Bright Sides... Just another day Dec 13, 2011

**Warning** The following touches on some stuff that you may or may not want to read. I'm Depressed. Deal with it. Don't read into it beyond what's there. This is me just bleeding some of it off as a release mechanism. It actually helps, okay? I'm not even close to doing something stupid, or irreversibly self-destructive.




I was doing some research on sewing machines, today, and gave my father the list of the ones that I very seriously liked.

I did some research into how to use a sewing machine, as well as sew different types of materials.

I managed to start and end a fight that needed to be had, but I still hated to have.

Cleaning still needs to be done, but I have no energy for it. Fights still seem to brew no matter what I do.

Medical bills are piling up... and there isn't anything much I can really do about it. Our former insurance didn't cover as much as they told us they did, and now things are coming in all at once and apparently past due. Lovely calls that I get to make early tomorrow morning.

I get a new niece tomorrow.

I'm just so tired of the fighting. I guess I will go do the bloody fucking dishes or something. Maybe if I kill myself cleaning something it will be enough.

Just to be clear: no one is saying anything to me to make me feel this way. It's all me. It's always me. I am my own worst enemy in this, and no one is holding me to the standard that I am holding myself... and finding myself wanting.

I'm sorry I got sick. I am sorry I am not pulling my weight around here. I apologize for not being able to do the amount of work that I used to do. I am sorry that I can't function the way I used to. I am sorry that my brain just shuts down when I look at all the bills piling up. I am sorry that I can't just bounce back from everything the way I used to.

Sometimes, I wonder if it would be easier for everyone if I just wasn't around... but I am not quite ready to not be around yet.

I am trying to keep busy and maybe even learn some new skills. Perhaps I will even be able to make some of the things that are floating around in my head, before my brains finish deteriorating and I lose all use of my body...

Yeah, happy thoughts.

Waiting on the copaxone, still. I got a call from the pharmacy people and they said it would still be a couple of days, and no word on how much it would actually cost.

More money I am not earning.

All I do is cost money to everyone around me.

I just can't seem to keep my focus on the bright sides today. Something having to do with getting into a fight every time I open up my fucking mouth.

Fuck MS.
Fuck it all.

Bright Sides of December 12

This weekend didn't have many bright-sides for me. I was in a nice little depression there, just wallowing away. It didn't help that every morning I was waking with a headache I just couldn't shake. I was also kind of killing myself with cookies.

Garth took the cookies away. I am pretty sure that's a bright side, but I am kind of cranky about it. I want a cookie. This might mean I am currently a cookie junkie.... "Man, I just need a snickerdoodle. Just another snickerdoodle, man. Please? It's the last one, man!"

I had my MRI this morning. I took my anti-anxiety medication and it made me loopy as fuck, but it made it very hard to be depressed, even with the prospect of my cervical spine lighting up like a Christmas Tree. I am going to take this as a bright side today.

Watching Tron Legacy and enjoying the Daft Punk. About to get to the scene that steals the show, where, funny enough, Daft Punk is in the scene! :) Bright side.

I am going to be having some shake n bake chicken and some rice, which is exactly what I am wanting at the moment. Bright side.

I think I shall be getting husband cuddles tonight. Bright side.

I am pretty damned mellow right now... it's better than being depressed. Bright side.

I Hate Myself

I Hate Myself

12/11/11

                I hate myself.

                This is not a new thing for me, by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, this seems to be somewhat of a recurring theme in my life; which is yet another thing I am unhappy with myself about.

                This constant cycle of self-hatred is something that has defined my life for many years; since I was in elementary school at least. While most kids were learning how to socialize with one another, I learned how to loathe myself and hate other people. This bitterness that I have been fighting against was born during that time in my life. Its roots are deep and every time I think I have uprooted it, it comes back, fully flowered and as strong and vibrant as it ever were.

                All of my self-destructive tendencies are coming up to the surface. I manage not to give into most of them, such as picking up a pack of smokes or cutting on myself. Both of those actions would be addressing the same hatred and urge to destroy that which I loathe, albeit slowly. Drinking is out, dive to various medications, and I have written about how that very has been riding me as well.

                And why don’t I give into the old habits? Why don’t I gave into the incessant urging of the monkeys riding my back? It would be easier for everyone around me if I just quit fights against the old demons, right? Wouldn’t I be easier to live with?

                No.

                Those habits of self-destruction ruled me when I imbibed in them on a regular basis. Besides, since kicking them, why would I want to go back? There are so many more options when it comes to self-destruction. Why repeat myself? That would be boring.

                Seriously, though, what I really want is to not hate myself. It almost seems like too much to ask of my own psyche, considering what’s going on, but that’s my goal. I thought I had actually reached it for a while there, but this illness has taught me differently. This illness is teaching me quite a bit about me; a lot of which I can’t say that I like all that much.

                I suppose I could end it, but that seems too damned fifteen year old girl for me anymore In reality, things aren't that bad yet. I have an excellent support structure, and I currently have health insurance. It’s damnably hard to look at the bright side of things, though, when the pain is constant and you cannot even plan for the next day. I have to re-learn what my limitations are. Just knowing that there are very real limitations on what I am capable of doing at any given point in time is bloody fucking depressing.

                I know that I need to cut myself some slack and allow myself time to heal. After all, I just had an exacerbation a couple of weeks ago and I just finished off the oral step down steroid regimen. I acknowledge the full possibility that this canker-blossom of self-hate might very well be fueled by the steroids, but it still stems from my own inborn self-loathing.

                Writing this out is helping a little bit. At least, it is making me feel like I am actually doing something, besides laying around like a lump.

                Mommy-Ne and Bryan Paul were going to come over and help me clean today. I cancelled due to the headache I have been down wise most of this weekend. The headache is probably due to Cookies. Cookies one evil. Cookies are just the latest way to kill myself, I think. It wouldn’t surprise me if the steroids plus cookies have thrown me into diabetes. That fact does nothing to make me care for myself any more than I already d. Part of me just looks at this as another betrayal.

                Yes. Another way I betrayed myself.

                Selfish. Stupid. Short-sighted.

                Well, I know what needs to be done, at least partly. Carbohydrates are over-rated anyway… right?

Vitriol Well (poetry)

Vitriol Well

This well of bitterness

Runs deep and rich

Draw deep from it

At your own peril

For fear of its poison

Infecting your very being

With vitriol and hate

It tastes sweet at first

That’s its secret delight

No one can resist it for long

Everyone comes back for more

Of this sweet and bitter poison

Form: free

10-9-11

Becoming a bitter hag is an easy thing to do. I can slip into the role so easily. There's quite a bit to be bitter about. It's one of the reasons why I have started to try to focus on Bright Sides each day. Some days are easier than others. 

When I wrote this poem, this was me trying to shuck the bitterness. At the time, my diagnosis was only a couple of weeks old. It was still surreal and I was still unable to sit down and read much about the disease without bursting into tears. I wasn't (and am still not entirely, if truth be told) very rational about the entire thing. I am a little more stable about it now.

Time does that. 

It helps acceptance just settle into your bones. 

It makes heavy burdens a little easier to carry...

... Still trying not to turn into a bitter fucking hag.

Sanity Stains

Sanity Stains

One minute at a time

That’s what I have been told

To take every day at

To cherish every second

As it comes and goes

Slipping through my fingers

As if I could ever

Actually hope to grasp it with

…This flesh

…This mind

…This heart

It passes me by

Leaving me behind

Taking me with it

Sweeping me along

Weather I want to or not

Leaving dribbles of my sanity

To stain the carpet

In my wake

10-9-11

Form: free

I am sure it comes as a surprise that I am not a very patient individual. I don't enjoy waiting for things. It actively stresses me out. So, all the waiting I have had to do since I got sick back in July has really been grating on me. However, it's not as if I have much of a choice. I get to re-learn how to process everything, and it has been showing in my writing (and not just in the poetry that I have been sharing with everyone.).

The strain of this change of events has been actively changing me. Overall, I think a lot of the changes are for the good. 

As odd as it sounds, it might just be that MS could be one of the better things to have happened to me, as far as positive changes to my personality goes. Now, if it could go away, and those positive changes stay, the world would be great. Unfortunately, I don't think that the world works that way yet. 

In the meantime, I am a kinder, gentler, yet more potentially vicious Becca. Maybe I will explain that later.

Bright Sides of December 9th

Bright Sides of December 9, 2011

                I am a towel, which kind of makes me sad, because I was just saying to my dad, today, that I was quite happy that I hadn’t had to take any of my pain pills for the past few days.

                This is Towelieee. He is an ancillary character from South Park. He isn’t the best character… wait, no, no he is.  He totally is the best character ever. Right now, anyway. This might be the pain pills talking.

You’re a towel.

                Anyway, this shit fucking sucks. I hate not knowing what I can and cannot do. I used to know what my limitations were, and now, I have no motherfucking clue. It’s even more sucky than it sounds, seriously. It’s not like I did a lot today either. I could give y’all a blow by blow, but really, it’s not needed. I had lunch with my dad and a family dinner out, both of which were fun and low impact. However, my left shoulder hasten giving me trouble all day. Tylenol cut some of the pain, but maybe my endurance just gave up. After dinner, I just had to give in and take a Percocet.

                Which is how turned into a towel.

                No! You’re a towel!

                So, I am writing this with my tablet, by hand, while I am totally high. It’s not nearly as first as typing, but my left arm hurts too much. I think I slept on my arm wrong which has prompted this issue in the first place.

                It’s kind of odd, actual. It almost feels like it did when I was undergoing the latest exacerbation a couple of weeks ago. However, there is an almost qualitative difference between that pain and this pain.

                Hey! Look! A Bright Side! I am pretty sure that this is not another exacerbation. Which is, in fact, a good thing.

                Bright side: Both lunch with my father and the family dinner were quite pleasant, despite the pain I have been in.

                Bright side: My tablet was malfunctioning, but now I got it working again. Truth be told, I am not entirely sure what I did, but whatever it was, it was successful.

                Bright side: The pain killer has made everything much funnier.

                Maybe I am reaching for my bright sides today. It wouldn’t be the first time. This looking for positives in a shitty situation doesn’t come naturally to me at all. In fact, it feels vaguely wrong. Believe. It or not, though, I have no wish to descend into a horrific depression. So, all this trying to focus on positives, any positives at all, is just one tool in my arsenal to combat that descent.

                I have been feeling like everyone is always mad at me because I can’t do the things that I used to be able to do. All of my friends and family assure me that they are not mad at me. What’s funny is that tonight, I realized something: I’m mad at me.

                I am not completely sure how to deal with this. It’s obvious as I am noticing quite a few of my more self-destructive urges rising up to the fore-front. Apathy is threatening, but is moderately manageable with my jewelry crafting, drawing, and writing. Though I think I need to do more writing. There is a lot of vitriol eating away at me. I have to bleed it off every so often.

                I had mentioned earlier that I am writing this out by hand using my tablet. It is slow-going but strangely soothing. Also, my handwriting fucking sucks! Well, I can train this computer to my quirks of handwriting and possibly improve it. Besides, after the first exacerbation, my handwriting went from really bad to extremely horrible. So, it’s a sort of therapy, right?

Consumed by Pain (poem)

Consumed by Pain

12-8-11

Throb

Pulsing

Expanding

Spreading farther

Beating heart making

Pain filling everything

Pushing out all else that makes

Who I am possible to be

Leaving me nothing but frayed nerves and

Exposed senses burning in open air.

Form: Etheree

This poem can apply to the migraines that I have been prone to over the years. It's also fair to say that it applies to the way I have felt on the steroid runs that I have had to go on recently. As this run of steroids draws to a close (I am almost done with my oral steroids), I write this as a hope I don't have to go on another run anytime soon.