The Fitted Sheet

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Putting a fitted sheet on a mattress fucking sucks. I swear it’s the workout of a marathon in one room.

You try that whole “diagonal sides first”; the whole “back sides first”; whatever other “trick” you got from family or Youtube. They make it look so simple. A breeze. Obviously a fucking simpleton should be able to get a damn fitted sheet onto their fucking mattress.

That’s the metaphor of my life right now.

I have this life “fitted sheet” that is well-worn, perhaps a bit faded. The pattern is super funky. Couple decades old.

But it’s mine. And I’ve heard it isn’t easy to get another.

I also have this brain “mattress” that I think may have somehow obtained the incorrect size. I’m not sure whether I meant for a full instead of a queen or maybe I need a king?

Honestly, it’s sort of hard to tell whether the mattress is too large or the fitted sheet is too small. Or perhaps the opposite. It’s all just wibbly-wobbly.

No matter how much I fucking groan and shove and twist into all sorts of fun shapes, the damn sheet never seems to fit properly onto the mattress.

I think I’m going to have to saw a corner off. Which is a bit sad, as I love this “mattress”. I don’t want another. I don’t want to really change it. To trade it out for something else. This one is just so familiar, despite the stains and weird lumps and sort of frayed bits on the corners. The whispers in the stuffing and the smudged sort of writing in spots that never seems to rub out.

If I can get the sheet on after cutting a corner off the mattress, then I can just face the weird malformed corner to the wall so no one visiting can tell.

Problem solved, right?

Docs yet again

Another doctor.  Cardiologist appointment next week.

The past 10 days have been awful.

Honestly, I’ve debated on stopping taking all my meds and just letting the possible stroke/heart-attack happen that all these doctors like to use as threats.  Pretty much all of them say they think I’m not really taking all my meds anyway.

Because how could a 25 year old who is not obese and has no family history of heart or blood pressure issues possibly have malignant hypertension that resists pretty much all medications on the market?

Maybe a stroke or heart attack would actually get me to a doctor who gives a shit and stops dismissing me.

Maybe I’ll get lucky and this cardiologist (third I’ve seen in the past 2 years) will give a couple fucks.

I doubt it.

I’ll update if I’m told anything worth reporting.  Probably.

Most likely you’ll see the report on the news about me slaughtering him/her because they tried to prescribe addition hypertension-related meds and didn’t look for any underlying issue.

I’m serious, 7 different meds is enough (11 with the side effect and mental-health meds).

No more.

Time to figure out how to take meds away.

Hypertension Blues

Blood pressure is up again.  

193/122.

Thrown up a couple times.  Then once it settled a bit, tried all the emergency/extra meds the doctor gave me that I’m supposed to take when it goes above the danger zone.  Not helping.

I’m just really getting so very done with this whole thing.  I just want to be a normal person without these issues.  

I want to be able to make plans and hangout with people and not worry about a BP spike that causes me to be curled up in pain (or throwing up) for hours.  

I want to be able to go to work and not go to the bathroom to cry or throw up, then go back to my desk to force myself through files because I’m out of leave time.

I just want to be healthy.

I feel like I’m being punished.  Everything I try to do or change to help makes no difference.  I don’t even know what to think anymore.  I really don’t.

I’m just going to go home after work and take some sleeping pills.  I just can’t deal with this.

The Girl Who Played Robot

Once upon a time there was a girl…

She wished she was a robot.

She wished she didn’t have any desire for love, support, or acceptance.

Sometimes she would pretend to be a robot.  She would shove people away for no reason (they didn’t do anything wrong) and turn off those pesky emotions.  Robots do not need emotions.

The whispers and hisses in her brain could be considered software malfunction.  Just ignore it.  Do a system reboot and it’ll all be okay.

Turn off that part that dwells on the past.  That nostalgia or loneliness for a particular person is nothing but a series of numbers and code.  There may be a bug in the system making her think she misses him.  But she definitely doesn’t.

The robot is thinking that the idea of starting a new committed relationship is unnecessary.  The robot does not need others.

She lets this new man attempt kissing and caressing while daydreaming about having a small metal frame and being filled with only wires.

He asks to be “committed and official” and she puzzles over what this means.  She shrugs at the request to put in on the internet (Facebook, of course).  It doesn’t much matter anyway.

She wishes the rising nausea and pain and blood pressure could be solved.  If only she could be a robot.  Then all that swirling frustrating pain would be nonexistent.

A robot would solve all these pesky problems.

She debates on pretending to be a robot.  She’s good at that.

Beyond Frustration

After my last two weird posts, I did end up going to the doctor.  He got me in quickly because he wanted to check if I had other signs of a stroke or seizure.   Apparently I did not.

After that was ruled out, he became rather apathetic about my strange symptoms.  He did some more history stuff (we talked about my psych-ward stay) and he rearranged my meds slightly again.

And then yesterday I got hit with a baaaaad migraine.  Vomiting for hours, BP of 187/125 or higher.  Finally it started coming down in the afternoon enough that I could get an anti-nausea to stay down.  Called the doctor.  He did some more med rearranging and said to call if it got dramatically worse, otherwise he’d see me Saturday.

I just feel like I’m falling into this hole again.  Unsolveable, doesn’t respond to treatment.  I know the doctor is trying but I’m just starting to feel entirely frustrated and hopeless again.  My body seems to really be sure it should have this high pressure no matter what.  I don’t understand it.  I’ve been so good now for over a month on EVERYTHING, even food.

But now I’m feeling that ED nipping at my heels and curling around my head.  Stating that I’m too fat/ugly/disgusting and that’s why I have high blood pressure.  Of course the pills aren’t working.  I just need to lose this fat.  Just stop eating and the blood pressure will drop.  It’s not hard.

My mind is messing with me a lot.  I’m aware this is damaging thinking.  Not healthy.  Not normal.  But I can’t stop.

Nothing seems to be working and I don’t know where to turn to.

Jumbled Words

I’m dealing with what I believe to be a strange side effect this morning.  Words are jumbling and not making sense. 

For example: I’m at the law firm this morning and when going over a task list with my mother (the attorney) there are a couple times I literally cannot understand what she is saying.  It’s like it’s gibberish.  And she isn’t saying any complicated law terms that I may have forgotten.  It’s like she’s just saying basic office language but my brain can’t seem to comprehend it.

It is extremely upsetting.

I can’t even get across how scary the feeling is.

I’m not sure how bad it even is.  Sometimes it seems like I have no trouble.  A couple minutes later everything seems Russian.

Have any of you heard of situation like this?  I double checked the side effects of all the meds I’m on and none of them list something like this.  I’m not sure how to handle it.

This brief post has taken me about 30 minutes with going over and changing words and making sure it makes sense.  Awful, right?  And I apologize if I missed anything that is still confusing.  I don’t seem to have as much trouble saying things as comprehending them, so I think it’s ok.

I’m really nervous but I don’t know if it’s just dumb Monday morning stuff or something to be legitimately concerned about.

Any ideas would be appreciated…

XOXO
-Pen

Lifesavers

Sometimes some lifesaver floaties and rafts need to be tossed out into that muck of a swamp you’ve found yourself in…

Crunch on the lifesavers below when you’re feeling down…

(I admit to being snagged by this idea by a new follower I peeked over at recently.  Ms. Georgia did this post and it inspired me to list some “advice” to both myself and others who might need it.
Obviously it’s catered to myself.  But I’m hoping a couple may strike other people.  I have the warmest thoughts for all of you!  Hang in there!)
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1.) You are not your state of health.  You are not that pain you’re feeling.  You are not the nauseous feeling sinking in that stomach of yours.  You are not the throbbing in the temples, the tingling in the hands and legs, the dizziness swirling when you stand too quickly.

2.) It’s okay to have bad food days.  Those days when food just seems like it’s been sent from that personal nemesis and you can’t possibly eat it because that would mean that that evil feeling inside wins.  But it’s also okay to have a little extra the day after.  And if you see that impulse food and it sings a happy little tune of safety; it’s okay to get it and quickly devour it.  No one need know.

3.) Don’t listen to your relatives.  They know nothing about how you actually feel and live your life.  They don’t know how hard you work, how much you try.  They’re little biting remarks could be “well intended”, but that doesn’t even matter.  What matters is how you feel about your own goals.  They’re yours.  Not theirs.

4.) Spend more time at the dog park.  There is nothing more nonjudgmental than an animal.  Especially a dog.  They only care that you can manage to stroke their head momentarily. And they’ll easily forgive if you can’t.  Plus, it involves walking and a bit of sun.  You can always use more of that.  And there’s minimal social contact so don’t worry about how you look.

5.) Put the razor down.  Just for a couple minutes.  Doesn’t have to be forever.  Just set it down for a moment.  Look at your bookshelf.  That book, that one right there?  That was your favorite as a kid/teen/college student.  Why don’t you take a moment to flip through it?  Remind yourself why it’s such a great read.  You can worry about the razor and it’s commands later.

6.) Sex is great.  It is.  But you don’t have to be having it right now.  Don’t do that stupid shit you’re thinking about just for a quick roll.  You know you’ll just regret it anyway.  Focus instead on some hobbies and interests you’ve been putting on the back burner.  When’s the last time you baked?  You don’t have to eat it.  Bring it into work.  They’ll love it.  Glow in those compliments.  Better than shitty sex.  Let the good sex come to you.  Don’t seek it.

7.) Accept hugs.  I know touching is hard.  It is.  But you have got to graciously accept a hug. They mean well.  They aren’t trying to give an opinion or advice you don’t want.  They aren’t trying to take your problems from you.  They aren’t trying to give you more problems.  They simply want to let you know they are there and they hear you and they are concerned.  That’s okay to accept.  There is no fine print.

8.) Don’t take work home.  You don’t need to be superwoman.  It’s sad, but people lose their homes to mortgages they can’t afford.  They grieve.  They move on.  And then they’re able to manage a budget again and fall in love with a new residence.  It’s a house.  You don’t work in medicine.  These aren’t lives.  Stop taking it home and letting it fester and grow like a dark monster in your chest.  Sometimes clients will yell or cry or curse.  But it isn’t you; truly.  They are grieving and you are standing in front of them.  And you know what?  You can totally bring home the heartfelt thankyous and tears of joy when you can save their home.  That’s allowed.  Store them on that imaginary shelf and look at them when the hopeless files stack and pile and topple.

9.) Write.  For the love of god.  Whenever you avoid writing at least a little for multiple days, your mental-health suffers.  You know this.  You don’t have to write some grand amazing thing.  You don’t even have to write in the blog.  Just write.  Something.  You have that journal by your bed.  There are no excuses.  Write a list of things you would wish you had.  Write your favorite books from childhood.  Write about the first time you had a really damn good steak.  A paragraph suffices.  You know it’s worth it.

10.) Hang out with who you want.  Stop worrying about what people think.  This doesn’t mean ignore what YOU think.  If you think they’re a doucher- don’t force yourself.  But if they make you feel good for the most part even though 70% of your friends find him a dick to hang out with.  Well.  Then go somewhere without those friends.  They don’t need to join.  If he’s different to you, it doesn’t mean that different side is wrong.  Just means you bring out something different.  Enjoy it.

Relationship Amok

I haven’t talked about my “romantic” “love” life in many posts, huh?

Notice the quotations.

That’s a slick way of me saying I have no love or romance going on really.

Mostly cause I’m a fuckup who only pursues fuckups or fucks it up with other fuckups.  Sometimes there’s a non-fuckup involved, but those rarely last.

Monkey bars, sandpit, cliff; anything more straightforward than a conversation.

Most recently, I’ve been talking about (bitching about) Army.  You regular readers are aware of what sort of person he tends to be and how I fluctuate between hopeless romantic and pure Grade A rage.  I’ve been told this is normal in a lot of relationships.

However, I’ve also been told I deserve better when he decides to crawl under a rock for three weeks and not contact or talk to me.

On the other hand, I also do similar things to a lot of friends and most family (all if I could…my mother doesn’t let me).

That cool, soft dirt under that smooth, flat rock is comfy.  It’s like home.  It doesn’t judge me on the amount of food I’ve eaten, the weight I’m at, the mood I’m in, the voices I hear, the voices I don’t, the urges I have, the pain I’m in, etc.

The rock is nice.

So who I am to judge?

Doesn’t stop me of course.

Have vagina; will judge.

Basically I was ready to toss Army to the curb because of some rude things he said to me over a month ago, followed by a long period of absolute silence.

This sounds like a book he’d write (fyi, the ACTUAL book is not about what you think it is).

But then my health went into the shitter again and guess who’s one of the first people to quickly visit me in the hospital?

Now, granted the fact that he’s a paramedic makes him frequently in hospitals in general.  But he made a special trip to the hospital I was at while NOT on shift.  I think that means a bit more.

(It means the fucker enjoys pissing nurses off and blathering medical jargon with the techs while he’s bored.)

And now he’s regularly checking in again.  And talking me down the other night when I was in a dark place.

He wants to go to the dog park this evening.  I agreed.  It isn’t a date.  No big deal.  I have no clue where we are, but I know he’s someone who makes me smile and feel good about myself.

That can’t be a bad person to spend time with, right?

“Brain on Fire”

The past couple weeks have been a mess.

I’ve been in the hospital (ER and admitted) twice now in a week.  This inexplicable hypertension coupled with untameable vomiting and nausea is getting worse.

Recently I picked up the book “Brain on Fire” by Susannah Cahalan.  It’s a non-fiction account of a woman’s strange experiences trying to get her unusual medical condition diagnosed.

I’m about halfway through it and it’s causing me some concern.  Now, I don’t think I have what Ms. Cahalan has.  I’m not that crazy.  But if her inexplicable seizures were replaced with my random hypertension spikes, we would have a similar illness.  Her mental-health related symptoms are slightly different, but only in how they manifest.

I wish I had access to such doctors as she did.

The most I can be thankful for is having a mother that is just as much of a warrior for me as Ms. Cahalan’s mother was for her.  I am most thankful for that.

I am however, enraged with doctors, depressed by the hopelessness of my condition seeming to be un-prognosis-able (I made a word- deal with it), and just tired.  So very tired.  The additional meds they’ve put me on just have awful side effects on top of the actual effects of my body trying to fight this mysterious condition.

So far I have the following:
-hypertension (scary-high blood pressure) that does not always respond to meds (it seems to fluctuate at random and not really in relation to what I am taking/prescribed)
-crippling migraines (they usually happen during the BP spikes)
-random bouts of nausea/vomiting that is so bad I spend hours in the bathroom
-bursts of tingling/numbness in varying extremities or somewhere on head/scalp that lasts for hours
-dizziness and lightheadness frequently throughout the day (and not necessary when the BP is at it’s highest)
-extreme insomnia
-low to nonexistence appetite (this may technically be a mental-health symptom due to my ED, but I’m not sure)
-verrrrrry slow healing and bad scarring from the simplest cuts or scratches (my mother insists this is part of my symptoms)
-constantly low potassium (even if I try to take supplements, arrange my diet to try and get extra)

And that’s not even counting any of the mental-health symptoms; which if I read into the interesting case in this book, can be coupled with physical symptoms to form a diagnosis.

I haven’t gotten far enough in the book to read about Ms. Cahalan’s actual diagnosis, but I have read articles on this case in the past.  It ends up being some lesser known autoimmune disorder.  My mother still thinks this is what I have.  I did have some blood tests show my ANA as positive (which I’m led to believe is some sort of indicator of an autoimmune problem).  But further tests were all inconclusive.

Anyway, I’m struggling.  I’m struggling a lot.  I’m feeling very lost and hopeless with these walls that keep getting thrown up regarding my health.  Even when I try to work with a plan or a doctor, it doesn’t help or another roadblock is placed in my way.

I’m wondering if perhaps it isn’t really all worth.   I wouldn’t say I’m suicidal, per se, just…tired and hopeless.  I wouldn’t say no to an “off” switch, but I don’t have the energy to create that switch on my own.

Obviously with the constant pressures of 200/150, my body is doing it for me anyway.

Possibility of death

I don’t why I’m so badly triggered.  So badly. Badbadbadbad.

The message Grandma sent me is bad. I know that. But why should it affect me so much?  I don’t know why I feel as if it’s a possibility of a parent dying.  I think there’s a whole chunk of memory about my paternal grandparents I’m forgetting.

__________

I just got told that my grandfather is possibly dying.  Possibly.  This is after my birthday card from them last week stated he was in the hospital with “heart trouble”.  The message (via Facebook) said that he’s been released from the hospital but that they “don’t think he’s going to last much longer”.

What?

What the hell does that mean? What am I supposed to do with that?  Why would you tell me like that?  Why in a fucking Facebook message?  This is the man I spent a huge chunk of my childhood with.  The only adult male in my family I love with my heart AND soul.

I knew there was a reason Chicago’s been calling to me.  I need to go.  I need to be there.

But I can’t.  Stupid work.  Stupid puppies.  Stupid money.  Stupid everything.

I just want to be there.  I just want to go.  Gogogogogogo.

I hate my life.  I hate my responsibilities.  I hate this.  I hate hate hate it.

Why am I so weak?