Tag Archives: hospital

Hospital Arms

Hospital arms are pale.

Five days of the sun not kissing that skin does much.

And yet these hospital arms are still a variety of colors.

There are a smattering of purple-black bruises. And some even faded to the sickly green-yellow of age.

Most hover on the inside of this girl’s elbow

Someone who was unfamiliar with the way lab tests and IVs affect this girl would ask upsetting questions regarding illicit drug use.

They would hiss heroin.

There is the red of stress and the red of fresh pricks that sapped the girl’s life blood.
They need so many vials for tests that never show any results.

Though the tape they use to staunch the pricks doesn’t remain long, the sticky grey glue residue remains for days.

Standard soap does not help.

It is only when the girl scratches and claws at her skin desperately that stringy gray webs of the glue lift from her skin.

Five days in a hospital and these arms are covered in the evidence and signs of all that has been done to try and determine any solution.

To no avail.

There are no answers. Only ideas. Only theories. All of them whiplashes of terror-words.

Lacunar infarct
Infection
Lymphoma

MRIs and CT scans fly by and dance about but provide nothing magical.

And no surgery in sight. The idea of surgery is clamped down hard and fast. This girl is not a candidate for surgery. She is not normal. Surgery will kill her.

Yet they also say no surgery may kill her.

This girl distantly wonders what would happen if she just stopped taking the piles upon piles of meds the doctors say are barely keeping her from stroke or heart attack.

Her hospital arms tremble. They are tired. They not longer desire to push or carry or pull or reach or lift.

They are hospital arms only.

They will never be healthy arms again.

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Hospitalized

I’m so very tired of being hospitalized every couple weeks.

This is ridiculous.

I was just released late yesterday from my fifth ER visit in less than three years.

All related to this ridiculous hypertension that does not respond to treatment.

I had a coworker drive me from work on Tuesday because I was having chest pain and my BP was 204/167.  The ER admitted immediately and did a good job to quickly rule out a heart attack or stroke.

From there, they played with the idea of a clot for awhile (blood screening showed that possibility).  But when my contrast CT scan showed nada, they sort of gave up. 

Technically they admitted me onto the floor for overnight observation, but that was only to give me a couple doses of IV blood pressure meds to bring down my points.  It did help.  The IV meds always do.  But I can’t take those at home.  The doctors ran a bunch of tests.  I was prodded, poked, pricked, etc.  I was very very disassociated pretty much the whole time.

A flicker happened when Army actually came and visited me.  We’d actually been a bit in contact via text because I just instinctively contacted him when I didn’t know how to respond to strange chest pain (I’m an idiot, I acknowledge that).

He’s never visited me in the hospital.  He stayed for a couple hours and despite sassing the nurse, it was nice.  He tried to take over for a guy who was running an EKG because he saw me immediately withdraw and disassociate when the EKG guy lifted up my hospital gown to attach the leads.  If I’d spoken up, they would have let him (he was wearing his EMT uniform), but I was too far gone by that time.

I don’t remember a lot of it.  There was a lot of pain, nausea, and dizziness. 

My father didn’t even bother visiting me.  Then he was offended when I didn’t call him first when I got my discharge paperwork.

But the doctors are still stymied.  Well.  Not stymied.  Apathetic.

Doctors: We think you perhaps just have crazy high blood pressure.

To which I (well, Charlotte) responded with annoyance:  So you’ve seen other similar cases of a female in her mid-twenties who does not smoke, take birth control, regularly exercises, has a normal BMI index, no family history of high blood pressure or heart disease, doesn’t eat fast food, is relatively good about taking her medications, be hospitalize multiple times a year for extreme hypertension crisis or related matters?

Doctors:  Uhh…well…no.  But sometimes there just isn’t an underlying cause.

Fucking doctors.

Anyway.

That’s why I’ve been quiet.  I’m discharged as of yesterday.  Feeling shitty still.

Sometimes I wonder if maybe I just wasn’t meant to live.  My body seems to be telling me that.

Tried

I tried to get support last night.

I tried to find a friend or family member to at least go out for coffee or something small just for a little bit.

Just so I wasn’t stuck in my own head trying to dodge the yells, curses, and accusations.

But no one wanted to.  Everyone had better things to do.

I tried really hard.

But I can’t tell anyone why I really need to not be alone.

I don’t want to go back to the hospital.  I don’t want to be in trouble.  I don’t want to be a bad girl.
I don’t want to be alone.

But I was alone.  All alone.

So I took some Tylenol PM and tried to sleep.

It didn’t go well.  I just feel crazier this morning.

I’m not sure how long I can do this.

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Edit:  I’ve had some very lovely and sweet blog friends/supporters suggest the idea of emailing me to distract and cheer me up.  I think it’s such a lovely idea.  You guys do such a great job in the comments, but I feel like it always stops so abruptly after the reply.
If you feel so inclined (absolutely no pressure) to drop me a caring, funny, insightful thought or pictures, my email is kneargarder@gmail.com .  Any distraction helps.

Pneumonia

My lack of involvement in the blog world is due to the fact that my cold turned into bronchitis, which turned into pneumonia over this past week.  So I’ve been basically trying not to curl into a ball and die.

It meant another trip to the ER, dragged by my mother.
(Ya’ll remember how much I love hospitals, right? I’ll just skip on down there all on my own)
It was awful.  My pulse was crazy high, my BP crazy high, my x-ray showed a compromised section of lung that has me at reduced breathing capacity (i.e. the pneumonia).  The woman who did the IV prick sucked at it.

Today is first day back and at work. Technically I’m not fully recovered yet (still not at full lung capacity).  It’s sucking a lot.  This level of exhaustion is puzzling to me.  I tend to be someone who can pull energy outta my butt if necessary and that ability has completely deserted me.  It’s frustrating and disheartening and I hate it.

I hate having auto-immune condition.  Basically every little tiny illness I get turns into something ginormous.

I’ve never had pneumonia before and my only memory of it is when I was young and my dad got double pneumonia (it’s a real thing) and almost died in the hospital.  And I was terrified and sad and begging the universe to just let him live and I’d be a good girl just like he wanted. 
It was that first moment where I knew that despite his distance and our issues, I love him no matter what and it will break my heart if he ever goes anywhere.

Good news is the man has been like an ox since then and has waaaaaay better health than me, so he’ll probably outlive me.

Anyway, I hope all of you are doing well.

I’ll have a much more interesting post once I’m able to breath without wheezing and bubbling.

Much love to all ❤

My Mother

So I realized that I’ve talked about Daddy, I’ve talked about Grey, and I think I’ve even mentioned my youngest brother once or twice (still can’t think of a good nickname….).

But besides a comment here or there, I’ve never really talked about my mother.

That’s not remotely fair.  She is an incredible woman.

It’s funny, the evolution of my relationship with my mom.

I remember a closeness right after my parents divorced, when we lived in that horrible house off Needmore. Two females against the world.  I remember part of why I never mentioned the abuse (besides the fear He instilled in me to never ever ever talk about it) was because I knew it would break my mother’s heart.  She worked two jobs at that time, in addition to having baby Grey.  I did everything I could to help.

Then unfortunately mostly apathy during my pre-teens years.  I think this is due a lot to the whole disassociation and constant splitting we dealt with.

During the teenage years, I know I was unfair. Especially with my fear of my dad’s anger; it was so much safer to be mad and rage at Mom. I knew- I know she would love me, even after all the things I’d say and do. Rika didn’t fear upsetting her like she did Daddy.  Mom still did special things for me. Drove me and my friends around. Helped me when the goings got tough with Daddy- and boys.

Then after Daddy kicked me out on graduation day, she selflessly let me stay in her second house- her home. For almost 5 years. I paid rent on and off- a terrible tenant I’m sure. I did pay the scary-high utilities and that sucked a lot of my meager budget.

When disaster struck the year Katherine left and I landed in the hospital- it was with no hesitation that she was the first person I called. She fought for me tooth and nail- my Mama Bear, to get out of that hellhole.

And I finally confided in her about my abuse and childhood.  I was right- it broke her heart.  But she expressed how much it meant that I told her.  That I trusted her.  And I do- to a degree.  I don’t know if I could ever tell her about the DID/MPD stuff.  I just think that would hurt her further.  And I don’t want to do that.

I love the relationship I have with her now. Getting through all the hard times has given me the best reward:
A mother who is my friend, my champion, my shoulder to cry on.

There is no sweeter victory.

I can only hope I can someday repay her. Or be even half the mother she is- if we could ever have the strength to try that again.

Practically Friendless

Hello.

It’s been a while.

A long while.

Things went…completely to shit for the past couple weeks. I don’t remember most of it, as the switching was ridiculous.

It pretty much started with my ex, Katherine, contacting me out of the blue.  Really for no reason.  I don’t know why I answer the phone.

Ok, I don’t answer the phone. Obviously. I have no idea who did, honestly.  There were a couple who talked to her throughout the conversation.  But most of us don’t have any interest in remaining acquainted with her.  Except for that alter who answer the phone- when the rest of us wanted to throw it against the wall.
And all it did was send us into a tailspin and what she said make me turn into my normal ostrich coward-self.

I had another mini-hibernation session, so to speak.

After the crippling conversations and texts from Katherine, Charlotte decided to run amok.
It was a disaster.  None of us never really been a person who thinks about carrying weapons around, but last weekend, we all had a desire to start carrying a gun (at least in the car).  Charlotte made a stupid, stupid decision that could have cost us our very livelihood.

We still have bruises. Though to be fair, she started that part.

If it hadn’t been for a firm direction on Shadow Dragon’s part, we would have let him pick us up and drive us all the way to Buttfuck, Nowhere, over an hour from our house.

And been stuck.

Thank god we drove.
The drink we were given…we are suspicious of something possibly being in it.  It was a simple bottle or two of hard cider we drank, but even Rika couldn’t shake the cobwebs enough to drive home until the morning.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

This is only now coming completely to light.  I wasn’t even completely aware of it until Saturday.

Saturday, when all the walls came down and all us alters decided to just be honest and work together for one simple day so we didn’t end up downing a bottle or two of narcotics.

October 6th, one year ago, we miscarried.  And it was the worse day of our life.

It’s been a huge chunk of what’s caused all this triggery switching and stupid destructive behavior.  Sabotaging relationships.  It’s what we do best.

We don’t deserve to be even liked.

And so, despite most of my friendships being currently down the toilet, I can’t really be mad at Midori or Claire for talking to Katherine.
I can’t be mad at Charlotte for acting like a self-destructive slut.  After all, it’s coping mechanisms that were creating years and years ago because they had a semblance of success.  They need to unlearn years of knee-jerk responses to our psyche swirling the drain.

Or maybe not.  Maybe it’s best if we just stay “that sort of girl”.

Our friends are better off anyway.

I already suck

Well. This is supposed to be a post about the Renaissance Festival, since I did go today.  But I’m not going to do it.

First of all, the visit was rather crummy.  The weather was crummy and the company wasn’t who I’d hoped for (with the exception of Texas, I did want her there),

And I feel awful today.  I’m not sure exactly what’s wrong.  It feels like I’ve been beaten up both on the outside and on the inside, especially my stomach and chest area.  I just took my blood pressure and it’s sky high, of course.

If this tells you anything- I managed a single pickle at the Ren Fest. That’s how sick I feel. I love pickles.  I am known in my family and circle of friends for finishing a huge wholesale sized jar in a single day.
Every time I go to Ren Fest I eat a minimum of three pickles.

I hate that I could only handle one.  And my stomach is pretty angry for that one too.  I wanted to get an apple dumpling, but definitely couldn’t manage that.  I spent most of my money on soft drinks to try and settle my tummy (Coke helps my nausea).

Then Texas made dinner for a group of us this evening and it tasted weird.  I would say it was the lack of mustard (my favorite condiment), but I had a glass of water here at home to take some pills and it tasted weird.  And then the cigarette I had tasted weird (please don’t lecture me on the whole smoking and high BP thing.  My BP is high even when I don’t smoke).
I think it’s me.

And I ended up throwing up the dinner right before I went home anyway.  My stomach is very upset. I hate it.

So I suppose this is me saying I have to take a hiatus.  Hopefully.  Maybe this 30 Day Challenge was a terrible idea.  I should just quit.

I really don’t want to go back to the hospital…

Willing Sacrifice

Why did we have to go through puberty and gain a libido…?
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(Trigger warning: this entire entry concerns the creation of and main purpose of Charlotte. So…lots of sex talk. Nothing graphic, but be aware please.)
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She was just a girl in a toy store

Seeing the puzzles, the boardgames

Stuffed animals, coloring books

Dolls

Then in the blink of an eye

The dolls had genders

And parts

It was disgusting

(picture from here)
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I’m not one of the illustrious original alters.  Not like Rika, or Middi, or Masey. Obviously a 7 year old girl has no need of a nymphomaniac.  She only disassociated when those kind of things started happening.

We used to all be just fragments.  My first memory that was truly mine is brief.

His rough dry fingers brushed under our shirt before moving lower.  Instead of pulling into our robot-selves, the deceitful libido of this teenage girl-not-yet-woman sent heat low into our abdomen and I was born. The nails of his other hand scratched over our tailbone and I grinned.  This could be good.

I caused all sorts of issues from the start.  Rika was blaring warning bells about Uniballer left and right while I just wanted him to bite harder and brand us longer.  I perfected the sweeping gaze from underneath my eyelashes within months.

Daddy hated me.

“You are only with that boy because he has a car.” He sneered, glaring at me. I tried not to let a smirk slip out. He caught it anyway, “…it isn’t the car. I raised you to be a lady, goddammit. Get out of my sight.”
I was happy to comply.

He tried to overcome his own curiosity with disgust when we started dating a woman.

“How…how does that even work?? There isn’t the right stuff for intercourse!” He hissed.  This time the smirk fell easily from my lips.
“It works wonderfully.” I murmur, running my hand discreetly over the blooming bruises on my arms and legs. No more short sleeves for now.

But then I must have done something wrong because she didn’t want to play with just me anymore.  She knew about the others, even without us telling her.  It was strange, but we took it to mean she could read us so well.  She started wanting to “work” with the others.  She liked the change in temperament.
She wanted the equivalent of a virgin.

I acquiesced. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I have ONE purpose in this stupid system and I can’t even fucking manage that.

Obviously I’m a failure.
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And I only become a further failure as the years pass.  Katharine leaves us.  I try not to care.  But she leaves a brand she didn’t even realize as I discover quickly that the only kind of things I get any pleasure from are twisted. Sick. Dark and rough.

I want to be held down. I want to be tied up. I want to be bruised, scratched, flayed open, branded, claimed.  I want a hand to close around my throat.  I don’t ever want to seem like I have any control.
Even while I have all the control.

That’s exactly how the whole BDSM world works.  The one who seems like they are giving up all control are actually the ones who control the game entirely (assuming it’s done correctly, without abuse).

I want them to want me so badly that they can barely get the door closed on the public world before they start tearing at my clothes and flesh.

And yet Katharine, with her demand to have time with “all of us”, unintentionally made us more than we were.
We spent so much time outside in the body when we weren’t just serving the one purpose we were created for.

Roms grew to see beyond yoga and complex Pagan rituals.  Serefina stopped thinking merely in law and regulations. Claire stopped being semi-mute and completely blind.  Those who did not have names were given one.
I was no longer Lust (or slut).
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I smiled the first time Masey let me semi-integrate to watch Beauty and the Beast.  My eyes fell closed in rapture when Middi offered me one of her famous chocolate chip honey cookies.  Rika taught me to drive and I loved it, radio blaring and me singing along loudly and probably completely off key.

Then the bottom fell out.  The psych ward changed us.  We lost an alter (we thought forever) who couldn’t deal with not being with Katharine.  I joined Rika in the eyerolling at her lack of strength.

And I fell back to my simple ways.  My one-track goals.  I found websites and friends who set-up blind dates.  Dates that I wished I was blind for.  Not a spark of lust in me for a single one.
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Until Matt. We first met at a movie theater. I don’t even remember what movie we saw. It was the invitation to a New Years party that peaked my interest.

There was plenty of booze (no gin, but my second favorite, vodka, was everywhere).  There was a game of beer pong going on and an unused air hockey table in the corner.  A stereo was softly playing boring soft rock.

I pulled my trusty iPod from my pocket, chose “Charlotte’s mix” and plugged it into the aux jack of the stereo.  Dark, vibrating and danceable strains came through the speakers and one of the beer pong players looked up and met my eyes.
He grinned at me. I winked back.

I had no idea it was Matt’s brother.

I challenged Matt to a game of air hockey.  His testosterone insisted he inform me he was a champion at his high school.
I creamed him, 7-2.
His brother approached to take over.  The game was a little more of a challenge, but that was mostly because I was having more fun throwing him sultry looks and leaning over as far as possible for trick shots in order to get his eyes glued to my chest (thank god I wore the push-up).
I still won, 7-5.

The night ended with me playing beer pong on Matt’s brother’s team and getting pretty sloshed.  By this point, Matt’s feeling pretty left out so I reward his patience with an almost X-rated dance to one of my favorite songs by Buckcherry.  He kisses me clumsily, but we’re both pretty tipsy so it doesn’t matter much.
It’s a week later when I realize he lives with his brother, is unemployed, and doesn’t even drive a car.  I could tolerate all of this if it weren’t for two glaring factors.

He constantly demands rides from me.
And the one time I tumble into bed with him, it is awful.

He will not stop the simple motion of intercourse for FORTY-FIVE MINUTES, until the friction is too painful, even for me to stand.  For the first time in my life, I fake it and pull out all my tricks to force him to finish, even though he groans about wanting to last longer.

I ignore him for days and finally Rika sends him a short text getting him off our back.  I don’t feel guilty at all.
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I feel like I’m owed something better for standing Matt’s terrible attempts.  I make one of the worse decision of our lives and take control of the body for  a good three months.
Until the missed period.

I am a disgusting slut and should not be anywhere near the creation of life.  To this day I think it’s my perversion that wouldn’t let the life continue to grow.

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Daria is right.  I only destroy.  I don’t help us function as a normal member of society.  I ruin friendships, relationships.  I have desires that are so wrong, so bad that I should be tied up and tossed down that well and never allowed to surface again.

As I’ve done so many times in my existence, I offer my wrists up to be bound.  For the first time it isn’t for sex and for the first time it’s right.

Daria’s right.

Tribute to Charlotte

Armes requested that we all do a sort of tribute to Charlotte to try and help her.  Some of us don’t feel like saying much, still a bit too shocked and wounded by the whole situation, but we’ll do our best.
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Armes
i like how she always take over the body if someone or something scared me. she doesn’t always get along with the others, but she’s always nice to me.
i don’t like how her dreams are bad sometimes. she dreams about people doing hurting things and taking her clothes off, but in the dream she liked it. she refuses to tell me about it and always says she’s sorry her dreams upset me.
she watches disney movies with me too, though she doesn’t like other people to know that. she said she didn’t want anyone to think she had a “romantick side”.
she sneakes me strawberry ice cream or milkshakes if she’s out.

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Rika
I hate how she fucking flirts with almost anyone who has a penis.  I hate that she usually manages to make that work for her.  I hate that she almost never listens to my advice on whether people are trustworthy.
I like that she did listen with Stalker, even though she flirted with him past the point she should have for our safety. She was really regretful about that though. I like that she handles any sexual encounters that upset the others, even if it isn’t the “type” of sex she’s “into”.  She still understands her job, unlike most.
I hate her cravings that work their way into the system and body.
I like that she takes care of it herself most of the time.

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Midori
I love how she’ll usually split her cigs with me, even if they are sometimes those disgusting Parliaments. I love how she praises my baking to high heaven, even if she pretends to bitch about the calories making it “harder to flirt”.
I hate how she rips on my music, but then I catch her humming the tunes sometimes.
I hate how she twisted the BDSM lessons we learned from our exes into something pleasurable for her. I like how she doesn’t let anyone else drag us into sex games anymore. I love how she’ll talk to people at a doctor’s office when I can’t contain my fear enough.  I hate how we both can’t handle hospitals.
I love that she’ll look the other way when I swallow a couple extra pills and help me slip some baking supplies into the cart during the next shopping trip.
I hate what Daria did to her.

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Roms
I like that she knew better than to smoke around family (besides Grey).   I hate how she jokes that Claire and I are “practically the same”. I love that she can always tell us apart, even with her eyes closed.
I love that she’s sweet with Armes.  I love when she lets us all share snuggles with Zoe, even if it’s her rightful time out.
I hate that she doesn’t realize she’s stronger than this.

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Claire
I hate that she thinks she isn’t worth anything unless a man wants her.  I hate that she loves it even more when it’s more than one man. I hate it so much that she decided it was better to shove away someone who was so good for us because of rumors of another man’s sexual prowess.
I love that she made herself not do that this year. She said it was just for me, but I know she really was realizing her deep-down morals. I love that she let herself feel attraction, even without sex for weeks.  I hate that I felt a little jealous of Saturday night, even though it was my own stupid fear that made her take over. I love that she didn’t turn in into some kind of depraved type of sex…
I love and hate that she mourned so much for Audrey and the loss of the pregnancy, even though she refused to be around “the grossly pregnant body”.
I hate that she tried to be some sort of stupid hero last night and I hate that it made her so scared.  I hate that it scares me so much to see her so scared.  She’s always been mostly fearless, like Rika.
Please don’t be like Audrey. You’re so much stronger than her. We need you so much.

Kidney Doctor

Why why why does our (technically former) kidney doctor keep calling and leaving messages?? He’s called three times in the past two hours and keeps leaving vague messages for us to call him back as he “really needs to discuss some important matters” with us.

What did we do? What’s changed? Is there some horrible result from tests the hospital performed?? Did we do something wrong??
(which was months ago, but this doctor is dumb and took forever to request copies of the test results. Hence why we declined to keep working with him.)

I can’t deal with the stress of this.  It’s too much.  Too much switching.  Too much triggering.  No more medicine. No more useless pills or useless tests.  If the hypertension kills us, it kills us.  The trick is not letting stuff like this make Victoria or Daria do it faster…

Why does this have to happen right now?? This is not a good day…a good week for this stuff.  Our hypertension is (semi) under control.  It’s been okay.  It’ll be fine.  We don’t need doctors.  We certainly don’t need an idiot doctor like him.

Why won’t he stop calling??