#SCHEDULE A FUCKING APPOINTMENT ??!!??? AND they’re making ME call my insurance to make sure it covers the orthodics I’m trying to get

[agenderarkham]

What if I exploded rn. I think it’d be good for me personally

[sarcasticsra]

Excuse me a moment while I YELL INTO THE FUCKING VOID.

Vyvanse is having shortage issues now. Had to call my pharmacy because I hadn’t gotten a notification on that one and wanted to see if there was an issue. Evidently yes, the issue is that it is out of stock and they don’t know when they’ll get it again.

I hate everything about how we handle ADHD meds in this stupid fucking country. Because now I have to either hope they have it in soon or call around to the other five pharmacies in town to see if they have it, and if they do, then I have to call my doctor to get an entirely new prescription sent, and THEN I have to call my original pharmacy back to have them cancel the old prescription in their system so the new pharmacy can fill it.

Why? Because it’s a schedule 2 drug and that means they can’t just transfer the fucking prescription.

Why? Because the War on Drugs has rotted our collective societal consciousness.

Why? Because there’s not a single fucking moral panic this godforsaken country won’t embrace with open arms, I swear to god.

So naturally that means we had to put the fucking drug cops in charge of medication quotas. And as we all know: ACAB.

“There’s so many new prescriptions!!! Zomg!!! Who knows if they’re legitimate because they were prescribed via telehealth!!!”

Oh wow so this disorder that makes it extremely hard to sustain and regulate attention and thus makes it difficult to do routine things like setting up doctor’s appointments (oftentimes multiple appointments) and then remembering them and getting to them on time… that somehow got diagnosed way more when we took away some of those obstacles? Madness! Witchcraft! Sorcery!

Before I was diagnosed/medicated there were literally days where I couldn’t even get out of bed. I would be laying there, staring at the ceiling, yelling at myself in my head to get up, get up, get up, you need to go to work, get. up. goddammit… to no avail.

Vyvanse has literally given me my fucking brain back. I can look at a task and think, “hmm, I should do that,” and then I just fucking do it. Do you know how many weeks’ worth of laundry I used to have just laying around in baskets because forcing myself to put it away was literally impossible? Do you know how fucking painful it is to look at a task that you have failed to complete, over and over, a simple task, a stupid task, you should just be able to do this, why can’t you just fucking do this…

I think people who have never experienced this can’t truly understand how horrific it feels to have to fight your brain on every. single. thing. Every single task is a calculation: can I do that now, if I don’t do that now will I be able to do that later, wait I already have to do task X and once I do that there’s no way I’ll have the mental energy to force myself to do task Y too. It’s like trying to get your work done on a computer with 80% of its resources being bogged down by bloatware. Can you get some things done? Sure, probably a few. But it’s going to take you three times as long and if you’re not careful the whole system will freeze and you’ll get absolutely nothing accomplished, and oh yeah, it’ll be wildly fucking frustrating the entire goddamn time.

It just absolutely infuriates me that we’re so fucking scared of the potential for “drug abuse” that we fuck over everyone, as if drug abuse is somehow the biggest moral failing in the world. Maybe if we addressed some of the things that lead to it, there would be less of it! Maybe just criminalizing everything is stupid, counterproductive, does not help in any measurable way, and oftentimes just makes everything worse!

And not for nothing, but if not for the truly incredible insurance I am lucky to have through work, getting diagnosed would have cost me $1200. My husband and I are doing well enough that we probably could’ve managed that in a couple installments, but for a large percentage of people, that prices them right out. And I live in a very low cost of living area. I can’t imagine what it costs elsewhere. How many of those “abusing” these meds just actually fucking need them but can’t afford to get them prescribed? Because even after the initial diagnosis, my first scrip cost $230 thanks to a deductible, and then $40/month after that. $40 isn’t awful, but there are plenty of people who do not have an extra $40 per month. (And my copay is on the lower end. I’ve seen people with insurance saying they’ve had to pay $200+ every month.) And then you have to have regular meds check ups, every 2 months or so. So add another $200 for each of those without insurance.

I’m extremely fortunate that the place I work not only offers great insurance but also pays 75% of the premium so that it’s actually affordable, and all of my outpatient mental health visits are covered at 100%. But I shouldn’t fucking have to be glad I won the employer lottery. I shouldn’t have to worry that I won’t be able to get the medicine that makes me functional just because we continue to exist in a society still fucked up by Calvinism to this day.

None of us should have to an endure a fucking asinine, callous, broken system that, whenever any of the myriad problems with it are brought up, has the audacity to go, “oh, don’t blame us, blame those other people who are also suffering!”

Fuck all the way off. We made all of this shit up. None of it is immutable. We just don’t give a fuck that people are hurting, and it shows.

[bigskydreaming]

I kinda wanna fucking scream, so here, have a offline bullshit rant post.

So I’ve literally been trying to get my stupid fucking meds for over a MONTH now at this point, which I’m sure you can all see like, my mood is just wooooonderful these days. Not an excuse, casual reminder that yeah you do gotta take care of your own space so if my mood is dragging anyone down, I’m totes on board with blocking or unfollowing or y’know, burning me in effigy or something. Okay maybe not that last part. But still. You get it. And its not even that like, I need mood stabilizers per se, lol, so shout out to the armchair diagnosticians helpfully peppering my inbox still in their quest to oh so slickly be like ‘hey you’re a hot mess, take your hot messness away from tumblr’ like lol, didn’t ask.....nah, its mostly the perpetual lack of sleep and chronic pain issues that I have zero distraction from when my specific combo of meds isn’t able to let me actually weaponize my ADHD properly and power through that. Its a whole thing. Whatever. Just go with it.

POINT IS. So I’ve been trying to do this for over a month now, first obstacle was even just getting the money together for my refill appointment which is a whopping $150, because I have to pay out of pocket for mental health stuff these days because I had to switch my insurance over to something that paid out more heavily for physical benefits like my jaw surgery.....and because of the pandemic, and how many psychiatrists in my area and that I could actually reach aren’t taking new patients during the pandemic since most of them are conducting business virtually still, like, I have barely any resources for seeking out and trying new psychiatrist offices in the meanwhile that might charge less and I’m kinda stuck with the one I have because the last thing I can afford is to have like, NO psychiatrist at the moment, y’know?

So first I had to have that to even BOOK the appointment, which took forever because rent and food are a joy to accrue when you can barely manage to function as an actual employee of the capitalist machine ahfsklhflkahflakf, but so then I did that and like, got an appointment put on the books for August 19th. That was the soonest they could fit me in back when I paid them for my appointment about a week and a half ago. No, two weeks ago now? Eh, time is fake. ANYWAY, so that wasn’t gonna work for me, so basically the entirety of last week was devoted to constantly calling and trying to check in every other hour to see if they had any sooner cancellations I could take, because for whatever fucking reason, they just ‘don’t do’ a cancellation list wherein they call the next person on the list once they have a cancellation. Whatever.

So finally got a cancellation slot with a virtual appointment last Saturday night at random as fuck 8:40. Okay cool. Most of my refills are fairly simple, no real changes, but two are controlled substances so like, they have to do their due diligence and go through the proper protocols before giving me another prescription to one or whatever. Fine. Okay.

So I call the CVS they sent the prescription for my ADHD med to, the very next morning. One of the controlled substances, and the key med to like....making me functional instead of a rambling disjointed whirlibird of a thought emitter. Problem is, that medication is on back order. Won’t be in until Tuesday. Ugh. Okay, fine. Nothing I can do about it, because while the specific provider I spoke to in order to GET my refill prescriptions was taking an appointment the night before, the actual offices that schedule appointments and connect patients through to their providers was closed for the weekend, so I couldn’t even ask for them to send the scrip somewhere else.

SO. I go back to the CVS on Monday, hoping that maybe it came in early because not like I can do much else in the meanwhile. Course its not there, but oh well. I toy with the idea of calling to ask my provider to send the scrip to a different pharmacy (only had it sent to this one cuz its within walking distance to me, and since I can’t drive for medical reasons and Uber’s are expensive as fuck, just for errands, like, even though walking is sooooo not fun for me physically, like it is what it is). I decide against it because here’s another fun fact about this controlled substance....for security reasons, pharmacies don’t have to tell people over the phone if they have it in stock or not. Like, they won’t just say no we don’t have it in stock - I mean, they WILL say that, but that doesn’t actually mean anything because that’s what most of them say about that particular medication no matter whether or not they DO, and then just cite security protocols, so you have to actually GO to the store in question to ask them and even get a real answer to whether or not they even HAVE it in stock to FILL a prescription if its sent over. And no, the provider won’t just send scrips into several different pharmacies at once and just be whichever has it in stock can fill it - because again, controlled substance.

SO. I decide its not worth it to try getting the scrip sent over somewhere else, because I’d have to at least waste money on an Uber to even travel to various pharmacies and even check if they CAN fill it sooner than this one, when at least this place will have it in tomorrow. Its just one more day at this point.

Except then I go back on Tuesday. Oh sorry, don’t know why that other person told you we’d have our order in today, our shipments of that medication don’t come in until Wednesdays.

So I go back Wednesday. Success! They have it in stock. I go to pay, pulling out my goodRx coupon that was just printed out that morning, specifically citing the price for CVS at Target. The pharmacy manager says sorry, we don’t honor that coupon here for controlled substances like this one. I say: record scratch? He’s like yeah, that’s at the discretion of individual pharmacies, and we don’t honor that price for this specific medication, because we don’t want to attract customers only coming here to get that medication filled for that price. (This pharmacy is right at the edge of Inglewood and Culver City, for anyone who is familiar with those neighborhoods. The implications are exactly as they appear to be). So I’m like, what’s the regular generic price? He quotes me something that’s $180 more than the coupon, and thus $180 more than I have since I was focused totally on getting THIS amount ASAP, so I could get these meds so I could do more work and make more money. You see the train of thought. I’m like well that’s awesome, I don’t have anything close to that. Hey. Weird question. Why did nobody I talked to the past three days in a row that I’ve walked into this store in person to request this refill, like, mention this little tidbit about not honoring this coupon so instead of waiting for a backorder that would do me no good, I could have been spending that time having my prescription transferred somewhere that WOULD honor it?

He’s like, well did you mention to any of them that you’d be using a goodRx coupon for this particular medication? I said, yup. He said, you sure? I said well the specific process each time was I came in, I asked if this medication was in, they said what’s your name and date of birth, I provided that info, they said are you paying out of pocket, we don’t have valid insurance info for this on file for you, I said yup paying out of pocket with a goodRx coupon, they said *clickety clack of the keyboard* nope, sorry, we won’t have this medicine in until Tuesday, I mean Wednesday. 

He’s like, well you must be misremembering or they would have told you at the time that we don’t take GoodRx coupons on this medication. I’m like, dude, it was you. It was literally you that I spoke to two of those three times, right here at the counter, in person. I’m gonna go ahead and trust my memory of those interactions and what was said there over yours since you don’t actually remember having talked to me two times in the last three days. He’s like, I gotta go help another customer. There is no other customer. I leave. Fun day for everyone.

So then I call around town to at least check which CVS will actually honor the coupon I have and the price that I can afford to pay it at. I don’t bother asking if they even have the medication in stock because I know its not guaranteed to be a CORRECT answer, but at least I can see who accepts this damn coupon. Also, reason I’m only trying big brand pharmacies instead of smaller, hole in the wall ones is because again, controlled substance, and I know from experience that the bigger brand pharmacies are at least more likely to have that med in stock whereas most smaller ones tend to run out very quickly as they usually only get enough for their existing/regular customers and a little extra.

I find a CVS five miles away - not walkable, gonna have to Uber. Call my psychiatrist office again to ask them to transfer the scrip, front office says they’ll send the request to my provider, who usually checks and fulfills such requests in 24-48 hours. I’m like okay cool, can I get a phone call to let me know when that happens, so at least I know when to check back to follow up if it hasn’t happened yet for whatever reason? They’re like no, the pharmacy will send you a text or call when they get the prescription sent over and you can take it from there with them. I’m like okay, but I’ve done this a bunch of times and know from experience the pharmacy does NOT in fact always call or text, so is there a certain time to follow up to inquire if the provider has already sent the scrip and the pharmacy SHOULD have it by now or if the delay is on the provider’s end? Front office is like yeah no. I’m like, swell.

So that was yesterday. I call the pharmacy (which I still don’t even know if they have the medication IN STOCK to fill the scrip even once they GET the scrip, and won’t until I can actually Uber out there, but one thing at a time at this point) at like 9 pm, they’re a 24 hour pharmacy, and they’re like nope, we got nothing (this is after spending an hour and a half on hold to even TALK to someone at the pharmacy). Called them again today at noon, still nada. Technically I have another 29 hours before the window in which the provider is supposed to send the refill scrip to this new location, before I can be like, okay so they still haven’t done it, can we send him a nudge or another request. The 24-48 hour window will only actually EXPIRE after their offices close on Friday meaning it’ll be Monday before I can even actually REACH someone again to ask them to send the scrip again, if the pharmacy hasn’t ACTUALLY gotten it by Friday night, and pessimistically, I’m not super inclined to assume that they will at this point. 

I’m antsy, irritable, hungry because I don’t even know for SURE sure if the new pharmacy will ACTUALLY honor the coupon or say no sorry we don’t do that here either, whoever told you that was wrong, or if they’ll even actually have it in stock versus I’ll have to have it sent somewhere else AGAIN, so I have to pinch every penny possible in order to ensure I have the most money possible once my prescription IS filled in case the price is more than I expected again or in case I have to take Ubers there or further than I expected or basically....shit happens that I don’t expect. And this is what I’m basically spending all my time doing instead of working, because trying to get work done in this state is like....the harder I try to make it happen, the less it actually gets done, so I try and prioritize this and its roadblock after roadblock dragging out and wasting my time, and like yeah, I can post and shit while I’m doing this aka sitting on hold or walking around town trying to get shit filled because its fine if I ramble incoherently along the way in posts, but actual WORK work requires like....fucking coherency and succinctness and not having to stop and start every five minutes to call someone else, and oh yeah, being able to power through migraine spikes. And just.

I’m very annoyed about anything and everything to do with this shit. The hoops you have to jump through to even get the stuff that like....actualizes your hoop jumping ability, is just....*gnashing of teeth*

Anyway. So that’s my offline bullshit rant. Yay. The end.

[firelord-frowny]

so, i’m back in my I Need To Start Therapy Again mood. 

Which I mean... technically I’m ALWAYS in that mood lmao but sometimes I’m able to go several weeks feeling comfortable that I’m doing all the good things I can do for myself in my current circumstances, and that it would be unrealistic and unfair if I asked any more of myself. These are usually the weeks where I’m practicing violin like crazy - I’ll never get into the quality of graduate program I want to get into if I don’t practice hard and long. 

But like WOW the kind of depression I get when I think too hard about the fact that my current level of success in my ~professional life~ is not at ALL congruent with my high skill levels and tremendous potential... is probably my least favorite kind of depression I’ve experienced so far. I mean, it’s not totally soul-rending and helpless like my transness/gender dysphoria. It doesn’t make me want to die, and it doesn’t make me fear that I’ll never find true comfort and happiness and companionship in life. 

but it DOES make me feel... pathetic. Like, people that aren’t half as good as I am at things are world famous for it. People are making hundreds of thousands of dollars a year, sometimes more, doing the exact same shit I’m good at. Musicians who are not nearly as skilled as I am are off getting graduate degrees and becoming professors and founding regional orchestras. people are getting their writings published. 

and i’m just?????

not. 

and i know I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW that the main reason for this is because I don’t even give myself the chance to try. Literally, I’m not DOING the things that could lead to me actually reaching my full potential and enabling myself to make an actual living. I don’t have any writings published because I’ve never fucking sent anything to a publishing company, or a literary magazine, and I’ve never put any genuine effort into actually finding an agent. I don’t have an advanced degree in music because i haven’t fucking auditioned for any programs. i’m fucking broke because i don’t actively seek out gigs because i’m too full of myself to want to play the kinds of gigs that are easiest to get, aka, I’m Too Stuck Up To Play With People I Think Are Bad Musicians. i can’t drive because i’m too scared to learn*. I’ve never put real, sustained effort into capitalizing on any of the professors I’ve had who have offered to help me advance my education and my career. I mean, I’ve emailed people about it, but they don’t reply (EVEN IF THEY’RE THE ONE WHO TOLD ME TO EMAIL THEM???) and then i’m too self conscious and embarrassed to try to contact them again, even though i KNOOOOWWWWW that they’re not going to be a dick to me about it. 

i remember in a Divorce Court episode, one of the litigants suffered from anxiety so bad that it kept her from even leaving the house on a regular basis. So the judge brought in a mental health expert to talk to her about what, exactly, is the cause of that kind of anxiety, and why it requires treatment. the expert said something along the lines of: “Anxiety only gets worse over time, and it does not get better without treatment.” which i mean, i am SURE it’s not quite that simple, but it certainly rings true. I’m more of a terrified, self-loathing wreck now than i was when I was like 17. 

So like... it’s totally unreasonable for me to just white-knuckle my way through life and just Hope that someday I’ll suddenly manifest the ability to be proactive in building a good life for myself. 

so i KNOW i need help. and a lot of my frands in real life and on tumblr have encouraged me to start therapy again, and assured me that no, my therapist is not going to roll her eyes at me and call me stupid and lazy for having quit therapy with her all of a sudden over a year ago. 

But I still can’t make myself do it. :( And one reason, I know, is because I have new insurance, and the fact that I don’t know how insurance even works makes me feel so overwhelmed. like, how do i even tell her what my insurance is?? what sort of Actual Information am I supposed to give her?? does it pay the entire cost, or just a portion?? and if i do have out of pocket costs... how do i even pay those??? 

OBVIOUSLY this is all stuff that the therapist (or her secretary or whatever???) would explain to me. she’d tell me what information she needs, and where to find it, and then all i’d have to do is just... obey! follow her instructions!

but im like LITERALLY almost in tears right now just thiking about how much i don’t want to experience the undue and irrational embarrassment I’ll feel when I have that conversation with her. 

it’s so fucking stupid!!!! 

i don’t feel quite this awful about this shit all the time, but the fact that my mind even puts me in this place at all is just??? SO unhealthy. and i deserve treatment for it, just like i deserve treatment with any physical/medical ailment i may ever have. 

tbh at this point i have half a mind to just... ask a friend to pretend to be me and call my therapist and schedule an appointment for me, bc right at this moment, i REALLY don’t feel like i can do it. :( 

or maybe i can draft an email and then just have someone else hit send. 

idk.

im having a bad night. :(

i was about to type that i just want to be normal. but i don’t want to be normal. i like being fucking ridiculous. what i want is to be FUNCTIONAL.

[molothoo]

After the bullshit I went through trying to get my second shot the other day…we really need to adress how our trash ass healthcare system is a HUGE contributor to why so many people are reluctant to getting vaccinated. Aside from people’s valid concerns about historic racial and governmental corruption of racial biases and practices in our medical field, it’s been very common for years to risk our health by avoiding any event that would ask whether we have health insurance (I.e not wanting to go to the doctor or taking an ambulance to the hospital)

Not everyone is a jerk who just does not want to get it, a part from the aforementioned concerns, they damn near made it impossible for me to get my second shot yesterday. At the location I went to, you are no longer able to do walk-ins, I’m not sure when that changed within the 3 weeks I got the first shot, but you have to schedule appointment, and they can’t make the appointment in person, over the counter or on the phone, you have to go online….and the online process, as simple as it would seem was just another wild goose chase, that no one at the pharmacy seemed to be able to have the time or energy to assist me with it even when I went home and called them and told them how their site wasn’t giving me an option to go to the next page even when I filled out all the information correctly. What should’ve taken less than 30 minutes almost convinced me to say fuck it and not get the second shot at all 😂.

I just don’t see too many of us considering the bigger picture when it comes to this vaccination resistance. Y’all know how systems in this country make things so much more difficult for everybody especially if you are poor and a poc piled on top of our work schedules who STILL after all this don’t offer people time off or sick days to be able to deal with this time consuming process and potential side effects.

Let me be clear, I’m not speaking on or defending the rich white trump supporters who have the time and privilege and resources to easily get vaccinated…they’re assholes. I’m talking about those of us who would rather catch an Uber to the emergency room than an ambulance. I’m also not saying people should not get vaccinated either, they definitely should. But it really is not that easy for everyone as you make think. Let’s remember we still live in a country where adequate health care is a privilege and not a right.

[anyu-blue]

Busy as a bee

~

*sigh*

I had this big long thing typed up.. it's all gone now. That's twice it's happened. Let's see if third time's the charm.

It was about my trying to figure out how to talk about the shit I've been going through without just dumping it all on someone and having it be totally unjustified too...

I'm mad at my dad. I'm mad at Tevs... I'm mad at myself.

Basically...I'm frustrated that I'm seen as so much lesser than everyone else.

I know it's like 'no you're not!! You only think you are!! They love you!!' ... I've been smacked both literally and figuratively for saying 'you guys treat me different/unfairly compared to x'... But.. gods at this point I. Just. CAN'T keep believing them or telling myself that when the evidence is right in front of me. I feel like I must have done something REALLY BAD and BIG for everyone to pull away so hard... But at the same time... I... Can't figure what it is or how. I've asked too, but the closet I've gotten to an answer is 'You're too much, Meek.'

I know I sorta... Became a worse recluse than I was (kinda I'm response to that. Trying so hard NOT to be too much)... But I kept telling and telling and telling I was available and offering what I could and more... I kept trying to deal- if I need something I would provide in return, just name the price... Did I forget or fail to follow through with something? Or something? No one can think of anything to tell me that didn't have a legitimate reason if ever I did (as good as or better than they have given me) that I shared up front and sometimes in advance with them. I even went into detail about what might happen if I am asked for help on a bad day- I tend to be a bit grumpy if woken up, but will still be there to help and will apologize for any harshness as I am going about it. I do that- but... Nothing.. and every single person has offered and practically forced (in W0lfie's case) all of the stuff I've asked for onto anyone but me. Need help finding/getting a good word in for work! Sure!! *Gives me links to indeed and Job service sites I'm already on/refuses to say my application is in the mix for positions at their workplaces or downright says they don't know if I'm a good worker even though I gave them my sick day and late count and all that fun stuff to pass off or downright doesn't tell me there's a good opening they know about*

Oh such-and-such is happy where they're at? So-and-so Can't hold a job because they keep quitting? *Gives information about good jobs and puts in a good word for them and sticks their neck out to get them hired.. is surprised when the offer is rejected by the family that says they're already okay with their current work or the unreliable friend they got hired quits*... Oh woe is me, I need help and there's no one to turn to!! *Refuses to call me knowing I have the day off, have my phone on, and have said I'm free that day... Asks literally every other person even the ones that demand payment for the job or can only do a part of it.. or just ends up doing it themselves by dropping another important obligation instead of calling me*

:(

The most common excuse for that last one is. 'oh I didn't want to make you more stressed.'

Um... I offered? I was here the whole time? What...?

*sigh*

I suppose I wouldn't be thinking of that stuff or be so upset by it all except for the fact I'm told these things and then I'm shown (and told) this last week people think I'm EXTREMELY lazy...

My dad and everyone else wants me to/thinks I should work more than 3 days a week... Or should get on disability if it's 'that hard.' Obviously they've never tried and seen THAT shit show... I have looked into it. Not only have I gotten treated like something to be disgusted by friends, family, medical professionals, and jobs alike (because it's oh so despicable to be on social security while young and spry- even though I have medically frail on my damn chart I'm apparently 'young and spry'- fuck you) when I've tried to pursue it, also being on it ISN'T a cake walk.. the restrictions. The WORK you have to do (and the work you can't do!! I'm right in the middle and technically can work too much for disability, but not enough for getting by on my own). The shit you have to go through... My own therapist told me some programs I could pursue would put me further behind where I am and I could possibly never get out... And she was the one that pushed me to get foodstamps, so it's not like she thinks they're hooey...

My dad thinks me working 3 days a week and refusing to do more lest I break down all the time is just.. lazy.. unfortunate... Stupid. He wants me to take all these homeowners and car buying and loan classes... Like I'm EVER going to be able to afford a single one of those things.. or think it's a good idea to throw down $25-$150 a pop for a class, let alone spend 8 hours taking one (I'd love to and think they're amazing things, but uh...)... Like somehow it'll 'convince' me to 'work harder'.

DUDE.

What.

The.

FUCK.

Is WRONG with you?!

I get it... I seriously can't work more days a week. If I do, I completely spiral out of control from the pressure as well as the guilt from spiraling and and.. you get the idea. I just do. I know I do. And I found my balance in 3 days on.

It's pretty easy to think 4 days off are, well.. 4 days off. 4 days to play. 4 days of freedom. But... I make things... I've made two blankets already. One more I'm working on.. usually AT work because I'm so busy. Birthday gifts. Christmas gifts. Holiday gifts. Trying to do commissions too to get more money in. Also.. em... I'm usually awake during the day to.. make appointments because my health is just a mess.. helping the friends that HAVE asked for help... Running errands because I can't at night (partly due to Covid changing everything's hours)... Or if I HAPPEN to get to.. I'm sleeping because I'm on a night schedule.. at night if anyone had need of me I'd be right there!! But guess what, THEY are sleeping. If I actually have a night off (which I haven't in nearly a month now because I CAN go over to my friend who needs help's house at 5 in the morning.. after I drop W0lfie off at work or I'd be there sooner.) I'm DOING things. Wednesday itself happens to be dedicated to FIXING my sleep schedule that I screwed doing everything my sisters need or want me to do during the day... It's up to ME to screw MY sleep so THEY can get or have what they need/want... Never mind they refuse (with legitimate reasons) to do the same for me (though I have legitimate reasons I could say no as well, but ooooh I'm the 'bad guy').

*rubs face* I'm so busy my mind and body is screaming at me in pain. Sooo lazy 🙄

But yet I'm shit because I refuse to work more.

Idk what it is, okay? I. Don't. Know. Maybe it's the fact that I'm Autistic and something overloads that hasn't been address like ever and so has only gotten worse (this is my guess), or the PTSD is doing something (my therapist's guess--- which not to derail but WHO ELSE IS IN THERAPY IN MY FAMILY?! you want to guess? That's right, NO ONE... No one is even TRYING to deal with theirs, and I don't just mean the pandemic. Big sister had it as bad, if not worse than I did. Refuses. Dad and step mom knows they do. Little sister scared. Little bro disinterested. 'There's no time' or 'costs too much' despite several having free sessions available to them via their job and Heath insurance- with multiple options- and everyone but little sister making more than they ever have in their lives on top of relying on others to pay any bills they can't keep up on... GRR).. or something else that just makes me become such a wreck. I hate it more than anyone else, you know.. because I have to live with it AND everyone telling me how lazy and lucky and entitled and how 'much' I am.

...

And you want to know what sparked all of this?

Tevs worked a 12+ hour day that ended up having me woken up by the cats that hadn't been fed.

Let me explain... Tevs and I got into it badly after I was continually deprived of sleep because she was working so much and blaming me for 'making' her deal with stuff at home I didn't even know were problems. She continued to explode and explode and treat W0lfie and I TERRIBLY after work as well AND continually told our other friends and family she so desperately needed a vacation and LESS work, and just kept pulling 10, 11, 13 hour days she didn't have to... All while not eating or drinking or having bathroom breaks... and I was DONE with it. I have and had offered to do more, just need to be directed on what needs to be done that I can do while they're asleep (duh) so she had no leg to stand on there... With the rest... She promised to not work more than 10 hour shifts (agreed upon because I have a 10hr shift at work with no breaks too) AND to either let us know in advance if she was going to be late so I could feed the cats, or have someone do SOMETHING to get the cats fed so they weren't deliberately jumping on me to wake me up... You know.. communicate a little more. Do a little better so she wasn't killing herself working. She promised.

Well..

Apparently (new information to me) a promise and Tevs giving her word.. are two different things. Promises don't matter. Giving her word had weight.

What. The. Fuck.

So MY getting upset this last week that not only was she working more than 10 hours... Not only did she not tell anyone about it.. not only did the cats come to wake me up (after I had FINALLY fallen asleep a short while before due to just how BUSY I was that day, and it was Wednesday 😭)... But she also REFUSED to speak to ANYONE and tell her where she was/that she was safe- completely and deliberately ghosting everyone... Until she showed up at my dad's house 12+ hours after the start of her shift in which she didn't eat, didn't drink, and didn't use the bathroom for the entirely duration..

...

I was told to back off. That my upset was unfounded. That I was just like our horrible mother and I was just trying to control her life.

Does that sound right to you?

It does to my dad. I would wager my step mom. All of their friends. And of course Tevs.

Nevermind that W0lfie was just as freaked out and upset... That she actually has a front row seat as to what I go through now/how hard I try to be kind and careful and respectful and relaxed and NOT controlling and finally gets it... And that she's now directly effected by all of it too... And agrees this is MESSED UP as hell...

No.

I'm shit. I need to work more. I need to move out and be on my own. I need to not rely on anyone. I am 'too much'.

Where did it all go wrong?

I now understand exactly why I felt and still do feel unloved. It's because of this stuff... I got smacked and told I was never alone or on my own.. that I had so much support and help... but.. well.. yes I was. My mind and abilities and more belittled or looked over in favor of others to bring up. Everyone is guilty of doing this to me in my family. I won't go into details because it's a lot. Many times.. many bad ones... Often I was told my reality wasn't the truth too. How is that supportive? I appreciate every bit they have ever done for me, but trying to point out where they fell (just like all people do).. I'm suddenly the most ungrateful thing ever.

My own parents rely on each other AND a third party (their son) to pay the bills... My dad's siblings both live with his parents... My step mom's family members live with each other and rely on one another to get bills paid.... Not a single one is forced or really suggested to go room with randos if they can't do it on their own. It was brought up to W0lfie that it's an option for her this last week... But guess fucking what she got that I didn't AS WELL as that.. "We'll always have a place for you here."

I did get that when I was younger and nearly kicked out for refusing to tell my mother I was Trans. I eventually caved, but, HA they didn't believe me. That mess was sorted out.. messily and I got to stay... Lucky me... Not to mention the fact that only NOW I might finally be able to just accept it and not closet myself for the sake of everyone else because I'm THAT done.. yay therapy. I'll accept being non-binary because I can never actually be a man the way anyone around me will ever accept or believe.. but I'm not accepting 'being a woman'. Screw you peeps XP

...

I don't get that kind of support because I'm their eyes.. I'm too much. Should be able to do it on my own. Too lazy. Too awful as Tevs has managed to paint by completely omitting important details.. I can't say things in a few words. I just can't. Because this is exactly what happens... But regardless.. that's all she ever shares. Just enough I'm a monster. I'm sick and tired of it.

Reminds me...

My dad and mom and the rest of our family would never get birthday gifts or holiday cards or anything if I wasn't around. Same with our siblings. I remember. I make. I remind. I push. But... They don't even know about that. About what I try to do for them that gets twisted to look like it's all Tev's doing because I often can't make it to deliver it myself... And when I do idk.. I guess I do it wrong or something because it's so... Blah of a response.. like they think I'm NOT responsible for it and just taking credit... That hurts. A LOT.

...

I'm going to try. One more time. Once more. With Tevs. Give her one more chance to make and keep her word. To not bulldoze and make excuses and talk me up like some sort of unreasonable monster if/when she doesn't... And one more chance for my parents to hear me out. Get the full story. Get my feelings and experiences in return. On Monday I might have a chance to lay it all out. Maybe. I want to try. And if I get the same treatment.. well.. I think they might just be cut out of my life if I finally make it out on my own like they want. (Hopefully something income based will open up for me.. hopefully... I'm considering looking into a different city altogether to well and truly get away from them.. but that would depend on getting a job too.. bluh)

Ah that's a another thing too though.. the thing is.. I CAN work. I CAN pull 7 days a week, 16 hour days without spiraling!!! Making. I am a crafter. If making dresses or cosplays or embroidering or making blankets or trinkets or... If I was able to do THAT.. I could work and work and work no problem... Maybe even drawing..

But with the stress of this job and my other obligations, I can barely touch those things to even get started... Stick in the rut.. and materials are so expensive if I need anything extra I hit a roadblock... Totally locked in... And it breaks my heart...

I'm not lazy... I'm in the wrong job 😞

[streetlites]

This was hour 8 of a 24-hour flight to The Citadel and my ass was already numb. Any novelty of being in space had quickly worn off by the second hour when it became extremely clear that space was so called because there was so much of it and so very little to see. I fidgeted with the screen in front of me to turn it back to a sitcom that I had already watched 3 times but would never be shown to completion unless I paid 20 credits for an hour of access. Which I wouldn’t.

A chime sounded and the ‘fasten seatbelts’ signs lit up. The guy to my right sighed ‘shit’ and put his laptop away. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” a voice crackled in the overhead speakers. “The captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign. Please be seated and check to see that your seatbelt is securely fastened. If you are in one of the treadmill terminals, remain where you are and securely fasten your harness to your person. Flight attendants will be by to ensure all luggage is secured. Please pass any remaining service items to them at this time. Thank you.”

“What’s going on?” I asked my seat-mate as a chorus of groans sounds through the cabin. I’d never been on a flight before but their reactions had me expecting something bad. I hoped it would only be mildly annoying. If we were going to crash into something, they’d tell you, right?

“They’re going to announce a delay,” he tells me and reaches into a pocket in his suit, producing a small pill bottle.

“How do you know?”

“Because there’s no turbulence out here unless you fly too close to a planet and since,” he gestures to the window, black and dotted with stars but no planets to be seen. “They’re probably working on the Charon Relay again and have traffic backed up. It got fried at the end of The War and they’ve been patching it together ever since. Wish they’d get someone who knew what the hell they were doing for once.”

“Oh shit. How long do you think it’ll be?” I ask, feeling annoyed by the possible delay despite not really having plans once I got in to the station.

“If we’re lucky, a couple of hours – but don’t count on it. Most likely, we’ll sit around for a couple of days.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m going to take a Xanax and check out. Do you want one?”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks,” I tell him as he drops a pill into my palm.

He adjusts himself in his seat to get comfortable and I look around the cabin. Some people are loudly complaining about their layovers that they’re going to miss; the guy shakes his head in disapproval. “I don’t know why they’re complaining for – everyone knows you have to schedule your layovers days apart. If I have a job or an appointment I absolutely have to be on time to, I try to get a week lead.”

I nod, not really understanding. I’m watching the flight attendant argue with a guy two seats up - “Sir, the Captain has turned on the ‘fasten seatbelt sign’, please remain seated.”

“I don’t care what the Captain has turned on! I have to use the bathroom!”

“I can assure you that it will not be on for long, please wait in your seat until he gives the okay.”

“Listen, I have a condition and, if I don’t get to a bathroom right away, I will be unable to hold it. And, if I piss myself, I will not clean it up and I will have my dry-cleaning bill sent to you personally! Do you have any idea how much it costs to have one of these suits professionally cleaned?! You will!”

The flight attendant sighs, “Fine but I’d like to remind you of the waver you signed before getting on the plane. United will not be liable for any injuries that occur in zero gravity or when turning on the gravity well for passengers not secured to their seats.”

“Oh, fuck you and your waver! I know how to handle myself in Zero G! I’ve definitely flown more than you ever have. Now, get out of my way and let me pass!”

“Yes, sir.” The attendant shakes his head and continues towards us, checking the overhead bins and seatbelts.

When he gets to us, the man beside me hands him his cups and leans toward the other man, “You’re going to let his ass drop, aren’t you?” He asks, conspirationally.

“Honey, I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” the flight attendant responds.

Seat-mate nods, “Mmm-hmm.” Which earns him a giggle from the other man.

I reach to try to save my cup of flat soda from being thrown away, the flight attendant lightly batting my hands. “Sorry, no open containers in Zero G. Don’t worry, I’ll be by after the announcement with Nutrino Blocks and water.”

“Nutrino Blocks?” I ask, the very sound of it drying my mouth.

“Yes, and they’re every bit as appetizing as they sound,” the man says, his face twisting in distaste.

“You guys got any beer back there?”

“Of course, they’re $30 a bottle.”

“For a beer?!”

“Sweetie, I don’t set the prices, I just work here.” He tells me, jerking on both mine and my partner’s seatbelts and then stands to check our overhead.

“You guys take cash?”

The man pauses and peers down at me, “Cash?”

“Yeah, like UNAS dollars.”

“Well, yes, but,” he pauses, as if the notion that I’m carrying cash is grinding his brain to a halt. “You’re taking cash to The Citadel?”

I look at both men who are staring at me in open, disapproving disbelief. “Yes?” I answer slowly.

The flight attendant gasps, his fingers of one hand splayed against his chest, “Oh, honey, no. You must not have done any research on that place before coming out. And, to think, you spent five thousand?” He looks at me and gauges the number is higher. “Six? Six thousand to come out to that nasty space station when you could have only spent one and went to beautiful, sunny, Sulani instead.” He shakes his head, “I’m going to bring you that beer, but we’re going to need to talk.” He looks at the man seated beside me, “Help him, please.”

“Man, in about twenty minutes I’m not even going to be able to help myself,” my seat-mate quips.

The attendant nods and points at me, “I’ll be back.”

“You’re a biotic,” the man says, not really a question.

“I- uh,” I don’t really know how to answer. Maybe? I wasn’t sure myself.

“My son is, too. And, if I would have known, I would’ve done the same thing. I’ve stayed at my shit job because the insurance covers his suppressants and mech suit but he wouldn’t need the mech suit if it weren’t for the suppressants.” He sighs. “You don’t have to take suppressants out in Council space but no one will sign a visa for a known biotic unless their parent has a job out there.” He shakes his head, “It’s not right what they’re doing. My kid deserves to have a childhood, you know? I’m spending all my vacation days just to come out here and do interviews.”

“Wow. Good luck, man.” I say. I’d never really thought about what happened to biotics. I wasn’t one and didn’t know any, so, why would I?

“Yeah, you, too. I think that guy is flirting with you but you really need to know what you’re getting yourself into. The Citadel is a lot like Earth if you’ve got money; very comfortable. But, if not? It’s worse because there’s nowhere else to go to escape the bad.” A chime sounds, “Oh, here we go. I hope it’s only a few hours delay.”

“Good evening, this is your captain speaking. I’ve received word that work is being performed on the Charon Relay. Our current ETA has been pushed back by eighteen hours. As a reminder, you may use the terminals on the seat immediately in front of you to access United’s extranet site to reschedule your flights free of charge at any time. I will be turning off the ‘fasten seatbelt’ signs momentarily and flight attendants will be by to dispense our complimentary dinner of Nutrino Blocks. If you wish to upgrade your meal, we have options of a chicken or fish dinner available. While I have your attention, I’d like to remind you that our flight attendants have applications for our United Credit Card on hand that you can receive approval for while in flight and use here to gain points. Perhaps on a nice chicken dinner?” He chuckles and, I swear, I see everyone in my line of sight narrow their eyes with annoyance. “The attendants will be more than happy to help as they make their rounds. Thank you for choosing United.”

A chime sounds again and the seatbelt light goes off, my body feeling heavy as the gravity well on the ship is turned on. There’s a scream from behind me as the Bathroom Guy comes crashing down, skidding on his face in the aisle.

In the distance, a baby begins to cry...

[justjessame]

Babysitting Butcher Chapter 26

“You did what?” Billy was looking at me like I might be slightly crazy, but he loved me so what did that make him? I had just told him about the changes I’d made during my errands and he was taking it well. If ‘well’ was defined as considering having me tested for insanity, that is.

I rolled my eyes and stole the carton of noodles from him. We were having dinner in bed, Chinese food cartons scattered around us, it was a miracle my linens weren’t a mess. “I changed my beneficiary to you, William Butcher, and you also have power over my unconscious body should it become necessary. If it helps you sleep at night, most of my fortune will end up going to animal rescue sites.” I shrugged, and took a bite from the forkful of noodles I had in front of my mouth. Why was this so bothersome to him?

“Only your unconscious body?” Shit, my eyes met his and I had to remind myself how to chew. “Ronnie, I’m not sure I want all that responsibility.” That caused my eyebrow to raise in warning. He wanted the responsibility to screw me, love me, and keep me safe, but not deal with my corpse or insurance? Really?

After swallowing carefully, I put the noodles down and took a deep breath, reminding myself to count down from ten so I didn’t do something ridiculous like throw the carton at his head. “Billy, do you love me?” He started to open his mouth, but I stopped him. “That was more of a rhetorical question. I know you do. You love me, you want to keep me safe, and you don’t want to think about the reality of me being human.” He studied me intently as I went on. “I’m human, you remind me of that almost daily, it’s why I can’t meet with Homelander or the other supes without you or one of our team present, correct?” This time he nodded before I spoke again. “By that logic, even without outside interference, I WILL die one day. And when that inevitability happens, I don’t want there to be any question of my expectations.”

I shifted the cartons out of the way and curled up into his arms. His hands curled around my bare skin, his face burying in my hair, and I gave us both a few moments to calm down more.

“I love you, Billy, but you can’t see every action I take as me saying goodbye or preparing for an early death.” He went tense again, but I carried on. “People die, every single day, and I will too one day. Not that I plan on giving up the ghost anytime soon,” I tilted my head back so I could look up at him. “I haven’t had my fill of you, not nearly, and I won’t go until we’re both sick of one another.”

His dimples peeked out and his thumb brushed across my cheekbone. “Planning on becoming immortal are you?” His lips met mine and we got lost in one another, and my surprise at my sheets not being ruined by our picnic was knocked aside, because I could care less about sheets, or stains, nothing mattered when Billy Butcher pulled me to him and our bodies joined. Nothing.

 We were in the office the next Monday. Lesser known supes were due for appointments, and we were still waiting for his majesty Homelander to verify his availability so Billy and I sat together doing what was almost becoming a script. Billy would have to bring out bad cop now and then, with a more headstrong or arrogant supe, but more usual was compliance. Acceptance seemed more and more likely as each supe that week came and went.

As we were packing it in on Friday, happy to have had a full week with one another, and a weekend to truly get lost together, an email came in. I would have ignored it, but Billy’s dinged as well. Homelander was willing to meet two weeks out, after checking with me, he confirmed it and we went home knowing that a face off was coming, but not knowing what else would come with it.

 A few days before our scheduled meeting with Homelander, I had my head buried in the toilet as Billy stood in the doorway after I swore I’d kill him if he came closer. I swore, as I vomited hard and heavy, that I could taste food that I’d eaten as a child make a reappearance. My nose was stuffed up from the crying that vomiting forced me to do, and I knew I looked and smelled like death. I hated life and the world at that moment.

Then, once deemed empty, I felt fine. As though I hadn’t just become intimately acquainted with the interior of my toilet bowl. I actually felt strangely good. Washing my face and brushing my teeth, I felt my stomach rumble and thought about how hungry I was. As if I hadn’t thrown up everything I’d ever considered eating, I suddenly craved food. Lots of food. Greasy and filling food.

“Are you alright?” Billy cupped my chin and tipped my head back so he could look into my face fully. “Fever?” I shook my head and smiled up at him. “Ronnie?”

“I’m hungry.” I chuckled. “Like really really hungry.” Using both arms around his neck I pulled him down so I could kiss him, and then my hunger was diverted to another craving. Him. I wanted him. Naked and under me. Now. I was pulling his shirt off and unbuttoning his pants when his hands stopped me. “Billy.” It came out a whining plea. I was burning with need for him. My skin felt like fire and that’s when he turned me to face the mirror. Steam was actually coming off my skin. What the fuck?!

“Ronnie, I think we need to get you to the doctor.” I could see and feel how worried he was, and I had to admit, this time so was I.

 Ever been to the ER and you’re sitting there thinking, maybe I should just go home? You’re surrounded by gunshot victims, and knife wounds, and you think so I steam a little bit, at least my ear hasn’t been bitten off like that guy’s, right?

Oddly enough, Billy Butcher did not think that my skin steaming like a train engine was less worrisome than Mr. LacksAnEar. And so we sat, and sat, until finally a bored voice called my name. After dealing with triage and vitals, my internal temperature didn’t seem to match the steaming skin temperature making Billy look very smug at his insistence that we stay, I was handed a cup to pee in. Now I could argue with the nurse about peeing in said cup, but what was the point? Not like I’m on drugs, I’m on birth control, at most the pee was going to show kidney issues, right?

Once that was done, we were led to a room and I was told to put on the truly modest gown provided and told that a doctor would be in shortly. Billy helped me with the gown and I started steaming more, forcing him to move away. Damn it. Whatever this was, I hope the doctor had a quick fix, not having Billy’s skin against me- Damn it, the steam rose as I even contemplated him naked now.

“Oh, my,” the doctor offered as he walked in at that moment. “That doesn’t seem-”

I glared at him through the fog, and Billy chuckled. The doctor began a routine examination, asking the same questions that are asked a million times a day. When was my last period? Not a clue because my birth control stints it. How did I feel aside from the steam? Aside from puking up everything I ate, great. I could run a marathon or have marathon sex. That thought caused the steam to start up again. Shit. A nurse came to the door and gestured for the doctor.

I sighed as I waited, ignoring the doctor and nurse’s animated conversation since I imagined it was something to do with another patient. When he came back in, he looked troubled.

“Miss-”

“Doctor,” Billy corrected, but the doctor assumed he had a question so he stopped speaking. “No, Doc, Veronica-she’s a doctor. Not a Miss. A doctor.”

“Ah, yes, I apologize, Dr. Taylor.” I nodded, thinking what the fuck? “Your urinalysis is complete and well-” I watched him gulp and felt a ripple of fear run through me. “When was it that you had your last birth control shot?” I told him and he nodded absently. “And before that?” I gave him the time before, the right time frame for that particular form of birth control. “Well, it appears that- You know that no birth control is a hundred percent effective, correct?” And he might have said more, but I was out. Darkness hit me hard and fast and I didn’t hear another word until I woke up.

 It was dark, which was strange, given that we’d gotten to the ER in the early morning, missing work. If it was dark, then I missed an entire fucking day. I blinked awake, trying to discern where I was. The mattress was crinkly, which made me assume, rightly that I was still at the hospital. I groaned. Did I imagine the doctor was about to tell me that I was- No, of course not, I just overheated from the steam. What was up with the steam? Did I miss contracting a fucking weird fever?

“Hey,” I smiled at the sound of his voice. Billy was sitting close to the bed that I woke up on, and his hand took mine. “Glad you’re finally awake, scared me shitless.”

“Sorry,” I turned to see him in the dim light he flicked on with a button on the side of the bed. “Don’t know what came over me.”

“Not everyday you hear you’re gonna be a mom, Ronnie.” Shit, fuck, shit. “Or that I’m gonna be a dad.”

“So that was real?” I asked, shaking my head to clear it. “How?” I couldn’t understand it. I mean sure, Billy and I were basically rabbits when we got together, but my birth control never failed, not so much as a scare since I started it.

“They’re running tests.” I nodded, and he smirked. “Guess you giving me full power over your knocked out body came in handy after all.” I laughed in spite of how scared I was. Something wasn’t right. Pregnant or not, why the fuck was I steaming? “We’re gonna figure it out, Ronnie, I promise.”

“Ah good, Dr. Taylor, I see you’re awake.” The doctor from the ER had returned. “Your pregnancy has been confirmed, there’s another test I want to run. Hopefully it will explain the other issue you are experiencing.” You mean steaming like a hot shower? I nodded. “Unfortunately this test can only be done once your pregnancy progresses to 15 weeks. And it has to be performed by an obstetrician.” Great, a wait. “I’ve had the office compile a list of obstetricians in the area, so you can make an appointment. Once the doctor confirms how far along you are, they can schedule an amniocentesis. I think, I’m not sure, but I think the fetus is the cause of your-” he gestured to the warm air coming off of me like a street grate.

“The fetus?” Billy was staring at the doctor in disbelief. “Why would a human fetus do that?”

“Mr. Butcher,” the doctor removed his glasses and sat down heavily on the foot of my bed. “I can’t be sure the baby is human.”

[nikkisnonsense-blog1]

To Myself... Three Months Ago

Dear Nikki,

Hey girl, I come to you not bearing the greatest of news. These next few months are going to be some of the hardest of your life so far. I really hate to be the one to tell you this but I feel like we’re close enough that we can be honest with each other. Well I’m not gonna waste anymore time because there’s a lot I need to get you up to speed on. Let’s make this a list of 8 things for organization sake.

      1. The musical you’ve been directing for the past few months will not be happening

You and your friend/ music director, Joe have been wearing out the phrase “I can’t believe the show is happening!” for the past few months. Sadly, that’s not the case. Sure, sometimes you wanted to rip your hair out due to frustration or cried in your car because you didn’t think you were doing a good enough job. But underneath it all, I know you had put more work into this show than you have for anything else in your life. You knew the possibility of the show being canceled was there but it was only something that you joked about in rehearsal with your cast. It could never become a reality. The day you find out, you won’t cry much. Which is weird. If anything you don’t feel much at all. The next day your cast will do an amazing concert style performance of the show instead which people will rave to you about and it genuinely makes you feel good for a moment. But it isn’t until after that’s over that it actually begins to set in. When everyone else starts to move on You’ll stare at the box of props that sits in your kitchen for months and feel a weird form of uneasiness. You were told by everyone that any frustration you feel would be worth it when the curtain opens. But what do you do when the curtain never opens? You’re forced to sit with the disappointment and sadness of an unfinished project. You think about all of the fun things you would have gotten to do with your cast and crew and how proud of yourself you would have been after the shows. That’s when you cry.

      2. The second half of your last college semester will be taken away

Besides the Musical, you will also be missing out on plenty of other events at school.  Your spring concert, trip to NYC, your roommate’s senior art show, your girlfriend’s comedy show, any theatre in the area, drunken nights with your friends, and most importantly, Graduation. Ah yes, the very thing that your entire life has been waiting on. At least that’s how it feels. You remember when you were little and traveled to upstate New York and Boston for your cousins’ graduations and how big of a deal they were. Or watching your parents tear up at your sister’s graduation. Not having been the best student in school, you were shocked you even made it this far. A day that was going to be a monumental experience for you and so many others has just been pushed to a further date. Like a dentist appointment. That day hurts the most. When I tell my parents how upset I am, they assure me “You’ll still have a graduation!” but you know it won’t be the same. You get mad at the world because of it and feel like stomping your feet on the ground and yelling “It’s not fair!” like a child. But you know that wouldn’t do any good.

       3. You’re going to gain weight

As someone who has had body images their whole life, I know this sounds like an absolute nightmare. And it kind of is. It’s kind of inevitable wen you can’t leave your house anymore, you rely on Door Dash a little too much, The gym is closed, and you really have no motivation to do anything. Stretch marks will appear in new places, shirts that once fit perfectly will be snug, and certain clothes you used to feels sexy in, just make you feel like a fool. It’s so important to remind yourself that your body is changing because your lifestyle is changing. It’s going to drive you wild for a while but I promise you it is not the end of the world. Also your girlfriend assures you she still finds you beautiful in any state. 

       4.  You move back in with your parents

You’re fortunate enough to have the last 2 months in your apartment to quarantine with your roommates and your girlfriend which is like a weird stretch of time where there are no rules and you feel like a Sim without a task. Then before you know it, your lease is up and your parents come up and help move you out of your apartment. Now I know you’re thinking that sounds like a nightmare but living with Mom and Dad is not as awful as you imagined. They treat you like an adult, give you your space, and dad only makes you watch one video he finds online a day as opposed to his usual 5. Theres also a bulk size container of cheese sticks from Costco so you decide this place isn’t too bad. Moving home is surprisingly the best you’ve felt all year. Your mental health is getting better which is a god sent considering how miserable you’ve been. So there is a silver lining

     5. Finding work is IMPOSSIBLE

You’ll find yourself comparing yourself to when your sister finished college and found work and an apartment almost immediately. Even though she’s in a different field and graduated 3 years ago when the world was a much different place, you still compare yourself. Indeed and Ziprecruiter become your best friends but they clearly don’t like you back very much because your responses are limited. The closest you get to a job is an insurance agency that would offer you $65,000- $85,000 a year. Maybe it’s just the Jew in you, but those numbers got you very excited, so you apply. They decide they’re interested in you and schedule you for a virtual interview. You’ve also read the job description 100 times and still have no god damn idea what you would be doing. During the Interview, the man asks you if you have any doubts and you say “maybe a few due to my lack of experience” but in your head you’re thinking “What the fuck am I doing. I have a degree in Theatre and I’m trying to get a job selling insurance. Would this job even make me the tiniest bit happy besides the paycheck?” The man tells you that he would like to offer you the job to which you graciously say thank you.  As soon as you hang up the zoom call, you immediately burst into tears. Frustrated and sad that the only job you have gotten close to is one you don’t even want. The jobs you do want, in the arts and media, are not hiring right now and if they are it’s for people with 5+ years of experience. You’ve applied to over 50 jobs at this point and the only ones that have gotten back to you sound dreadful. You learn that no paycheck is worth a lifetime of sadness. You email the man back saying thank you, but you cannot accept the job.

    6. The world is full of awful people

This may seem like an exaggeration at first especially because I- uh I mean you, are generally a pretty optimistic person. You may have severe depression, but you still usually see the glass half full. But even the blindest of optimists can’t deny the world looks pretty shit right now. Besides the pandemic, Black people are being murdered left and right by police for no reason. Something that certainly isn’t a new phenomenon but has now been amplified to new heights and has brought out the rage in people. You do what you can to help in these times. Protesting, donating, sharing online, signing petitions but it never feels like enough. You will continue to raise your voice about Black Lives Mattering and hope for change. Acknowledging your white privilege and trying to listen to the voices of others. As much as you personally try to help out, you end up seeing the ugly that comes out as well. Especially in your 92.9% white small town. 

    7. Pride will be different this year

The yearly celebration of going to Pride in Philadelphia with rainbow shadow on your eyes, glitter in your hair, and a water bottle full of vodka and gatorade have now been replace with anger and a yearning for justice. The LGBT community would be nothing without Black activists backing it. The Stonewall Riots were led by a Black Trans Woman. So you do your part to amplify black voices as a part of pride. Because right now is not the time to take shots and dance to Whitney Houston.

    8. You’re not the only one feeling this way

Even though life is a bit of a shit show right now, it’s so important to remind yourself that you are not the only one experiencing these things. None of your friends know what the hell they’re doing either.  Everyone is just scared shitless of the state of the world and is trying their best. Please take some of the pressure off yourself. You are only a person and it’s unrealistic to put these standards on yourself. The world today is a completely different world than it was 3 months ago. As for the months to come, I have absolutely no idea what to expect. You’d have to ask 6 months from now Nikki but I haven’t met her yet. The world will not be the same as it was before but I promise you, there is a new normal somewhere beyond the horizon. 

Take care of yourself,

Present Day Nikki

Ps. You are going to adopt a baby tortoise named Harley and he will be the light of your life. He will make life just a bit more bearable.

Pss. 

Here are links to help the Black Lives Matter movement

[rexandbalances]

Health Issues

My birthday was 5 months ago. The following week I heard a snap in my neck and everything has been falling apart since then. I went to my chiropractor. He started working on me and suddenly stopped. “This isn’t skeletal. This is in your nervous system. You need to see your doctor because I can’t work on you without risking further damage.” I ran into my acupuncturist later that day and asked her for her opinion. She immediately said I need x-rays and an MRI. I went to my doctor. He ordered an MRI and referred me to an orthopedic doctor. He also said my blood pressure spiked and I needed meds for that. I was put on steroids.

My insurance denied the MRI.

I went to the orthopedic doctor. I was in extreme pain in the waiting room and couldn’t sit still. X-rays were taken but the images weren’t clear enough to nail down the problem but he said it appears that my C7 disc is becoming compromised and that’s why my right arm has been flailing and feeling like it’s on fire. I was prescribed gabapentin 300mg. He ordered an MRI, and also prescribed more steroids.

My car was hit in the parking lot while at that appointment and whomever hit me left the scene. That’s another issue. Car is fixed now. $500 deductible.

My health insurance again denied the MRI.

About a week later I couldn’t stay in bed, couldn’t sit still, and couldn’t stop moving. I was losing my mind. This went on for 3 days until I couldn’t take it anymore and drove myself to the ER (albeit not in the hospital lot. They charge for parking and I don’t care if I have to crawl to the hospital. I’m not paying for parking). This was around 7am on November 1. The entire ER was filled with Halloween drunks and homeless people. Again, I couldn’t stop moving and my right arm was out of control (by the way, I drive stick so that was a fun drive). I called my mother and told her I was in the ER. She drove up immediately (My mother has been beyond helpful to me through all of this but that’s something I will talk about later). A competent doctor saw me and listened to everything I just explained above. He said, “You need an MRI”. I said, “I don’t mean to make this about money, but my health insurer denied 2 MRI requests”. He smirked. “They’re not going to deny one from me. You’re going to get one as soon as the room is available.” They tried to secure my head to the bed. The pain was so severe that I couldn’t push my head back. The machine operator was understanding but firm. “You can’t move your head for 20 minutes.” I said, “I don’t think I can handle 20 seconds. Can you do this with me knocked out?” “I will check. I’ll be back in a few minutes. You can stand up if you want.” She came back and said, “Is this for pain or claustrophobia?” I was cranky and achy and said, “I’m not afraid of anything. I need to make sure you get a good image.” They injected me with some heavy narcotic, got the MRI and sent me home, instructing me not to work for 72 hours. I wound up working the next day because I have 2 jobs and I don’t have much of a choice for coverage. I was heavily drugged. My mother can’t drive stick. She asked how we’re getting my car home. I said, “I guess we’re gonna have to let the drugs wear off and hope you can bring me to my car.”  So yeah, 90 minutes later I drove my car while still doped up (I only live about 2 miles from the hospital).

I go back to the orthopedic doctor. He gets the MRI and suggests I get an EMG test, but consult with my regular doctor before doing so. In the meantime, he doubles my gabapentin dosage.

I go back to my regular doctor. The blood pressure meds he prescribed caused massive nosebleeds and hives all over my chest and upper back. He changed prescriptions and added a water pill. He calls a neurologist to schedule me for an EMG. I go to the neurologist, get the EMG done (which hurts, but not as bad as some describe), and give them my orthopedic office’s contact information.

Now we’re into the holidays. I’m busy at both jobs. Extra hours. On my feet all day. Labor intensive. Still in pain and definitely feeling weak. I hadn’t been able to reach the orthopedic office on the phone, so I drove there. They said they didn’t have the EMG test results. Well the neurologist office was done the freaking highway, so I drove there and asked them to fax it over. I had to go to work.

I get through Christmas and New Year’s Eve and suddenly wake to find no blood in 4 of my toes. Never happened before.

I go back to my regular doctor. He doubles my blood pressure medication.

So now I taking twice the dosage for both of my regular medications.

Last week I had a little bit of pain in my feet but didn’t notice until the following morning that my feet and legs had swollen dramatically. Edema. Water retention in legs. What. The. Fuck.

I call both doctors. I see another doctor (Saturday) and he says, “You’re not dying, but you need to switch your blood pressure medication and consume almost no salt for a while. You also need an ultrasound on your legs to make sure you don’t have a blood clot.” I scheduled the ultrasound. In the meantime the orthopedic doctor calls me back and tells me to reduce the gabapentin to one dose per day and only before bed.

The ultrasound was awkward but woman who did it said, “okay. you’re done. the good news is no blood clot. If I had found one, you’d already be on the way to the hospital.”

I have two more appointments in the next two weeks.

EVERYTHING WAS FINE UNTIL MY BIRTHDAY.

They keep saying I’m not dying, but am I really not dying? These medications also impact my mood and honestly sometimes make me feel stoned. At this point I’m just fucking scared.

I need a vacation, and I wanna go to fucking Disneyland. Laugh at that all you want.

[floral-hex]

No matter how much I practice in my head, I hate making phone calls.

Unless I’m calling for someone else, then magically I’m suddenly able to handle it, no issues. My insurance is changing come January and they’re not going to cover my preferred antidepressants anymore, sooo... fuck. So I called my Dr and I’ve got an appointment for Thursday to pick out a new drug that will hopefully keep me balanced and not constantly wanting to disappear into the void. I’m not looking forward to weening off of my current meds (because just missing one dose already gives me massive brain zaps) and adjusting to a new one. It’s going to be a chemically weird holiday season. Also, I had to ask the nice lady about getting a physical copy of my latest STD test and I gave her waaaay to much info (I’m hella clean, bro!) and she sounded very nonplussed about dealing with my wavering nervous word vomit. Oh well, I’m sure my phone anxiety doesn’t help with how I feel she perceived me.

Also, I haven’t slept yet. That’s a bad. My sleep schedule has been all over the place. I WAS going to go to bed early this morning, but instead I got up and drove to the grocery store for a bunch of snacks I don’t need. It was nice to get out of the house and walk around. I like this colder weather. But I’m back in bed now, under a couple layers of blankets, watching an Oneohtrix Point Never live show, and by watching I mean leaving it on in the background while I do other things. Blegh.

I’m just going to keep ranting because I have no one else to tell this all to and I really don’t think anyone even reads this far into my posts. My sister came by last Friday with her husband and adorable kids, but I only got to see them for a few minutes before I had to go pick up my little brother from school and take him to piano lessons. Like I thought, my sister didn’t know about my ex and I breaking up. She said “next time you come to Heber Springs, we should all go to Jitterbug (this cute cafe/ice cream parlor)” and I just told her that probably won’t happen for awhile because my ex and I broke up. She was shocked. I said maybe one day we’d get back together but she kind of laughed and we both agreed that wasn’t likely. Such is life. I hadn’t told her because I didn’t want to talk about it. I just.. blegh. I just feel like a failure and lonely and I don’t want to talk about it anymore. At least not with family. It’s okay. I wish I could have hung out with her longer, so maybe I will have to take the hour drive to see her soon. An hour is nothing for a cup of coffee and time with my niece and nephew. I get so sappy around kids. My dad instincts just start taking over. Hmm.. or whatever. That might have negative connotations, because... there are a lot of shitty dads out there. I’m so tired of shitty father figures. I was pretty much raised by my mom. I saw my two little brothers raised by my shitty stepdad before he ran off. Disappointing... what was I saying? Oh yeah... nieces and nephews and my little brothers... I just want to be a positive force in their lives, make them happy, watch them grow. This is stupid. Why am I typing all of this. I think I’m a bit delirious from lack of sleep.

I want... a hug. Seriously. At minimum, a hug. From someone warm. I would probably cry. Maybe not, but you get the idea. I’m a touch starved baby. It’s okay. All things in time. But, god, wouldn’t that be nice...

I think I’ll buy a bookcase this week.

[twilight-resonance]

Whirl

Well, it turns out that whatever I did last night does not in fact keep my dreams from fragging. Was just as bad last night. So I guess I’ve got to do the normal processing for it to work. Which is not to say that I don’t need to bother with anything else. Actually making myself be a person is also important, but dreams are a place to start. Sigh.

Hurting a lot tonight. Been hurting a lot the last few. ...This is not helped by my fairly throughly trashed sleep-quality the last few nights. I tried a new shampoo and it turns out there was something in it that I’m allergic to (lavender) and I didn’t realize right away; so my allergies have been absolutely terrible the last few nights, and consequently so has my sleep quality. Not sleeping enough doesn’t typically wreck me, but this - whatever this is - really has. I haven’t been able to think straight for a few days now. It’s amazing how much muscle memory tries to compensate for decision-making - and how it results in things like, oh, taking the coffee cone off the cup so that you can pour hot water directly into your cream. *facepalm* My last few days have been a minefield of these things, to say nothing of my ability to focus on anything less concrete. Sigh again. Well, I’ve got different shampoo now and I washed my pillowcase, and I’m hoping between that and writing properly tonight maybe I’ll get a good night’s sleep this time. If we can get up early we’ll make waffles again tomorrow morning, so we’ll hope for that.

It’s hard to describe what, exactly. We had to take the car we’ve been borrowing from Hearthsnail’s dad to get smogged today; and while we were waiting, we went to hang out on the harbor that his dad’s been rebuilding for the last couple years (yes, the entire harbor, from the docks to the pilings to the buildings - the man is formidable). It... I don’t know. It hit a sweet-sore spot. Reminded me of how much I miss being down the coast at my old job. Not the job itself - though I miss that too - but the place. Those salty-sweet early mornings with the frigid sea breeze blowing in, and the wind pulling at all hours, and the sort of... loneliness that comes with it. It’s a loneliness that is itself a sort of balm for loneliness; that takes the bitter and makes it soft and familiar and somehow comforting. I’ve never been one for the beach, nor for the coast itself; but oh, in another life, I could have been a sailor. I understand that siren’s call to leave and up-and-go and lose yourself in the day-by-day rhythm of minding the sails and the ropes and the salt and the tar; in the hard work, and in the nowhere else to be. There’s a way that sort of life makes room for finding some peace in and with yourself, because you’ll go mad if you can’t; because you lose all your other ties in the world, and all there is is what you bring. It’s that sort of peace, I suppose, that I crave; and that sort of hurt brought up and pulled tender today. I would have liked to sit on the end of one of the docks and simply sat and done nothing, and maybe find a moment of that peace; but it wasn’t in the cards. Still, though. Still.

There are other things that are hurting, but to be honest I get the sense that many of them are only hurting because I’m hurting; and that it’s other things at root. Once upon a time I could’ve searched it down, but that’s a skill that still escapes me these days. These nights are practice, for what it’s worth.

Sigh. Let’s talk about the last little while. May’s been busy. Part of why I haven’t written. Part, I just haven’t. It’s been a whirl of appointments, chores, tours, and other meetings. Been looking at wedding venues this month; so far, we’re two for four with four to go. There’s one in particular that looks promising - if I could get them to respond to my contact attempts. But there are other good ones too. Then there’s the health things - I needed my TB clearance updated and that turned into a saga of three separate appointments, and another checkup I need to schedule that is... probably nothing, but something you want to catch as absolutely as early as possible if it is something (and given I've let it go two years now, we’re already a few strikes down on that one). Then all the miscellaneous chores: smogging the car, as I already mentioned, and going through the motions necessary to actually buy a new one of our own. So that’s new - and also a process. Hoping to have it in time for summer. 

Then there’s all the other bits and pieces. Signing up for intro sessions for possibly intern teaching next year. They’re going to need teachers, and I’m tired of not having work - and I can do the double load. Also applied for a position at EdPuzzle that, well, we’ll see - haven’t heard anything back from them either. I’ve just reached a breaking point with... not having proper health insurance, and doctor access, and not being able to replace the things I need when they break or wear out, and not having any kind of independence or safety net if something goes terribly wrong. I would like to be able to help pay for the variety of expensive things coming up - the car, the wedding, a new mattress that you can’t feel the springs through, dental work, etc - and I’m, just, tired. Tired of having these things hanging over my head and feeling immobilized because I can’t, you know, actually do anything about them. ...There’s a position I’ve got my eye on, if I can make the interning thing work. It’s not quite where I wanted, but it’s doable, and at this point that’s good enough for me. If I can get it. We’ll see.

Thing’s’ve been hard. For a long time now. Most of the time I trudge on without thinking about it, but I feel like the cracks have been showing a little more and a little more lately. It’s rough. I’m still miles better than I’ve been, but there’s still miles left to go too - well. You know how it goes.

Let’s see. More mundane things. I think I said that of all the things we planted, only the corn’s growing; but my gods, is it growing. An inch a day on the biggest stalks, which is nothing to sneeze at. Had a few not quite come in right - the seeds are a bit old so I wonder if they just got a bit weird - and had one gnawed down by a mysterious critter. Not sure if it was bird or bug or mammal or mollusk. The corns that I transplanted did okay and are still shooting up, so that makes me happy. We’ve been enjoying spending time in the garden now that we’ve got the space set up for it; it’s a nice space. 

There’s food. Was craving french dip the other night of all things, so I spent some time figuring out how to best make that vegetarian and got the things for it. So that’ll be new, when we do it. Got things to make coffee cake, too - something else I’ve been wanting to try to make - and banana cream pie, which I’ve made once before a long time ago. Hearthsnail’s never had it, and I figure he’ll probably like it, so. We also got lemons for lemonade, and ingredients for sushi now that it’s warmed back up again... So lots of food we haven’t done before, or haven’t done for months. I still keep hoping Hearthsnail will feel up to making bread one of these days. Not that I couldn’t do it, but it was his idea and it’ll make him happy to be the one to do. 

Ugh, which reminds me of wedding catering. I’m both looking forward to that, and not. Spent some time trying to figure out how you put a menu together, and as far as I can tell the only guidance that exists online is for how to get a caterer, not how to work with one - so. Bleh. I dunno. This one goes into a separate ramble about vegetarian food, and how frustrating it is that most peoples’ idea of what vegetarian food is consists of “uh, I dunno - eggplant? mushrooms? squash? tofu? and maybe let’s throw that together with some quinoa or rice or something, and maybe have a salad on the side”. Like. It’s not that hard, you guys. It’s all the same recipes you’d make... without the meat. It’s not that hard to make tikka masala or chicken noodle soup and just add potatoes instead of meat. Or gumbo without the sausage. Or sushi without the fish. It’s just... not that hard. Most of the time the taste of the dish is good enough on its own, and if you really need or want a meaty flavor for something, there’s things you can do about that. Soy sauce helps fill in for beef, curry helps add a bit of a chicken-y flavor (weirdly enough), etc. Some things are harder - like the french dip above is definitely not one that’s intuitive - but seriously. It’s not that hard. I don’t understand the disconnect, and I'm not looking forward to trying to navigate it for catering.

Simple pleasures. What else. Gods, I don’t know. I ordered some more socks the other day because I’m tired of not having socks, even though I can’t really afford it right now. Should be here tomorrow. There ought to be other things besides, and I feel like there ought to be, but I can’t fathom what. On to other things, then, I suppose.

We’ve been watching Stargate SG1. Maybe I already mentioned that, maybe I didn’t. Either way, we’ve been enjoying it, though as with all things it took me a while to get there. We’ve enjoyed most of all, I think - once they get a few seasons in and really hit their groove, the characters just act like I swear honest-to-gods adventurers. Like, there are so many moments we’ve just straight-up been there for before, or watched players do or try to pull, and it just all feels very RPG in a way. I particularly enjoy the part where Daniel just decided at some point that he’s died too many times and just doesn’t give a fuck anymore, and just kind of says and does whatever. Been there, buddy. Been there too. So that’s a thing.

Events have been a thing, but they’re a kind of stressful that I don’t want to touch right now. Plenty have been good. Many have been fine. There are just other background elements that exist too. Another day. Maybe once I’m closer to resolving them.

Heh. Thanks, song. “You’re doin’ me wrong/Dissecting the bird/Tryin’ to find the song//It’s a miracle/That you’re here at all...” (John Craigie)

(True enough. I just wish I knew how to go for the song otherwise though, you know? I feel like all I’ve got is scalpels and I’m supposed to do... what? Sigh. I dunno.)

There’s a game I’ve been playing - did I talk about it at all? - called “Yes, Your Grace”. I was expecting it to be a bit more “Papers Please” and a bit less story-adventure, but I’ve still enjoyed it. Lost my first run of it - won the battle but got strung up by my peasants afterwards, so that didn’t go too well. Trying again with a second run and it’s going better now that I’ve got a feel for it. We’ll see if the end goes any better this time. 

Not sure what else to talk about. Still trying to dump as much of my brain on the page as I can tonight so that the dreams don’t find me. Last night’s was upsetting; more in undertones than overtones, but it still upset me nonetheless. Old hauntings, and all. 

Been working on Fal the last few. Not that that’s unusual itself; more that there are a few things I haven’t made headway on for a long time that all came together in leaps and bounds. Prices for large structures, equipment slots, how to organize the health section, illness symptoms, etc. It’s just been, dunno, nice. I’d like to have another draft of the rulebook out as soon as I can, because it hit me recently how outdated the one everyone else has been working with is and I ought to fix that. Just, want to wrap a few things up first so they’ll be more useful. Past lives, too, I made some headway on. Website needs some working but that’s its own other deal.

I think I’m about out. Not sure I’m empty, as it were, but I’m out. We’ll chance bed and see how it goes tonight. Hoping for sleep to go a bit better this time. Gods, I’m tired.

[bigskydreaming]

So this is definitely one of my least favorite things to do, because there’s so many people on here that need help, but if anyone has a couple bucks or a five they can spare, that would be an enormous help to me today. 

For those that know my situation, as far as I know, everything is still on track for me to have the lets-pull-all-twenty-eight - of-your-remaining-teeth-at-once-it’ll-be-fun! surgery on Tuesday. I’m reeeeally looking forward to it, and also the Month of Living Without Any Teeth At All while I heal and they figure out the fittings and everything for my bionic teeth or whatever. Everything about it sounds swell. Can’t wait, it’ll be great.

SO. The plan is for me to take the bus out to the desert on Monday afternoon, reenact some of the best scenes from Saw on Tuesday morning while under hopefully heavy sedation, with fingers and toes crossed that these doctors actually listen to me for once about my ridiculous metabolism making most anesthetics wear off super fast. Because. Ugh. Doctors literally never believe me about that which has led to some pretty not cool experiences in the past, but none of those experiences have been yanking out every one of my teeth by the root all in one go, soooooooo, if ever there was a time for them to think maybe I actually know what I’m talking about and make adjustments for that, I’m pretty sure I want this to be that time. 

Thanks to my keen intuition, I have predicted that this whole process is something I probably want to be deeply unconscious for, and during, and tbh, maybe a week or so after that too. But like, I’ll mostly settle for just not waking up when they’re only actually on tooth eight, you know?

If I seem like I’m babbling cuz I’m nervous, its probably cuz I’m babbling cuz I’m nervous. I’m so not kidding about unpleasant experiences with anesthetics in the past, so while this wasn’t actually my reason for making this post, while I’m thinking about it, if anyone wants to also maybe shoot a quick prayer-tweet over to whomever you might personally @ with that kind of thing, I would be super grateful for anything of that nature, like something along the lines of “Dear Merciful Higher Power/Universe/etc, if there’s any way you could see to it that Kalen spends most of Tuesday knocked the fuck out, that would be awesome, thanks!”

Its just, I’m kinda over being in excruciating pain all day every day, like, I gave it a shot, just don’t think its for me, I’m afraid I just don’t have what it takes to be a hardcore raging masochist or whatever, so I’m just really not looking to set any new personal pain records next week if at all possible.

ANYWAY, requests for spamming higher powers on my behalf aside, the other reason for this post is I only have $3 in my bank account and an appointment this afternoon whose co-pay is going to be $50. But I can NOT miss this appointment, its super critical. See, so, the other thing is, my jaw has decided its reached the point where it just doesn’t want to close at all anymore, so I’ve gone from only eating once a day to only eating no times a day, and since I’ve already lost an absurd amount of weight and muscle mass over the last two years because of all this shit, they’ve put me on a regimen of regular IV intakes or whatever that’s called, just to like....get the nutrients I need into me somehow, y’know?  

And especially with the surgery coming up on Tuesday, and my immune system all shot to hell and my various other Vitally Important By-Products of Eating Food levels are low enough to have my doctor using mostly just four letter words when reviewing my latest labs, they’re literally trying to pump me full of as much of the various Nutrients And Other Stuff IVs as they safely can between now and then. And as much as I’ve been pretty much going 24/7 trying to stay afloat with all of this, I just...did NOT budget for needing to be hooked up to an IV every other day because my fucking jaw picked now to level up on being an asshole and like, physically will not cooperate with my attempts to survive on cheap $5 a day meals. 

So instead this week its been $50 co-pays every other day, because apparently when your body for whatever reason literally can’t take in the cheap 7-11 snacks and Happy Meals you usually live off of because That’s How Being Poor Works, it makes total sense that the one and only alternative for keeping your body fueled is to go to this little clinic place that hooks you up like you’re at a gas station, except you’re some kinda pretentious European model that won’t accept any less than the top dollar diesel, because I guess even Bags of Nutrient Water gotta somehow manage to be name brand shit, because yay capitalism. Everything about it is just so efficient and logical and works so well, especially if you’re part of the 99%.

Anyway I’m TRULY sorry I’m all over the place with this, I haven’t taken my ADHD meds because swallowing is the Devil’s Work right now, and also I haven’t had my daily Bag of Nutrient Water yet so my brain is like no I will not be cooperating. To sum up, once I get to next week I’m all set, everything’s in place for the surgery, insurance, I have a place to recuperate, I even already have my bus ticket for Monday purchased, my specific monetary issue right now is I am literally down to my last $3, I am currently physically unable to chew my way through a full meal, so I’m literally just paying co-pays of $50 every other day to spend 45 minutes sitting in a chair while my body sucks life-sustaining nutrient water through a needle. 

That might actually be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever said or heard said and yet its factually 100% true. Our world is so fucking bonkers, jfc.

Literally ANY help getting me to today’s appointment, would be amazing, and then I have one scheduled for Monday morning before I leave, if I can find a way to make that too. And tbh I don’t actually know if one is even an option for tomorrow yet because the clinic I’ve been going to so far isn’t open tomorrow and I’ve yet to hear back if my doctor found somewhere else to send me that I can actually get to. So who the fuck even knows.

So yeah, sorry for making you ping-pong your way through that mess, this is my brain on Empty, like I said, I haven’t had my Bag of Water yet today. But any help is appreciated, whether reblogs, donations or good-thought-tweets for me on Tuesday. I’m a big fan of any of the above. Even $2 or $5 gets me closer to what I need, and if you can’t spare anything or have already sent or are sending what you can spare to another donation post, I totally and completely understand. And again, even just....good thoughts for Tuesday would be awesome, and certainly can’t hurt. I’m not like, worried about the surgery or whatever, its pretty simple, its more just....extensive. And my only real hope or want for it is just keeping the Ow factor as limited as it can possibly be. Whether that’s from the doctors coming through with a good strong hit of the goofy juice or some higher power telling all my nerve endings to take a sick day or just sit this one out, I am so open to either or anything in between or even coming out of left field.

And now I’m done. Thank you. You’re all rockstars, or insert your genre of choice. In conclusion, capitalism sucks, eat the rich, and buy a  bi a bag of water today please. I’m pretty sure there’s a T-shirt slogan in there somewhere, but fuck if I can pin it down.If anyone else does, hey, go nuts with it. I’m literally a bi guy who needs to buy bags of nutrient water every other day right now. That’s so fucking dumb, someone’s gotta be able to milk some mileage out of it.

My Paypal:

https://paypal.me/bigskydreaming?locale.x=en_US

Or if that link doesn’t work, try this one instead:

https://www.paypal.com/paypalme2/bigskydreaming?locale.x=en_US

My Ko-fi page: https://ko-fi.com/kalenp

[coll2mitts]

Thyroid Follow-up Scans - Year 1 and Year 2

So, 2 years later, here I am again with this thyroid bullshit.  I started writing about this last year and never posted it, so here I am posting a whole year’s worth of crap.

If you’re ready for a lot of angst and general bullshit go ahead and read below the cut.  There’s gifs and pictures, though, which I think makes it better.

A year ago, I went in for my appointment with my endocrinologist, and asked him if it was possible for me to do my follow-up testing at Beaumont’s Farmington Hills campus, because it’s 5 minutes from my house instead of 30 minutes, and, if you remember, I wasn’t a super big fan of my nuclear med doctor.  He was very distressed when I asked him this, and insisted I stick with Beaumont Royal Oak because “just because it says Beaumont on the door doesn’t mean you’re going to get identical treatment.  They’d just perform the scan on you, they wouldn’t even have you meet with an oncologist.  It’s only once a year, you can handle going to Royal Oak once a year.”

Yeah, except it isn’t “once a year”.  It’s 5 different appointments (minimum) I have to take time off of work for, and as much as I love fighting through rush hour traffic to get to the hospital for a 5 minute appointment, I don’t want to do that.  The endo also gave me the (false) impression that maybe they’d just give me a CT scan or something instead of making me go through a month without meds.  I was like, cool, yeah, if I just have to go in for one scan, I don’t give a shit, sign me up.  So, I called in mid Feb to schedule my one-year follow-up.

(Sidenote: I don’t think my endo was wrong about Farmington Hills, especially considering my interactions and my mother’s interactions with that hospital, but the dismissal of the amount of effort it takes to get there when you’re hypothyroid and feel like you’re gradually turning into stone was frustrating.)

I hate how they used to do scheduling at Beaumont, it’s the worst.  You get put on a list, and then a person calls you back several weeks later when they get their schedule for the next month and you can then work out a date and time.  They actually didn’t forget about me this time, and scheduled me for a consultation appointment at the end of March.  I decided to take my boyfriend with me and test out a new theory that if I prove that SOMEONE cares about me, the doctor would.

One very early morning in March, I dragged my poor boyfriend out of bed to get to the hospital.  Of course, when I got there, they had no record of me being in the system, so I have to wait 30 minutes to even check in at reception.  Then I sat in another waiting room waiting for the nuclear medicine doctor.  They ran me through the same questions they did last time, and handed me a sheet with all of my prescheduled dates for dropping the meds, starting the diet, drinking the radiation, etc.  Of course, they hand me this sheet and I’m like “wait, so I’m going through the whole process again?” and the PA just says, “Yes...?” as if it was a weird question to ask.  Then he took my pulse and was like, “Are you anxious?” “Yes.” “OK.”

The nuclear medicine doctor came in after that and was like, “Oh, I remember you!  But you (pointing at my boyfriend), you’re new!  This a new husband, significant other, friend?” “New boyfriend.  Just brought him so he could take in the whole experience.”

Like, legit, my boyfriend rarely talked the entire time and she couldn’t stop going on about how much she loved him.  Then she talked directly to him about how cranky I’d get, and how I’d need to go on the diet, and how he should be supportive, and then follows that up with, “But it’s only 3 weeks, you’ll barely notice a difference!” staring directly at me.  Yeah, sure, no difference.

The dates they had me scheduled were starting May 1st to drop the meds, with the scan being in the later part of the month.  They wanted to make sure that the spot in my jaw was gone.

This is where my confusion sets in.  Initially, the spot in my jaw didn’t show up as part of the scan - it only showed up when they did the full radiation dose to kill the cancer.  What makes them think it’s going to show up this time?  Also, my endo told me that they would be monitoring my Thyroglobulin levels, and if they were zero that would mean I was cancer free.  They have been zero the last two times they’ve done it and they’re still making me do the scan.  Is testing the Thyroglobulin levels not indicative of cancer being present in my body, then?  Could cancer be growing and now show up in those levels?

But we move forward, and come the end of April I stop taking my meds (a day early, because at this point I wasn’t taking my pills on Sunday).  I start the diet 5 days earlier than they told me to, because a week didn’t seem long enough, and I don’t want to fuck around with the results.  The first couple days off of the meds weren’t great, but then it became pretty manageable and I thought, “shit, this is lucky, maybe it won’t be as bad as before!” and of course, after I say that, my body decides to shut the fuck down.

I started to have weird dreams again (although not as bad as last time), my body would ache constantly, and I didn’t have any strength left.  The week before my thyroid scan I decided to go up 4 flights of stairs to get to a meeting at work and it almost killed me, so I figured that was the point where I should start taking it easy because riding the elevator doesn’t make you a weak person.

When I called for the results of my TSH, I barely crossed the finish line at 44.  Thank god.  I went in the following Monday to get the tracer dose, and at this point I’m in super high spirits because I’ve been drinking the optimism kool-aid.  Everyone has been telling me I’ll be fine, that I won’t have to be on the diet again (everyone is SO FUCKING FIXATED on the diet aspect of this whole process like that’s the worst part instead of, I dunno, being off your meds and dealing with the anxiety of getting a cancer scan).  I’ve been the one peppering my statements “if everything looks ok”.  So, the nuclear medicine doctor comes in and is like “OK, hopefully this is the last of it, although you did have thyroglobulin levels present, so we have to figure out where that’s coming from.”

Oh.

Then nurse wheels in the dose, I drink the radioactive material (shown above stored in a lead egg - I asked the nurse if it was OK to take pictures and she’s like “YEAH! Let’s open it up so you can see inside!”) and drive into work with a now-familiar sense of dread.

That’s the vial they store the iodine in.  What’s shoved inside it is the plastic straw I used, because now that’s radioactive, too :P

Of course, when I get to work, I immediately start digging in the thyroid cancer forums (DON’T DO THAT) and got super depressed and thought great, now I have to go into surgery again, or do beam radiation or chemo, or maybe it’s spread to all my organs and this is it, I’ll be part of the 3% of people who die from thyroid cancer.  But 6 hours later I realized the only thing that I know, for sure, is that this changes the best case scenario to “I have to do all this bullshit again next year to make sure the second round of I-131 works”, and I’ve *done* that before so it’s way less scary.  Worst case scenario, we find out it’s not iodine avid and I have to do something else.

So, I go in the next day to measure my radiation levels, and what was normally supposed to be a 15 minute appointment turned into an hour because they sprung a neck scan on me.  No time to get anxious about it, cause there I was, under the plate, cursing god and all that is holy I’d have to do this twice this year.  They don’t say anything about the results, send me home, and I go with Beau-James to the full-body scan the next day.

This is the machine they use to find the radioactive material in your body.  You lay on the bed on the right (where the amazing heated blanket is balled up), they literally strap you down (feet and body) so you’re essentially a firmly wrapped burrito, and then the machine wheels you into the area with the flat plates.  Then, the nurse adjusts the plates so they get REALLY FUCKING CLOSE TO YOUR FACE, and over 40 minutes it guides you through the machine to see if it can find anything.  At least they let you wear headphones.

I laid there for a head scan, the full body scan, and then to really freak me out, a chest scan.  Then, after waiting for what fucking felt like an eternity, the doctor comes out and is like, “You’re gonna be fine, it’s still that spot in your neck.”

“What spot in my neck?” “The one that showed up after the treatment last year.” “I thought that was in my jaw?” “No... no.  In your jaw?  There’s no spot in your jaw, it’s in the middle of your neck.” ...The middle of my neck.  That was causing tightness in my neck, that caused me to go to the ER.  That all my doctors convinced me was a result of my anxiety.  Was fucking thyroid cancer.  Cool.

The spot was so small, though, that she said she didn’t want to treat it because treating it would cause me more harm than good.  And she didn’t want to send me for a CT scan because a scan for any thyroglobulin level under 11 wouldn’t be approved by my insurance (mine was 3).  Her recommendation was to: a) come in the next day to get ANOTHER neck scan, b) get a ultrasound on my neck to see if we could find any other masses, and c) wait it out until next year.  Which meant another round of testing.  Joy.  

Her hope was that was it would just burn itself out since it was so small.

I went in the next day for neck scan #3 of the year, and she said the spot was already fading on the scan, so she felt optimistic.   But I know my body and it’s ability to fight things on its own, so I wasn’t feeling super great about it.

Flash forward to now, year 2 of thyroid cancer (third time being scanned), and I get the ultra sound (doesn’t show anything), and I do the blood cancer scans (zero thyroglobulin), and still ramping up for the tests this year I know I’m gonna be fucked.  Because those tests have never been an indicator of what is really going on with my body.

I go in for my initial appointment again, do the song and dance of “how are you feeling, what are your symptoms?” etc, which doesn’t mean anything because they operate on what the blood tests and the scans show you.  The last 4 or so months I could tell I was hyper... I was super angry all the time and hungry constantly.  BUT I kept telling myself, no, that wouldn’t make sense, because I’m tired all the time and have gained a stupid amount of weight.  And literally the nuclear medicine doctor tells me, “I don’t know why you’re tired all the time, it must be something else, because your last blood test showed your TSH level at .4.”

My last TSH test was back in November.  And I didn’t know that before because my endo *snail mails* me my results and they’re hand written and say things like “keep taking the meds, you don’t have cancer”.

Now, I had called to schedule the appointment to see the nuclear medicine doctor back in February, even though last year my scans were in May.  They schedule me to go meet her in early April, but then rescheduled for late April.  When she hands me over the dates for going off the meds and the scan, I’m expecting May again, but this time it’s late June, “So you’ll be out of school.” “I’m not IN school, I’m 31.” “You’re still young enough to be in school.” “...But I’m NOT.”

Doesn’t matter.  I get to be in a hypo daze for 2 of the few months of summer we have in Michigan.  Want to go hiking?  Biking?  Walking?  Fuck you, hobble around, have a nap and cry at Serta Mattress commercials.

For the third time in my life, I go off my meds and start chugging along.  It’s hard for me to climb stairs, I start having dreams about animatronic dinosaurs without skin on trying to eat my face, I cry at the dumbest things.  I can’t sleep for more than 3 hours at a time, and when I wake up I don’t necessarily feel like I’m awake.

I manage two teams at work, neither of which have been around long enough to know about my cancer, and a new boss who also has no clue what’s going on.  I try to hide feeling like utter garbage, because this year hit me way harder than last year.  After being nudged by my friend Erin, who has also suffered through Thyroid cancer, I finally broke down and took the week of my scan off of work.  Even then, I STILL thought I didn’t have to tell anybody because I’d just be gone for a week, and that doesn’t seem weird.  I just didn’t want to be known as “Cancer Girl”.  Or, more importantly, make people think that I couldn’t handle my job because that insecurity runs THAT deep.  Being a female who works in software is super fun.

When I finally got my blood test done, my TSH level was at a 54.  And my thyroglobulin level doubled to 6.  Whomp whomp.  I went into work the day I found out my results and basically told everyone what was going on, because if they had to treat me, I wasn’t going to be an radioactive idiot who worked from home like last time.  Unlimited PTO means I get to use it, right?

So, I go in for the tracer (this is literally what they do to you to make sure you don’t spit radioactive material everywhere), the 24-hour uptake, and the scan, and they haven’t even finished my chest scan when the doctor bursts in and says, “Well, I can’t see anything.”   Apparently the thyroid tissue in my body is no longer iodine avid, so they can’t treat it with 131.  She wanted me to come in the next day for another scan just to be sure, but she was going to recommend a PET scan to see if that would show anything.

It took an entire week of her fighting with my insurance company to get the scan approved.  The year before she told me they wouldn’t approve a scan for anybody with under 11 thyroglobulin, but she was advocating HARD.  When they finally got approval, I had to go in the day before for a blood test to make sure my TSH levels were over 20, and I couldn’t eat any carbs or sugar because they needed my blood sugar level to be under 200.  The idea is that cancer tissue eats lots of sugar, so a radioactive sugar concoction will show up on the scan.

The actual day of the scan I asked Beau-James to come with me for moral support, but then found out it’d take 2-5 days for an oncologist to read the scan and send it over, so I wouldn’t hear anything that day.  Basically, they injected me with the radioactive material, we got to hang out in our own private room for an hour and a half while my tumors ate the sugar, and then they sent me in for the scan.

I know I’ve mentioned before how fucking claustrophobic I am, and how goddamn terrible the nuclear scans were.  Beau-James has sat in the room with me for a few of them, and this last time I was like, “Oh god, I always forget how CLOSE they get to your face,” and he says, “Eh, it’s like 2 inches away,” AS IF THAT ISN’T TERRIFYING.  When I had asked the nurse if the PET scan also gets close to your face she’s like, “If you can handle the other test, this will be a breeze.”  I think she was being generous with her definition of “breeze”, cause they do stick you in a tube, and it does feel close, but she was correct in the fact that it didn’t bring me to unparalleled levels of anxiety where I want to claw my way out of the machine and run screaming, which was nice.  It moves you around a lot, too, giving you some variety on position, and I spent a lot of the 25 minute scan with my head outside of the machine, so it wasn’t too bad.  After it was done, they sent me home, and Beau-James and I drank beer and ate burgers because I no longer had to worry about any funky diets.

Today I got the results back from the PET scan, and I was both like 0% surprised by the results, and simultaneously terrified by them.  The head/neck/chest scan showed nothing, so they still don’t know where the thyroid tissue is.  The nuclear medicine doctor said at this point we’ll just “watch and wait” for the tissue to present itself, which is both annoying and slightly relieving.  The other part of the scan, though, was the curveball.  Apparently my left ovary picked up a lot of material, so they want me to get it checked out.  I’ve been complaining to my doctor about this ovary for about a year because it makes my periods FUCKING UNBEARABLE to the point of me crying on my bed praying for death because the pain is so bad.

So, watch this space, cause I might be providing ovarian cancer updates next.

Sigh.

[lightoverturesystem]

Today was a really strange day. It started getting up and actually feeling well rested for once again, and not waking from a nightmare, to check my phone and see a new friend (who I have to write more on later) was coming by my house to pick something up and dropping off coffee on her way out. That was a great start to the day, a really pleasant surprise. I spent 4 hours on the phone, trying to resolve a nightmare with my health insurance. For nearly a month now, I haven’t been able to have health care. My state is currently reforming their statewide health care, and everyone on it was terminated off one plan and had to choose between a new 4. I of course, had my notice of termination and the paperwork to reinstate it sent to an address I haven’t lived at since 2013, which is basically a mail void for me, when the company has my correct address on file. Even though this was their mistake that cost me time, effort, mental and physical health, medicine, and money, there was no compensation. In order to get financial aid, I need a packet filled out by my psychiatrist, and only them. He hasn’t had an available appointment for 2 months, and won’t til the end of April, when I need this signed out ASAP because I have been selling my belongings since December to get by, and I really need the rent money. I would send it to him by fax to just have it done and turned in, but I need to have had an examination by him within 30 days of him filling it out, which I haven’t been able to since he’s been so busy. After wrangling proof of my citizenship and residency, my health insurance rejected me and everything was delayed another 2 weeks, because I did not date the affidavit I sent in declaring my current address was indeed where I lived and valid, which one of the health insurance employees said they never see the processing center reject those for that reason. hours on the phone later and two people telling me my health insurance still wasn’t valid, they connect me to the processing center themselves, and they process stuff on the phone for me because I will not stop complaining how this is costing me actual money. I am doing all of this because I have an appointment with him tommorrow that my doctors office specifically overbooked my psychiatrist just for me to be able to attend to get help, which if I do not have insurance, cannot go to as I will not be able to afford the bill. I was told by one worker first that if the appointment is within ten days of the insurance reinstating, they will cover it. But do I really want to take that gamble seeing as the thousands who live in this state also sending in applicatios and going through their own nightmares make the processing center very behind schedule? Especially when its a psychiatrist appointment... (Which are usually really expensive) No. Then I get told by another worker it won’t be covered. A third worker tells me it will. At this time, I have no idea who to believe and I don’t want to take the chance so I’m just complaining until shit starts moving. They process it. Finally I have standard care. But that doesn’t cover the new health plan I was supposed to pick. Well a week ago, I went online and chose my plan and signed up for it back when I thought the paperwork I sent in would be accepted no issue. I find today I have mail from this new plan, they sent me a healthcare card. I still don’t know if it’s valid or not considering I just now have standard care that I needed first before this one, but by the end of all this I was too exhausted to even bother to ask... I then get transferred to a line where apparently I can make sure my addresses are updated properly in their systems so this hopefully doesn’t happen again, where I am connected with someone who normally works a desk job not with people. I can tell this because after my addressses are updated, I get an hour political rant from this man about our current systems and government because you guessed it: there is no way to ensure this doesn’t happen again. So people like me just have to suffer. And at this point (which kinda is my fault for letting him go on) I’m just too anxious to tell him I gotta go in a non polite manner I have already tried at (I dropped like 8 hints and even told him, “well I have a lot of other things to do today so I kinda have to go...”) and getting angry about this new unpleasant news that I just have to bite another bullet from our shitty fucking government to care. After that, I use the last of my money to mail packages of my belongings out to ebay customers, while calling my lawyer telling her I am also sending out information for Social Security they asked of her, but that I have on hand.  I get mailed a copy of everything they mail to her. She tells me it isn’t uncommon for clients to get notices a week before the lawyer does. Great. Next I fill out paperwork the place that gives out financial aid and foodstamps to, to extend my case for getting financial aid or I have to go down there a fourth time to open another case because orchestrating visits and exams with special doctors within incredibly small state case time restraints is a nightmare. I also get a notice I need to get a shit ton of paperwork done (I don’t even know what yet) for them or my foodstamps will be cancelled in May, a notice I havent even received in the mail yet. I only know of it because this place had their own app and thankfully puts up all the notices they send to you by mail (my health insurance should take a fucking TIP) Then, 4 hours in on the phone, I have to settle some BS between Walgreens and my insurance because my new insurance won’t allow them to mail medications to my house without them having a credit card on file for me, which I don’t have. I live a 3 mile walking trip form this pharmacy, something I can’t do in winter, and on bad pain days, and honestly shouldn’t be expected to do anyway because if I was more physically disabled than I am currently, I’d be so screwed. After basically having a mini panic attack with the lady on the phone, she assures me she’ll get it taken care of and does whatever magic she had to make it happen somehow. At least for this month. That’s one third of my meds covered. The other, I go online and have to fill out a form to refill each one. The last 6 or so come from the pharmacy 50 miles away at my doctors office, that hopefully I can get filled tomorrow after my psych appointment without an issue. After all of this and more I don’t even want to mention here, I get a call from a worker from the respit program I’m currently in for community support, and one of the workers only has tonight to take me to an LGBT meetup down town. Hopped up on 4 cups of coffee and 2 shots of espresso I think about how well, I deserve to go out and have a good time, and I really don’t know when an opportunity is going to come around like this. I decide to go. I actually had a really nice time. The place was very inclusive, though entirely older folk, who were suprisingly open minded about me being non binary even for older LGBT people. I spoke with a trans woman about how she finished high school right before Stonewall and learned a lot about trans history from her. She’s an advocate in the state and the only openly trans person she knows of in the city, which was kind of sad to hear, because even still this is Massachusetts, this is where a lot of LGBT stuff is centered! I told her, “well now you know of 2″ and I got to speak a lot of my own experiences. She wants to set up a trans specific homeless shelter in the city, and that made me really happy to hear as one of my main issues this spring/summer being homeless was the fact that being trans and a sexual abuse survivor as many of us are, I really had nowhere comfortable to be. They even had vegetarian food options there! I got a few phone numbers and maybe some help in the future with things I need. Leaving however, was bittersweet. At the end of it, someone mentioned to me that it only cost 5$ to do something, and I told them how I literally now have no money to my name, and how I’ve been selling my belongings to get by. And the group kind of gave me a pitiful chorus of, “aw that’s really sad” in a questioning kind of tone. I was insecure if that was like TMI or something, but as I told the worker I came with, I’d rather be honest with my brutal reality than be fake and lie, even if its not what people want to hear, both for myself and others. And it’s hard for people to hear moreso because they connect with me; it’s not just like I’m a person on the news with a sad story that they are very disconnected from. They connect with me and have to face something really shitty, that kids are thrown away and are uncared for and are facing really terrible things, things that people have to now look in the eye and don’t want to accept. People don’t want to accept that they’re living in the type of world where shit like what has happened to me and many people I know actually happens. And there’s something in me that just can’t bear to pretend like my situation is anything but what has honestly happened. It feels dirty to spare their feelings and just lie about it constantly, not to mention draining on myself. I don’t think I could continuously do that, or should be expected to. It feels like an injustice, and an insult to myself to do so. This can be really isolating sometimes. After that comment and my honesty, what followed was me saying, “well it’s sad, but it is what it is” and shrugging. and me and the worker left not long after, with those being the last words between me and some really good people. It left me with a pang of loneliness just as effective as the fact of where I was and all its inclusiveness brought a feeling of togetherness. Amplified it, even. It was a reminder that as togheter as I can be with people, I’m still just alone in life that way. I’m never truly alone as I have my partner and friends, but with them all so far away and me doing everything needed to survive, it can really feel that way sometimes. I’m still the only one whose able to fight for me in that way. I’ve felt less alone lately than I ever have, and I have more to write on this soon. I’ve made a wonderful new friend, have been doing a valuable service at the cat shelter surrounded by good people, and am finally coming in contact with my 2 best friends again who have been patiently awaiting my return for nearly a year now, and my partner and I are closer then ever. So having all these wonderful things happen and to have this reminder is sobering a little, and I really think it brings things home. I’m exhausted from today, but I need to rant a little how for me, more sad than the worst of my trauma is the fact that who I am now, my very existence and my whole life story, is just seen as something sad that people want to look away from. That people pity. It rings true to feelings I wasn’t able to identify in childhood of the same thing when kids would whisper how I’m the poor kid whose family needs the canned donations to get by, and clearly not really being treated right. In the extra good care and long sad looks in the eyes of the parents of the friend I was staying the night with. How they’d look at me when I told them I didn’t want to go home, and asked to live with them. Those same looks teachers gave me as a child, then as a teen, when I’d talk about my home life whether by venting to them, or through writing prompts where I couldn’t always hide my suffering. I’m tired of being that kid who was like one of the kids people are used to seeing on the news. And more recently, I don’t like the looks on people’s faces when I have to tell people I’m estranged from my family because the raw honesty comes easier to me than scrambling to make up a lie. The type of trauma I have is hard to hide, exhausting to hide. In order to keep anyone who I talk to more than a few times in the dark about it would involve weaving a huge web of lies I’m more likely to get tangled in due to poor memory, and put more effort in than to just be honest. I’ve had to tell people this more often than I thought I would too, because for “normal” people, family is everywhere. Family is their very foundation, it’s their icebreaker in conversation, and a land mine of triggers I always need to navigate. Mentions of it are everywhere in life that you can’t avoid.

For instance, today at the post office someone was mailing their new grandson a gift. She was talking about how he was 16, and she can’t believe they adopted him because, “who adopts kids that old, it’s like unheard of.” I’m happy he got adopted in the end. I told her for any of is it didn’t happen for, it’s like a win for all, but what I didn’t tell her is I’m also incredibly bitter, which surprises me because I’m really not a person I’ve known to feel bitterness often about really anything. But I was 16 when child services gave me the choice of a life of foster care and likelyhood of never being adopted, or going to live with a family friend. 16, the age I was when my younger sibling got placed into foster care and was later adopted into a super loving family. 16, the throwaway kid no one wanted. You just can’t go anywhere without family popping up, especially in small talk. It’s been unavoidable to notice the gaping void in my life that is family, that the size of is only just becoming really apparent to me now that they’re gone for good. I wish so badly someone nice would just come out of the sky and adopt me. And dismantling all the toxicity from my last relationship and their family dynamic really set me back in healing as it was the closest I ever came to getting that wish to come true. It’s why it took me so long to move on, and it’s been the thing I miss the most, not even those people but the family dynamic we had, which turned out to be super unhealthy for me as it was just filling old voids and not having me actually deal with them at their core. There’s been so much good in today, and so much weird unpleasantness that I’m not even sure how to feel on today as a whole besides the obvious proud I am for getting through an immense amount of utter bullshit that a year or two ago would have had me on my knees. I’m just ready for tomorrow to go smoothly so I can start my financial aid. Best part about that happening is that when I am approved for said aid, I can get the court fees for my name change waived, and I can finally work on the last stage of my transition, having the name I want. I will never have to hear the birth name used in spite against me by my parents and all the problems it caused wanting to get rid of it with my mother, again. I will never have to hear my birth name and be triggered, hearing it screamed at me by my parents ever again. Don’t even get me started on the amount of misgender and naming I received on the phone today. That’s going to be ending very soon, hopefully this year, and I could not be more ready.

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Prime Cut

You know what is all kinds of good? Getting out of the city, buying a ranch, rolling around in a new Dodge Ram blasting Blake Shelton’s “God’s Country.” Oh yeah. That’s the kind of thing that just doesn’t feel as good sitting parked in traffic on the way to K street in DC. Some folks in my profession are pissed that they either have to move out to Grand Junction to keep lobbying the BLM or find ways to schedule regular flights and split their time. Or they would, anyway, except they’re doing everything over Zoom these days. Not me. I sold up in Bethesda and plowed some money into a couple thousand acres in Mesa County. My commute is shorter, my sky is bigger, and I can roll all around my new property however I see fit. So I’m not in the center of power anymore. Big deal. The steakhouses in Washington might have more power brokers per square foot, but the beef is better out here.

And it’s not like I had to settle for some falling apart, tin-roofed shack, either. The new place is pretty recent construction - two stories, plenty of square footage, jacuzzi out back. Smoking room with a pool table. Built-in gas grill on the patio. A kitchen sizable enough that I got a personal chef a couple days a week just to make good use of it. A movie theatre where I can run my own damn screenings of the latest Christopher Nolan film or whatever else. It’s a shame Disney pushed back Black Widow, because I’d love to get a hold of a screener and throw a life-sized Scarlett Johansson up on the wall. She’s hot. Not hot enough for me to watch that Jojo Rabbit bullshit, but hot.

Anyway, since nothing new is coming out to watch in my new theatre, I thought I’d take a break from re-watching some of the Duke’s finest and walk my property. Give the Dodge a rest, and take an afternoon on foot.

So I’m hiking around, boots crunching on this sandy gravel, picking my way through some overgrown and dried out grass (which I should probably get a fire crew up here to thin out and burn), and I head up this gully. It looks like a seasonal creek, but there’s nothing running at this point. It’s right at the end of summer, heading into the fall, and it’s plenty dry. I know from the property map that this gully cuts into some foothills, but I want to check out the grade. Really find out what I’m working with in case I get a few head of cattle and one of them heads in this direction. If it’s too steep or too narrow, I might need to fence it off to avoid some trouble further down the line.

Luckily, this thing seems pretty much flat. The hill it cuts into doesn’t have much of a slope, and by the time the vegetation gets too thick the walls are only a little over head high, maybe six and a half, seven feet up. I figure that it’s worth climbing up to get a different perspective on the whole thing and check out the terrain. I grab into the hard clay of the wall, pull on an exposed root, and swing my right arm over the top. It looks like there’s a tree stump or something up there, so I grab a hold of that.

It crumbled in my hand as I grabbed it, which was inconvenient. What was worse was that it was some kind of anthill or termite mound, because as soon as the damn thing crumbled I could feel the bastards inside of it swarm all over my hand. I dropped back into the gully, barely avoiding sliding down on my butt and staying on my feet. My hand was already stinging, burning like hell, swelling up. Needless to say, I made it back out of the gulley in less than half the time it took me to walk up.

It’s about a half mile back to the house and, even with my hand in searing pain, I clear the ground quickly. Claudia should be around today to make dinner, and sure enough, I spot her Durango in the driveway. Bursting in through the door, I yelled, “Claudia! Hey, it’s an emergency!” She came running around the corner, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel and looking concerned, asking “What is it, Mr. Connoly?” I say it’s my hand, it’s been bitten by some local bugs, what kind I don’t know, and can you give me that towel. She walks me over towards the sink instead and gently runs some cool water over it. I can barely feel it, though, because of how badly my hand is burning up. It’s swelled up like I blew into one of the plastic gloves she uses when she’s preparing a spice rub.

I keep it together, but I’m still cursing and swearing, not at Claudia but at this whole stupid situation. She runs over to the freezer, asking over her shoulder, “are you allergic to anything?”

“No, not insects or anything that I’ve ever found out about. I get poison ivy, I guess, goddammit, nothing, uh, hey, thanks.” Claudia interrupts me interrupting myself, handing me a baggie full of ice cubes, wrapped in a kitchen towel. “So, Fred, listen,” she says, “That looks pretty serious, and I know you’re new to the area, but you have to know there are some venomous things out there. We should get you to urgent care or a hospital right away.”

“Yeah, fuck, I know.”

“Good.” She’s steering me away from the sink by my shoulders now, as I hold the cloth-wrapped ice-cubes. “Let’s get you into my truck. You shouldn’t drive with that hand or the amount of pain you’re in.”

“Yeah, okay, fine. Where’s shit,” I wince with pain, “where’s the closest one?” Claudia opens the door to her truck and helps me climb into it. “It’s probably the Redlands one. C’mon, let’s get going. It’ll definitely be faster to get you there one way, instead of waiting for an ambulance to come out here and drive you back to a hospital.”

We get going, Claudia tearing ass down the road. I tell her not to worry about any kind of speeding ticket or anything - I’ll pay any ticket or court cost at this point, and you could say I know a few good lawyers. I try and keep it quiet, and Claudia doesn’t talk much in the 15 minutes there except to continually check in on the condition of my hand. It’s holding pretty steady, with my fingers inflamed to something like twice their usual girth. Extraordinarily painful. I can’t move any of my joints much, everything is so swollen, so I’m just holding it, resting it on top of the wrapped ice. Sonuvabitch it burns!

Claudia screeches to a halt in the mostly-empty parking lot and helps me out of the car. We’re already making a scene, me cussing up a storm, Claudia practically carrying me over her shoulders. I’m blinking back tears as we move through the automatic doors and into the lobby. They take me in back quickly, seeing as I might be poisoned. Claudia says she’ll wait for me in the lobby. The nurse practitioner on duty, named James something-or-other, checks my heart rate, blood pressure, all that. It doesn’t seem like a snakebite or any of the more venomous spiders, at least. He says they’ll need to run more tests, but since he doesn’t see a stinger or anything to remove that the swelling will probably go down. He prescribes some prednisone, wraps my hand, and advises me to contact my PCP. I’m supposed to return if symptoms get worse or if any new ones appear.

My hand feels a little less like I’m sticking it into an open flame, at least, and is mostly hot and numb. I’m not feeling much when I touch anything with it, although I can feel the cold of the ice cubes. They charge my insurance a ton for a few more fancy ice packs, and I head back into the lobby to sign paperwork. Or attempt to sign it, anyway, since I can’t really write anything. I ask if they have some digital way of signing things, or if they can send it to my secretary, and then I remember to call my secretary and cancel appointments for a few days.

Claudia drives me back home and makes me some kind of soup in a hurry. Then she finishes the salmon she had in progress even though it goes straight into the fridge. It’s for tomorrow, she tells me. After I hear her close the door on her way out, and hear her truck’s tires slowly crunch the gravel at the end of the paved driveway, I drift off watching some tennis replay on ESPN.

When I wake up, the stream has ended and my TV is sitting dimly on some menu screen with a bunch of recommended “30 for 30” documentaries. Something smells incredible, and my stomach rumbles. It’s hard to describe. A meaty, seared smell, like finished pit barbecue. Or the first sizzle of a steak hitting a searing hot pan, salt and fat and high heat. God, it’s irresistible. I lurch off the couch, and head into the darkened kitchen. It smells like Claudia came back - maybe she started some ribs in a slow cooker or something, just to make sure that I had food prepared for the next day or two. The clock reads that it’s about 2:30 in the morning, so that seems unlikely, and everything is off. I’m checking the inside of the oven, putting my good hand over the stove to sense if there’s some residual heat, looking inside the refrigerator, but there’s nothing new, just the platter of salmon.

I switch the lights on. That’s when I notice that the bandages on my hand are soaked. They feel looser, too, but they’re a concerning light pink, mixed with some yellow. It’s like blood and pus saturated the wrap all of the way through. There’s no way it’s good to keep that kind of thing on.

It doesn’t seem right to unwrap that in the kitchen, so I head into the bathroom. The delicious aroma comes with me, without fading at all as I traverse the house to the downstairs master bath. I find the end of the wrap and start to peel it off, and I catch a big waft of something amazing. Just fresh cooked meat. I speed up, which has the effect of squeezing juice out of the bandage and into the sink. It’s mixed with bits of skin, which swirl down the drain. I get the whole thing off in a flash.

I stare at my hand. Who wouldn’t? It’s gone down in size, but it’s raw as hell. And completely pockmarked up and down with tiny holes. No maggots, no worms, no sign of anything except that it looks like dozens of small openings all up and down, front and pack, each dripping with fluid.

The sight should turn my stomach, but instead it rumbles. I’m famished, ravenous. I can’t tell you how good this smells. It’s more than a smell, it’s a goddamn aroma.

I lick my hand. At first I hesitate, like I’m about to touch my tongue to a dish that just came out of the oven. I chuckle a little bit, imagining a waiter saying, “careful sir, don’t touch the plate, it’s hot.” What the hell am I doing.

What the hell am I doing.

It tastes good. It’s like the seared edge of a filet, perfectly seasoned. Maybe some brown butter, maybe some truffle. Rich. Dry aged. Tender.

I pull back, staring at my hand, waiting for something to fly or crawl out of it. But nothing happens. It’s just me, the aroma, and the aftertaste.

Have you heard about how much closer a shave you can get with a straight razor? I switched a few years ago and I’ve never looked better and never looked back. It’s such a clean feeling, sharpening the blade and then running it gently, and at just the right angle, across your face and neck.

There’s my razor, right there on the counter. I grip it lightly in my left hand, not my usual grip, but I can make this work. And I’ll tell you, I’ve never managed such thin slices before.