Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Minister of Relief? No longer.
It seems like an eon ago I had a conversation with my mother (now gone, she's passed from her own self destructive behavior of smoking), we were having one of the few open talks about what ails me.
Not often did she unlock the gate of secrecy and distrust between us but I think the pain in my eyes and the obvious suffering I was going through finally made contact with her. Maybe she felt connection with her own torment, she wrapped herself in suffering for as many years as I was able to recognize it.
The chat was about the pain I was having, I asked her, "Mom, did I always hurt?" there were so many years that I've literally blocked out of my life due to circumstances that would probably traumatize others to the point of ruining their chances of having normal social relationships and a public life.
Poor choices made by me started young including flirtations with young men, hell I was a good looking girl and stacked! How could a burgeoning youth, his hormones racing and his acquisitions beginning..resist?
My desperate need for affection was taking the wrong direction because I was ignored by my family and sought solace in my playmates.
During it all, not only were my affections emotional but physical. I craved the pampering and touch that takes away the hurt one feels. Consider if you've fallen and scraped a knee, didn't Mommy kiss it and make it all better? For me, I would have these unexplained aches and my inability to explain why left me reaching out for comfort. I couldn't explain anything more than 'it hurts' which went unheeded by family but fulfilled by boyfriends.
When it was listened to, it was dismissed as being 'in my head' or that I was seeking attention.
In my toddler years I'd experienced an illness that hospitalized me for an extended period of time; later in my life this was barely explained to me. I've since done some reading and feel it possibly contributes to the problems I suffer today.
The abuse I was subjected to from a mentally ill family has more than likely been internalized and now has manifested itself and contributes to these pains.
It's definitive that my pain is obvious to anyone that truly wants to see inside of me.
This cripples me, it doubles me over, but I try to swallow it for the most part because I do not want to see pity on my friends faces. I do not want dependence on medications that will have my mind lost in a fog but recently over the counter pain killers are just are not satisfying the hurt any longer.
My GI is extremely sensitive (go back and read blog from last week); I literally must have a bite to eat in order to take most medications and absolutely must if it's a narcotic or muscle relaxer or you can be certain it will be back up and out in rapid fire succession.
During the winter of 2008 after being ill with respiratory infections from late October until January 2009/February 2009 and using 5 different antibiotics we figured out that I was allergic to Doxycycline - every single time it went in it was back out!
oh my, it was as if someone had taken both hands and grabbed my stomach, started twisting it into a knot like would a wet dish rag. Twirling it in your hands and ready to snap it at someone perhaps more like a wet bath towel in the gym locker and 'SNAP' slap someones bottom.
The twisting, clenching + the snap are the combination of discomforts I am experiencing when I take the Doxy, all the while my face starts to flush and sweat, my throat starts to fill up - I'm choking on my own vomit and sweating profusely.
guess what? yesterday I dug up an old bottle of some pain killer and took it and this is how it left me feeling no sooner than 10 minutes from swallowing it. I was swooning with nausea.
This leaves me with a dilemma because my stash of pills (that help) is dwindling and my week has been so bad.
Every day I take 4, sometimes 5 Tylenol 20 minutes before I eat my meals because my mouth hurts when I eat (read last weeks blog), 2-3x daily I take an 800mg Ibuprofen to help with the swelling in my hands and feet. This week I've resorted to adding more to this concoction, which can't possibly be good since I already have poor liver function values each time I have blood work done at the doctor's office.
So yesterday, in the afternoon, dreading having dinner and another handful of pills I telephoned the doctor's office because I needed refills on other medications including my anticonvulsant) and asked to refill the pain med.
Not only was my anticonvulsant mis-labeled at the wrong dose, they told me that it must be MY mistake! then I was told that the doctor would no longer be prescribing me pain meds and that I could find a new pain management doctor to help me.
thank you, you insensitive and condescending fuckhead.
my mother's response, "your first words were, 'ouchie mommy' and you didn't do anything to hurt yourself that I'd witnessed"
Not often did she unlock the gate of secrecy and distrust between us but I think the pain in my eyes and the obvious suffering I was going through finally made contact with her. Maybe she felt connection with her own torment, she wrapped herself in suffering for as many years as I was able to recognize it.
The chat was about the pain I was having, I asked her, "Mom, did I always hurt?" there were so many years that I've literally blocked out of my life due to circumstances that would probably traumatize others to the point of ruining their chances of having normal social relationships and a public life.
Poor choices made by me started young including flirtations with young men, hell I was a good looking girl and stacked! How could a burgeoning youth, his hormones racing and his acquisitions beginning..resist?
My desperate need for affection was taking the wrong direction because I was ignored by my family and sought solace in my playmates.
During it all, not only were my affections emotional but physical. I craved the pampering and touch that takes away the hurt one feels. Consider if you've fallen and scraped a knee, didn't Mommy kiss it and make it all better? For me, I would have these unexplained aches and my inability to explain why left me reaching out for comfort. I couldn't explain anything more than 'it hurts' which went unheeded by family but fulfilled by boyfriends.
When it was listened to, it was dismissed as being 'in my head' or that I was seeking attention.
In my toddler years I'd experienced an illness that hospitalized me for an extended period of time; later in my life this was barely explained to me. I've since done some reading and feel it possibly contributes to the problems I suffer today.
The abuse I was subjected to from a mentally ill family has more than likely been internalized and now has manifested itself and contributes to these pains.
It's definitive that my pain is obvious to anyone that truly wants to see inside of me.
This cripples me, it doubles me over, but I try to swallow it for the most part because I do not want to see pity on my friends faces. I do not want dependence on medications that will have my mind lost in a fog but recently over the counter pain killers are just are not satisfying the hurt any longer.
My GI is extremely sensitive (go back and read blog from last week); I literally must have a bite to eat in order to take most medications and absolutely must if it's a narcotic or muscle relaxer or you can be certain it will be back up and out in rapid fire succession.
During the winter of 2008 after being ill with respiratory infections from late October until January 2009/February 2009 and using 5 different antibiotics we figured out that I was allergic to Doxycycline - every single time it went in it was back out!
oh my, it was as if someone had taken both hands and grabbed my stomach, started twisting it into a knot like would a wet dish rag. Twirling it in your hands and ready to snap it at someone perhaps more like a wet bath towel in the gym locker and 'SNAP' slap someones bottom.
The twisting, clenching + the snap are the combination of discomforts I am experiencing when I take the Doxy, all the while my face starts to flush and sweat, my throat starts to fill up - I'm choking on my own vomit and sweating profusely.
guess what? yesterday I dug up an old bottle of some pain killer and took it and this is how it left me feeling no sooner than 10 minutes from swallowing it. I was swooning with nausea.
This leaves me with a dilemma because my stash of pills (that help) is dwindling and my week has been so bad.
Every day I take 4, sometimes 5 Tylenol 20 minutes before I eat my meals because my mouth hurts when I eat (read last weeks blog), 2-3x daily I take an 800mg Ibuprofen to help with the swelling in my hands and feet. This week I've resorted to adding more to this concoction, which can't possibly be good since I already have poor liver function values each time I have blood work done at the doctor's office.
So yesterday, in the afternoon, dreading having dinner and another handful of pills I telephoned the doctor's office because I needed refills on other medications including my anticonvulsant) and asked to refill the pain med.
Not only was my anticonvulsant mis-labeled at the wrong dose, they told me that it must be MY mistake! then I was told that the doctor would no longer be prescribing me pain meds and that I could find a new pain management doctor to help me.
thank you, you insensitive and condescending fuckhead.
my mother's response, "your first words were, 'ouchie mommy' and you didn't do anything to hurt yourself that I'd witnessed"
Monday, June 29, 2009
will the blood ever wash out?
Who does this?
Hacks up chickens from 5 a.m until 8 a.m. while watching "Angel"? Murdering and killing demons with aplumb!
My mosh of hungry 4 legged monsters swirling around my ankles, their brightly colored stalwart physique's bumping and crashing into me as they bicker over tidbits that fall into their waiting maws.
I'm armed with Santoku, boning knife, kitchen shear and a cleaver ...How I love my cleaver! The husband was saying the other night over dinner with his boss, "it's amazing how Rebekah has such precision with that cleaver, her hands have awful tremors and even her head shakes but when that cleaver is in her hands she can whack a chicken in the same spot repeatedly and never miss by a fraction!".
The counter is sanitized, the cutting boards are washed as well, the stainless bowls are lined up and waiting patiently for their meaty deposits.
From the family room I can hear David Boreanaz say they must defeat the "Beast" in his muttering voice, still trying to get his acting wings. (what is it about this show that gets my fat ass out of bed every morning - it cant be the acting!? it must be my incredulous belief in Vampires even if they are yuppie horseshit poorly portrayed highly fashionable and too pretty Vamps)
Out of the refrigerator I procure a stack of chicken thighs so tall that one would expect that I were about to feed an army or begin the Independence Day hash slinging! Expertly I balance these like a trained Jenga pro, and then return to the ice-box and bring out the rest of the gushy treats (i.e. kidneys, gizzards, liver and be still...my not still beating heart).
Methodically I slice, the blade makes a 'snick snick' as the steel waltzes through the flesh. I don't use precision, instead I mangle and mutilate the poultry into tantalizing morsels that can be devoured by my hooligans. Emulating the shreds that their mouth would impart upon a kill, accurate? NO just grab, tear, swallow!
Why, you wonder, am I doing this?
Let's see....I love them. I can't see giving them crap any longer. The media feeds us shit and we eat it. If only I had the same will power to feed myself as well as I feed my cats, then perhaps I'd be svelte and muscular instead of one of the Teletubbies.
I won't be Tinky-Winky though! Did you know that Jerry Falwell swore that he was Gay!?
Perhaps, but it could be a common mistake just because he has a murse!
I could easily be mistaken for a axe-murderer, a gynecologists or just a butcher...
Why can't I get the blood out?
Sunday, June 28, 2009
she says...
what a ruse to send me a note saying she wishes I were there.
Perhaps the months leading up to this were simply an artifice as well. It wouldn't surprise me, in a hobby where the character of the person seems to take precendence over the integrity of the animal.
No one leaves their ego at the door even though they disguise it with humility and flattery - the easiest way to wiggle their way into the trust of another.
nothing about the relationship could be described as abstemious. Giving; in ways that cannot be calculated, or figured into true financial figures unless I were going to be heartless. She gave in ways that were (in retrospect) obviously ploys to bargain for strong-arming in the future. However, she didn't take into account that I've finally been pushed around far too many times and have had it up to here (pointing to throat).
Why do people take advantage of others and then try to reverse the accusations and psychology of the actions? Is it their guilt or do they honestly believe their own actions are not damaging and reprehensible?
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
Perhaps the months leading up to this were simply an artifice as well. It wouldn't surprise me, in a hobby where the character of the person seems to take precendence over the integrity of the animal.
No one leaves their ego at the door even though they disguise it with humility and flattery - the easiest way to wiggle their way into the trust of another.
nothing about the relationship could be described as abstemious. Giving; in ways that cannot be calculated, or figured into true financial figures unless I were going to be heartless. She gave in ways that were (in retrospect) obviously ploys to bargain for strong-arming in the future. However, she didn't take into account that I've finally been pushed around far too many times and have had it up to here (pointing to throat).
Why do people take advantage of others and then try to reverse the accusations and psychology of the actions? Is it their guilt or do they honestly believe their own actions are not damaging and reprehensible?
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Tulips and Evacuation
After the grand event of kittening I finally found great comfort in my over-priced, no back relief experienced (yet) and hot as Hell heat capturing Temper-Pedic mattress. There were dreams and nightmares from all of my thoughts being jumbled together. When I woke up, there wasn't a freshness to my step but at least I could walk without stumbling any longer.
When I finally sleep, it's as though I've taken a bucketful of anxiety and added a pound of vaudeville and stuffed it all into a blender. When I'm lucky the anxiety has been beaten to death and I am only left with the ridiculous performances that dance behind my eyelids.
Thanks to handfuls of prescription medications (one to fix one problem but then that that one creates another, and the one to fix the secondary problem requires another to fix those as well) I awake frequently to visit the throne.
Roll over and toss legs over the side of the bed, toes seeking purchase onto my sandals. (yes I said sandals - slippers are too effing hot) Usually upon sitting up in bed a rush of gas erupts into an incredible belch that which would bring Olympic scoring, I stumble my way from the bed to the toilet all the while groaning and protesting the indignities of my life.
Son'a'bitch this or fuck that ...can't believe I'm awake and why can't I get some rest for a change.!!!..why am I peeing I didn't even have anything to drink before bed!!!...complaints come to my lips so easily as I am sitting there on the stool with my pajamas down around my ankles in a pool of formless cotton-poly blend.
Illumination coming from the night-light on the wall, my tired eyes feel scorched by it! I slam them shut only to open a sliver, enough to be able to guide myself back to the bed.
Do I fall asleep while sitting there, perhaps! I'm not sure but I'm aware that I have a visitor just as I've finished shaking the dew off my lily (wait I don't have a lily but I do have two lips BAHA HAHA get it, Tulips!?!) and about to pull up my pants. Someone, a nude-cat of course, has clambered in and taken refuge in this warm new cozy place.
Seriously there is NO privacy in a home with Sphynx cats. They are not aware of these antics, which are highly demanding and priveledged. They just figure that their company is always welcomed no matter what the occassion.
99% of the time I'd concur but when I'm in my sleeping haze and hurting because a Mack-Truck ran me over, I find little humor when someone pounces onto my shoulder or onto my back while hunkered over the shitter.
Opportunists really - I guess I can't blame them I've been called the same.
In this day and age I think that if you see a shining star and can reach it, GRAB IT with both hands!
When I finally sleep, it's as though I've taken a bucketful of anxiety and added a pound of vaudeville and stuffed it all into a blender. When I'm lucky the anxiety has been beaten to death and I am only left with the ridiculous performances that dance behind my eyelids.
Thanks to handfuls of prescription medications (one to fix one problem but then that that one creates another, and the one to fix the secondary problem requires another to fix those as well) I awake frequently to visit the throne.
Roll over and toss legs over the side of the bed, toes seeking purchase onto my sandals. (yes I said sandals - slippers are too effing hot) Usually upon sitting up in bed a rush of gas erupts into an incredible belch that which would bring Olympic scoring, I stumble my way from the bed to the toilet all the while groaning and protesting the indignities of my life.
Son'a'bitch this or fuck that ...can't believe I'm awake and why can't I get some rest for a change.!!!..why am I peeing I didn't even have anything to drink before bed!!!...complaints come to my lips so easily as I am sitting there on the stool with my pajamas down around my ankles in a pool of formless cotton-poly blend.
Illumination coming from the night-light on the wall, my tired eyes feel scorched by it! I slam them shut only to open a sliver, enough to be able to guide myself back to the bed.
Do I fall asleep while sitting there, perhaps! I'm not sure but I'm aware that I have a visitor just as I've finished shaking the dew off my lily (wait I don't have a lily but I do have two lips BAHA HAHA get it, Tulips!?!) and about to pull up my pants. Someone, a nude-cat of course, has clambered in and taken refuge in this warm new cozy place.
Seriously there is NO privacy in a home with Sphynx cats. They are not aware of these antics, which are highly demanding and priveledged. They just figure that their company is always welcomed no matter what the occassion.
99% of the time I'd concur but when I'm in my sleeping haze and hurting because a Mack-Truck ran me over, I find little humor when someone pounces onto my shoulder or onto my back while hunkered over the shitter.
Opportunists really - I guess I can't blame them I've been called the same.
In this day and age I think that if you see a shining star and can reach it, GRAB IT with both hands!
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