me. I might seem nice, but I’m not. Only someone who truly understands what I am going through and experiencing would understand why I say what I say and feel as I do. The truth is; I don’t need to justify my feelings to anyone or have them agree or disagree. They’re MY feelings. I own them, and they are accurate.

By a certain age, we all kind of find our niche and know the direction we plan on taking, whatever that direction may be. It could be personal, professional, or a mixture of the two, but the decision is made somewhere along the way to go right or left, or maybe North, South, East, or West. Some of us meet forks in the road, whereas other people see smooth sailing on the same road from the initial decision until the end of their life. My life, for some unknown reason, is one fork after another. It is an expensive place-setting with more forks than one really need have on a table called life, but there they are; ever-present and obnoxious as hell. I’m not a mermaid, you can’t dangle shiny things in front of me and distract me. Perhaps one should try diamonds instead of forks. I’m a Royal Asscher kind of girl. 😉

For a while now the saying “Different levels, different devils.” has been on a repetitive loop inside my head. I have plenty to write and say, and no interest in actually drafting any of it into a post or anything else. I don’t get writer’s block, but I do experience writer’s boredom. Let’s call me a severely bored writer for the moment. It’ll pass.

My usual desire to be creative on other artistic platforms where I have either interest or talent is also in a “bored” phase. For me to walk into ULTA and come out with NOTHING is almost unheard of. I found it kind of disturbing when I was the person who didn’t walk out with a bright orange bag.

A friend asked me how I was doing last week and I replied “I’m in a state of really not giving a shit about anything or anyone.” Not realizing that her reply could make or break someone else, she responded by saying “Oh. That’s kind of a good thing, I guess.” I informed her it most certainly is not.

I’ve been pretty ill on and off for months. I was holding up halfway decently, and have slowly started to decline. Let’s get something straight; no one should EVER rejoice in someone else’s pain or hardships. You can’t tell me I’ll feel better if “just pray harder” or if I “take a bath” and “light some candles”. Seriously?! What the fuck is wrong with people?

Your mental health, and mine, is just as important as the rest of your health. I call Mondays “Mental Health Monday” because I allow myself that time to do nothing, but take care of me. To shut everything and everyone off and allow myself to get into the correct head space to do what I need to for the week. Unfortunately, I already know that I will be badly triggered tomorrow. As a result, today was not the day I intended for it to be.

I am forced to make a heartbreaking decision. Will it kill me? Physically, no, but it will kill my soul, whatever is left of it after feeling like I’ve experienced various forms of hell for the past two and a half years. If I do it, there’s no point left for me anymore because I will finally know there’s no future left for me to return to. There’s no point in forging ahead without what little in this world that gives me hope and keeps me alive.

As usual, my brother caused critical damage to this situation, refuses to take ownership of his behavior and words, and I have no where else to turn. I have always been told that I don’t know how to ask for help. There’s a reason I don’t ask, and it’s because time and again, I’ve been shown cruelty and the true nature of others. If you genuinely want to help someone, then you’ll do it and NEVER throw it in their face. You won’t lord it over them and tell them what a horrible person they are. If you genuinely want to hurt someone, well, I’ve been hurt enough.

This week will be full of challenges and pain for me. I hate feeling hopeless and I hate feeling like I have failed when the truth is, I’ve FOUGHT LIKE FUCKING HELL to get this far. My body feels like it’s perpetually at war, and it is. My immune system fights itself and it leaves me in a constant state of fight or flight. As I type this, my heart isn’t sure if it should be calm or jump out of my chest. It’s exhausting and I’ve had enough.

I spend a little too much time in Witch City, and have for the past year. Yesterday I was subjected to more people than I EVER want to be around in close spaces for over two hours. I have never been more happy to escape crowds of people. I keep thinking how sad it would be if this was my last weekend ever. I wonder if the selfishness of others would then finally be realized.

I never get to do anything of my own choosing. But I do get to control what I write.

Not Okay

2017-06-302017-07-01 Miss Poison Writing Depression, Honesty, Musings, Physical Pain, Stress, Unhappiness, Writing

I’m not okay. I’ve tried to be, but ultimately, the first person I have to be honest with is myself. If you start lying to yourself, you can convince the entire world that everything’s fine while the house burns down around you. Everything is absolutely NOT fine because I am NOT fine.

Today was my last appointment with the doctor I’ve talked about; the one I actually like and respect, and that will never change, not unless he runs me over with his car tomorrow, a strong possibility since he’s probably read my work at this point. 😉

While I joked about super glue and other things, I walked out afterward and I thought I was all right, but I’m not. I appreciate the fact that he gave me additional time and didn’t once look at the clock, that we had a real talk, etc., but I caught myself in tears on the drive home. I expected to see black streaks pouring down my face as I quickly glanced in the mirror, assuming there had to be a horrific mess, some evidence that I was as upset on the outside as I was internally, but there was nothing to be seen. Origins GinZing mascara will be getting a ten star review, and let me just say that it’s not even water resistant, leave alone waterproof.

But I digress; there’s a very long waiting period for a therapist. The person I met with was temporary. The only difference is, she immediately disclosed this. However, I don’t need another temporary person to speak with or see every two weeks. I don’t have time for that. I’ve got nothing to say. I also don’t have it in me to build a relationship with someone who is a temporary fix. It’s like putting a Band-Aid on something that requires stitches; and I’m NOT okay with that. It’s also a lot like dating someone for no reason. Why would I bother?! I do NOT like wasting my time. She was perfectly lovely, but what’s the point?! A cushion to fall back on if no one else wants to take me?! This system is so fucked up, it really hurts me. There are people in far worse condition than I, and you’re making them wait six months, or longer, just to get in the door. I will be called in almost two weeks to find out if there’s an opening for me with someone, but if there isn’t, she is willing to see me on a temporary basis. In all honesty, I might say no until there is an opening. It’s exhausting dragging myself there every two weeks as it is. I openly admit, I was doing it to see the doctor because again, I really liked him. Ask anyone; I don’t like people.

When he said “Let’s find you another me.” I replied, “That’s not gonna happen.” (Not unless he’s been cloned, in which case, he really ought to talk to someone about that.) and he said “Okay, let’s find you someone else with a prescription pad.” (The expression on his face was so funny, I laughed. I told you he had a great sense of humor.), despite the fact that I’m only taking a PTSD drug. He did recommend someone else, but honestly, in this moment, I’m not interested in seeing her. I plan on calling him before he leaves for a refill and just leaving it at that for the moment. I don’t take it nightly and a refill should get me through the summer until I’m ready to pursue another doctor, whether it be who he suggested, or not.

I feel like a fucking tennis ball. In a dog’s mouth. I feel so absent within myself. I came home, fed Cat & Kitten at exactly five o’clock (Believe me, they both thought they should have gotten fed the second I walked through the door. They’re OBSESSED little vixens.), washed my face twice, changed my clothes, and after a texting session with my sister, Britt, I fell asleep like the dead. I am so physically, mentally, and emotionally drained that I just want to sit somewhere and cry for the next week. Technically, I can do that, but in all likelihood, it won’t happen. I’ll bottle it up until I have a breakdown of some kind and I’ll keep bottling it up until I snap.

The best compliment I came away with today was “You know yourself really well.” For someone to observe that over six weeks, is a nice feeling.

I’ve never been a fan of square one. It makes me sick. However, I think I just need some time, and space, to think this through.

Wishing my neighbors to the North a Happy Canada Day & my fellow Americans a Happy, Healthy, & Safe 4th Of July weekend!

Best CD I’ve heard in a long time. Don’t hesitate, grab a copy!

Off

2016-06-072016-06-07 Miss Poison Life, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing Broken Bones, June, Musings, Physical Pain, Poison In Lethal Doses, Stupidity, Writing

I feel immensely “off” this week, and it’s only Tuesday. 😦 When I’m asleep by 8:30 on any given night, there’s generally a reason. Last night, it was a combination of exhaustion, pushing myself all day to remain awake on little-to-no sleep, being in pain, and it’s possible the heat had something to do with it, though it wasn’t intense, it was quite soul-sucking.

Today, upon waking around 1:45, I found myself feeling like an idiot. A little over five hours of sleep and I’m sitting here just before 6:00 a.m., feeling like a zombie. Going back to sleep isn’t a real option. I have work to do and while much of it is nauseating, boring, and as soul-sucking as the heat, it’s still gotta get done. I wish I had a clone of myself to do it all.

I’m grateful that my broken toe is feeling somewhat better. To make a long story short, I needed to get out of my head and breathe last week and that involved a three mile walk. Despite limping the day before (I have NO idea what I did or when I did it to cause the initial limping to begin. Normally I can say “Oh, I walked into this…” or “I slammed my foot into the staircase.”, but this time I legitimately have NO solid leads as to how I hurt myself.), I was determined to fight past it. I HAD to get out of the house and function like a normal person without negativity in my head. My personal stupidity was telling me “You’ll be outdoors in cool air, you’ll get some exercise, you’ll clear your head.” I did feel reasonably peaceful once I was out and walking, but limping up and down hill isn’t cute, nor is it fun. By the time I got back from my relatively short trek into nature, my right foot and ankle were already beginning to swell. I’d spend the next four and a half days with ice packs wrapped around the worst of it. It hurt SO bad that my left foot was starting to have sympathy pains, right up until the point where, at three a.m. on Monday, I walked right into a table leg with the same toe, to match the one on my right foot. So far, that one hasn’t given me any indication that it’s broken, so we’ll call it a bone bruise, as that’s likely what it is. I still can’t walk properly, but I’m continuing to do my best to get to the first stage of healing.

My “company” this weekend was deeply imbedded in the books I’m reading. I got back into “Bones Never Lie” by Kathy Reichs, a book I’d started when it first came out in 2014 and simply got too busy to read at the time, and her most recent book, “Speaking In Bones”, which I am almost done with. I’ve got a stack of other potentially interesting finds to read next, and when you’re injured or can’t sleep, it’s a perfect way to educate the brain and/or escape into a different world for a while. I was also able to burn six CD’s worth of music to my digital library, which makes me happy. Sometimes, it’s the small things that are huge for you in times of distress and/or pain.

My brother did make it out of the second operation okay, but the road to recovery is long and may result in some permanent nerve damage. If ever you suspect you have any kind of infection, there is an immense difference between 7:00 a.m. and 7:00 PM, and that difference could be your life, so please, don’t be as stubborn or as stupid as he (way too often) is.

I hope everyone has a pleasant day. I am off to edit something confusing. What else is new?