Everything Has a Cost

Everything has a Cost

11-18-11

It took quite a while for me to learn that everything has a cost, and that it’s not always readily apparent what that cost will be. Most times, we only see the cost in money, or perhaps the time that we spend away from our friends or families. Perhaps time away from doing the things that we would much rather be doing is the cost that we really see. But when the cost is coming from one’s self, one’s pound of flesh, that’s when it gets to be a cost that hits home.

Oh, when initially I heard that piece of imagery, I had a kinky vision in my head of chains and whips, leather and sex. Some musk, sweat, cum, pain, semen, begging, moaning, blood, dominance, submission… you know, fun. 

For a time, I thought I knew it all. I thought I had a handle on what I could do; what I could put my body through. What I have recently found, though, is that I knew nothing. What I performed in the bedroom/kitchen/living room/sex clubs/cars/friends houses/and various other places I am sure my parents don’t really want to read about in the name of fun, sex, and consent had nothing to do with that pound of flesh. It had nothing to do with the Cost of living. It had nothing to do with the Cost of being. It had nothing to do with the trade-off… but then…

I got sick.

I got really sick.

All that energy that I had was suddenly gone. It was all used up. Everything that I used to have the energy to do, to endure, seems out of reach to me now. Doing things that I used to take for granted as every day, like waking up, takes more energy than it seems that I have each morning. Getting out of bed to go to the bathroom in the morning seems like more effort than it’s worth, except for the fact that pissing in the bed has never really been a Kink of mine. It’s like I have fallen down in an energy sink, and I am not quite sure how to climb back up. I am not entirely sure if there is any way for me to come back up, really. It might be one of those situations where it takes more energy than I have to get out of it.

But I am still me. I am just now faced with the bill, now. I look at the Cost of living, and it isn’t paid in money. The stress of living and dealing with all those things that I used to keep together I now have to pay with a coin I mint with my own body. I pay that bill with pain, and I am unsure of how to break that cycle.

I am unsure if I am able to.

The question is if I am going to break under this… this… this… SHIT… or if I am going to be able to roll with it and adapt.

Well, for now, I am adapting, though I feel brittle. That might just be the time of year, and all the fluctuation going on. I have a good, secure, steady, and stable support structure. I am on mood altering medications (which are the only reasons I am even *remotely* stable at the moment) which also double as migraine suppressants, to help me with my depression. It’s just so much to take in.

I’m twenty-five. Everything that I had planned for and thought to achieve, hoped to achieve…

Some of it can be salvaged, but a good portion has to be scrapped because this MS SHIT (!!!!!!!) has seriously fucked my brain up, and is still doing so. Some cognitive therapy will help, I think, but it’s apparent that the Universe seems to have Other Plans for me, regardless of whatever I wanted.

My views on That haven’t changed much over the years.

So, now, I get to re-learn how to deal with everything, since most all of my short-term coping mechanisms (the way I deal with crowds until I can get out of them and someplace “safe” to do my jewelry/write/crochet or whatever) I either don’t do anymore (like smoking/drinking) or can’t (drinking/suppressing) do anymore. It’s frustrating. It’s enough to make me almost just want to stay at home, not leave the motherfucking house, and just stay there, learn to sew, and create clothing/jewelry/books/accessories/etc and let other people sell it. I think that may end up being close to my overall plan, actually… except I don’t really want to become a full out hermit.

I want to be able to go out and have fun again (including the kinky fun, even if that means I am in the top side because I am physically barred from the bottom) without worrying if my going out is going to stress me to the point of having an MS-episode.

Maybe once I start my medication (copaxone) and I get into some sort of routine with this bullshit, I will cease to feel like everything is up in the air.

I hate being afraid all the time. The stress of that happy horse-shit is being minted on a regular basis, and let me tell you, I am getting sick of all the fucking headaches.

So yes, I am a bitter hag. It might change. I hope it changes. I can also see me staying this way. I think a part of me will always stay a little bit bitter. I am writing it quite a bit. I may even share some more of it besides this journaling thing. I just hope I can grow beyond being just a bitter hag. Maybe I can grow to be a bitter hag plus something else. Or, better yet, I can be something else, and occasionally a bitter hag. Maybe even, in time, the bitter hag part will just be an after-thought.

Perhaps one day, the bitter hag part can be left off completely.

But from this vantage point, I doubt it.

I doubt a lot of things.

Things are very dark here, even though people keep telling me that it shouldn’t be. After all, it could be worse.

Yes, but it’s pretty fucking bad as it is.