More night terrors. Well, they call them “night”, but I usually have mine early morning. Yell and scream, and curse in my sleep. Another unrestful night. I wake up exhausted and aching everywhere. Even the joints in my fingers hurt as I type this with one finger on my phone.
The anxiety is high, my depression is high. Feeling powerless over everything in my life.
I envy those in control. I have no income, the transcription company changed their metrics, and I got bumped back down to the level of trying to transcribe prison calls and people with mumbling thick accents. It’s a nightmare.
I have no money, no car, no real friends in the city, no family… It’s lonely.
What’s going on at home, being evicted, not knowing where we’re going to live, is a nightmare.
The sleeplessness, the stress, the struggle, feeling sick all the time, being in pain, it’s ALL a nightmare.
Why am I even here?
What’s my purpose?
I feel like a burden. I feel like a loser.
No wonder I’m having the PTSD dreams again.
Going to keep trying for a job. I hate having to work for 4-6 hours, hurting my body, for a measly $15 – $20.
Fumbling through my old Facebook photos, you know how that goes. you start nosing in on people you’ve lost touch with over the years to see what they’re up to. Tonight, mine led me to a face that I haven’t seen in over 9 years. My mother.
For the past couple of years, I’ve missed her. I’ve missed having a mom I could call up and ask for advice from. I’ve missed having a mom that would be there for me when I needed her. Most recently, I’ve needed my mother to deal with this illness. whatever it is is. Fibromyalgia, ME/CFS, something neurological. I really don’t know what the fuck is going on inside my body. I know I’m in early onset menopause, I know I have pretty severe osteoarthritis as it’s throughout my body and leaves me pretty crippled in the damp and humid weather. I know I have something seriously wrong with my spine and am waiting to see a specialist about it. I know I have PTSD.
I’ve also needed my mom to deal with my father. His in and out presence in my life. His oblivion to my pain. His inability to recognize how seriously he has damaged me.
Then I browsed through some more photos. Saw her and my stepfather got another dog. Got a new motorhome I see. It baffles me how my parents were unable to attend my wedding years ago (I’m divorced now, thankfully and am with the right person, finally) but are apparently able to travel in a camper. You couldn’t even send me a card when I got married.
I remembered how my mother was never there for me. When I called she couldn’t be bothered to take the time to talk to me on the phone. Her TV shows were more important. No matter if I was in a jam and needed help, or just really needed to hear her voice when I was down or needed life advice.
I had no one to go to for life advice.
I look at my stepfather’s smug face in his profile picture and remember how he always looked at me with contempt. Like I was gross. Some kind of fucking slimy garden slug. A garden slug with a bad smell. Yeah, that’s how I would describe it. Oddly enough, it’s the same way my stepmother always looked at me.
I feel like I’ve gone through tremendous mental growth over the past few years. I’ve terminated friendships that were not healthy, balanced or kind. I don’t need that. I’ve ended associations with people because I don’t share their views or ideas. I have different values, I have strong morals. something that seems to be lacking in this world.
Funny thing is, I didn’t get these morals or values from anyone in my family. Not my mother, not my father, and most certainly, not my step parents. I have absolutely nothing in common with my stepbrothers. For the most part, they’re egotistical, selfish, immature, and well… they’re kind of jerks. Who needs that? Nope.
I developed my own code as I grew up. As I made mistakes or failed, I learned lessons the hard way, on my own. Some values I received from my grandmothers. My paternal grandmother was a woman of faith who taught me about Jesus and the Bible at a very young age. I loved it. I found the time we spent reading the Bible together, I read it out loud to her because the printing was too small for her eyes, to be peaceful and reassuring. My maternal grandmother taught me about strength and perseverance. She taught me how to cook. Both grandmothers taught me to stand up for myself and, in their words, “don’t take shit from people.” They were sassy ladies. I probably get my sassiness from them as well.
No. Looking at my mother tonight brought me to a conclusion. A closure even. I don’t know this person, and she doesn’t know me. She’s never been that kind of mom you could call when you needed her. She’s never been that kind of mom that puts her (only) child(ren) first. She’s always been more concerned about her own needs, her own wants. It was proposed to me that perhaps my stepfather is too controlling. Well, yeah. he is controlling, sometimes an outright asshole but, I also know this. What my mother wants, my mother gets. My stepfather has always been a “Yes Dear” man. He’s not entirely to blame. My mother had a choice, and she chose to pretend I don’t exist. In the photo of my mother’s most recent lap dog, she’s a better dog mom than actual mom, I zoomed in on the shelf behind her. There were pictures of stepbrother one and his woman, next to it was a photo of stepbrother two and his wife. There were no other photos on that shelf. No, I’m sorry, their past dead dogs’ photos were there. But that was it. I didn’t make the shelf display cut. I simply don’t exist.
Last year, this would have sent me spiralling down the depression hole quicker than a squirrel up a tree with a cat after it. But tonight something in me clicked. I’m done grieving my father and my mother. It took some time, but I think I’m done. They’ve sucked up enough of my time and energy. No more.
I cut these ties.
I am just going to focus on building what I have with the love of my life. I’m going to enjoy some happiness for a change. As my paternal grandmother would have said, “Fuck ’em.” So sassy.
I feel remarkably stronger and lighter. My love is intact, my faith is stronger than ever. That’s all I need. We have overcome worse things in our lives, we’ll overcome this too.
We were served one week ago with an eviction notice. For one week I have been unable to sleep more than three or four hours at a time. Unable to eat more than one small meal a day. I’ve had migraines. I’ve vomited, and I’m in a flare up. I’m having some pretty bad PTSD nightmares. My speech is slurred and I can’t stay out of the loo.
Thanks so much for this.
The vacancy rate in Halifax is 1.5%. There was just a piece published in the Chronicle Herald yesterday about how young people aren’t able to come to Halifax anymore because the rents are not only ridiculously high, but you’re lucky if you can even find housing.
So you tell me in what world two decent tenants are facing homelessness by the word of one person?
How can one person have the power to throw our lives into such upheaval? We had been nothing but kind and considerate since we moved in. If this individual didn’t like us, she had three months while we sublet, to change her mind about signing a lease with us. Yet she chose to. She had ample opportunities to tell us if she had a problem with us, but she didn’t.
Every time I asked, (and I asked multiple times because I am not an asshole, and certainly didn’t want to disrupt anyone else) whether or not we disturbed her, or bothered her, we were told, “No, I never hear you guys.”
Any time she was rude to us, which was frequently, we took it on the chin and just went upstairs. Throughout ten months of incessant barking, we said nothing. Her girlfriend practically lived here, contributed nothing, but again, we said nothing. Why? Because we honestly liked these two people, we thought we were friends. But now I see we were just being taken advantage of.
Even though we did ALL the cleaning inside and outside (except lawn, that was the roommate’s only job), we said nothing because we wanted to live in a clean home whether she pitched an effort or not. We are not dirtbags.
The backyard is piled up with items that don’t belong to us. A bio composter of some kind, prior tenant. A wooden flower bed, prior tenant. Coffee table, roommate, stool, prior tenant, wagon, roommate. Pallets, roommate. You get the drift.
We have spent the better part of 10 months living in a room together. The couple of times we attempted to use the living room (after we cleaned downstairs for hours) we were kicked out and ended up retreating to our bedroom.
We have felt disrespected THE ENTIRE time we have lived here. It’s not a good feeling. Again, we never involved the landlord because this was not a long term solution for us, and you DON’T INVOLVE LANDLORDS IN ROOMMATE DISPUTES in Halifax.
I’m going to have to schedule an appointment with my doctor because I’m having difficulty coping with all the stress this has brought on. I’m in menopause and I suffer from PTSD and Fibromyalgia, so that means I go from angry to crying in a flash. A hot flash. yuk yuk.
One thing I do to cope is clean, but this place is sparkling and I have run out of things to clean now. I have begun packing, in case we are tossed out on to the street after our hearing.
Who needs this shit? Honestly.
I feel like I’ve been bullied my entire life, but none more than being a grown, disabled woman. From constantly having to prove my disabilities, to narcissistic abuse from family and a few friends. I have taken so much shit from so many people over the years, that I have finally reached full. The shit runneth over.
I just want to lie on a beach with a book and forget all this ever happened. Including moving to Halifax.
To address our need for immediate housing, we have started a Go Fund Me to assist with moving costs, utility hookups, damage deposit etc. If you are able to donate, it would be greatly appreciated, if not, a simple share or prayer helps. Thank you so much for your kindness. I really appreciate my online friends and the blogging community.
Bzzzzzzzz the anxiety is high today. Bzzzzzzz It rings in my ears, vibrates through my bones, reverberates through my skin and echoes through my lungs as my chest tightens in around itself like a nervous armadillo. Bzzzzzz my eyes lose focus and my train of thought ceases. Bzzzzzzz I forget how to breath and here comes the tears. It’s getting dark. It’s a panic attack.
This is how I started my morning. The last few days I’ve been physically and mentally exhausted. I’m wide awake all night long and unable to fall asleep until almost lunchtime. I get a few hours of snooze and then I’m up again. Not quite awake but not asleep, I’ve been drifting through the last few days like a ghost.
I’ve had a lot of pain in my wrist/arm which I am now convinced is broken but I loathe hospitals and rarely have a drive so I haven’t gone and gotten it checked out. What the hell am I gonna do with a cast on my arm? I got shit to do. I usually have to feel like I’m physically dying to justify going to the Emergency room. With all the pain in my wrist, back and neck, the only way I’m comfortable is lying down. I’ve gotten nothing done around the house, I haven’t blogged or been on Social Media, other than brief lurking and Gif viewing.
I’m just tired.
Tomorrow, we travel home to Nova Scotia for Christmas. We have to take the ferry. It wouldn’t be as bad if we had a car but lugging all our suitcases and my little dog and standing outside in the weather until boarding time then all the walking you have to do once you board just kills my body. I have to drop my dog off at the kennels and then go up stairs to find a place to perch. It’s the holidays so I’m guessing the boat will be packed with people. Ugh. It’s usually cold on the boat so I’ll have to bring a blanket. The whole thing is a pain in the ass. I look forward to the day when we can just pack up our car and drive there, avoiding all the noise, hassle, pain and cold of the ferry. I usually need a day or so to recover from the travel. It’s embarrassing.
It’s a week of visiting and dinners and family and friends and food I’m not supposed to eat. I’ve mentioned before how I’m not in the Christmas spirit at all this year, so it’ll be a week of acting, watching my language and making sure my dog doesn’t poop anywhere in the house. My mother in law’s house is really large so it’s a lot of walking and stairs. At some point, my legs will go out and I’ll be stuck in the basement for a day crying out of frustration and humiliation.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my in laws. They’re wonderful people and they’ve been very kind to me. I love to see them and the little nieces. It’s just me. My body doesn’t always cooperate. I get tired fast. I just run out of spoons. It both depresses and frightens me so I cry. I’m peri menopausal so I cry. I’m grateful for their kindness so I cry. I cry over everything these days. It’s embarrassing and I don’t want them to think less of me.
I’m a bumbling, Pajama wearing mess.
But I have to try to be normal for a week.
I have a ton of shit to do today to prepare for our trip, I just want to crawl back in to a warm bed and sleep.
How do you handle all the activity during the holiday season?
What do you do when you just don’t have enough spoons?
I love reading your comments!
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I started to write Blogmas posts but quite frankly, I’m just not feeling writing about Christmas. See my first Blogmas post here.
It’s all so commercial. Geared towards the consumer. I haven’t been a proper consumer in years. I haven’t been able to work in years. I’m trying to do things from home. It’s picking up but it’s slow going. When you’re poor and chronically ill and in pain daily, your priorities change in life. Where, at one time I fretted over things like the perfectly decorated Christmas Tree, or making sure I baked enough cookies. Will I get all my Christmas shopping done in time? Now I think things like, can I stay awake long enough to visit with people? How many bed ridden days will this holiday bring? Can I handle the stress of the travels? Am I going to break down and cry in front of her family? Am I going to annoy my partner because I’m so exhausted I’m going to need to rest when she wants to go out?Please don’t let my dog poop in the house. There’s a lot of stairs in that house and the house itself is huge. My body is not used to that, so my legs and back often give out while I’m there. It’s embarrassing. ME/CFS is embarrassing. The only other people who understand it, typically, are those with the disease. To others, we’re just depressed or lazy or need to get out more or or or.
My partner and I also both lost our fathers. Hers to cancer about 16 months ago; mine at his own choice by cutting me out 18 months ago. The loss of her father still hangs heavily on everyone’s hearts. He was a great man. A kind, gentle and caring man; one of a kind. My father, still alive, has always been kind of a jerk. Selfish, immature and somewhat ignorant of the world. He’s not a loving man. Nevertheless, he’s my Dad. I still love him and his absence hurts. My mother’s absence hurts; we haven’t spoke in 5 years. Family is actually incredibly important to me and it’s always bothered me that mine is so fractured.
Being chronically ill disables you. Physically and mentally. Unfortunately many of us fall into that grey area on paper where you don’t qualify for provincial or federal benefits. Most people require legal representation to get those federal benefits. If you can’t work, you rely on your “family”. My family consists of my partner “C”, my dog Lucy, my partner’s family and my sisters from other misters. These are my close gal pals that I confide in. That confide in me. They’ve helped me many times. I trust these women. In my life, I haven’t been able to rely on or really trust my own blood family, but I can trust these women. They are my support.
I have other things on my mind right now besides Christmas. I’m more concerned about getting by day by day. My partner’s job could be gone any time because there’s no job security where she works. I can’t go in to detail about what she does as it’s kind of a public job. It’s stressful. So, are we out spending money on presents? No, we’re trying to keep up with bills and the ever increasing cost of eating healthfully which costs just as much as our rent I might add.
Do I want to write a holiday inspired post everyday? No. Not really? I just don’t give a tiny rat’s ass right now. I’m still battling a virus, my partner has it, my wrist is still healing/broken. I won’t know unless I sit at the hospital emergency for hours and hours because let’s face it, it’s not really an emergency, I just don’t have a doctor and really need an X-ray.
I need a nap.
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I have a racing, wandering, rambling mind. I always have. It has at times, distracted me from doing schoolwork, doing actual work, carrying on conversations, running errands, reading books, completing my house work, having sex and most certainly- sleeping.
The best way I can relate how it feels would be to equate to having a job to do at an office. You have to get those reports in by 5 and it’s already 3 pm. You’re just able to focus when the phone rings, and it’s an important client. Then, Susan from accounting stops by to review numbers. Two minutes later, your co worker has a melt down at your desk. You’re trying to finish this damn report but Dan from sales is re-enacting a scene from Breaking Bad while standing directly behind your chair. Your boss pops by every 15 minutes to track your progress. While this is going on, there’s a visiting travelling Circus in your office complete with a petting zoo, trapeze artists, tumbling clowns, Firedancers, sword swallowers, helium filled balloons, and that traditional circus music blaring from all four corners of your office.
Each random thought that pops in to my head is like a different act in that circus.
The tumbling clowns are all the funny things I have seen or heard that replay back in my head. This act is reserved for things like old Seinfeld episodes, my favorite Saturday Night Live sketches, and Family Guy gags. It also includes funny things my partner or friends have said, and contains the time my cat got a bag stuck on his head and he peed the entire length of the hallway, running, while the bag flapped behind him like an unfortunate parachute.
Then there’s the Trapeze act. These are things I think I should be doing but am still only in the thinking stage, not the acting stage. I’m afraid of heights. I’m afraid of people. I’m afraid of foods past the expiration date. I’m afraid of a lot of things.
The petting zoo consists of all the animals I want to pet. Baby goats, poofy dogs, fluffy kitties, that arrogant dog down the street that won’t let me pet him, rabbits, hedgehogs, squirrels and pigeons.
Then there’s the sword swallower. These are all things that make me go Yeesh while shaking my head wondering why anyone would want to do such a thing. This includes but is not limited to; subdermal implants, RFID chips, eye tattoos, collagen fillers, Trump supporters, racism, random acts of violence, the Kardashians and general crime/politics.
The fortune teller encompasses all the things that perplex me. Things I am curious about. Things that have led to me being labelled a Conspiracy Theorist in the past. They say Conspiracy Theorist, I say truth seeker or just curious is a more accurate depiction. I mean, I’m not one of those people that think the world is flat but I do question things like possible false flag attacks, fake news and what the government tells us.I questioned the whole 911 narrative, the JFK assassination, the moon landing, whether aliens are A) real B) here C) demons D) the original inhabitants of this planet and maybe WE are the aliens.
The Freak Show are aspects of myself that I try to hide. My insecurities. My quirks. My obsessive compulsive behaviors. This is where I clip and examine my toenails and remove my blackheads. This is where I listen to and sing along loudly to the formidable Kelly Clarkson. This is also where I borrow that voice I talk to my dog in.
The tiger and elephant parade reminds me of things I can appreciate and value but not touch. The beauty of the sun gleaming across the Atlantic ocean, my gratitude for some of the wonderful people present in my life or my lover’s laugh and smile. This is where I store the way I feel when she puts her arm around me in the middle of the night until I drift off to sleep. My dog’s face is there too. The face she makes when I hold her and rub her head, the face she makes when she’s running through the grass. These are the precious things.
The Firedancer envelopes all the things that frighten me. Impending war, losing my love- my partner, running out of money and food, the future, whether being gay will lead me to the fiery pits of hell. Will I get fat again? (even though I’ve kept it off for a decade) Will the world just get worse? Just how dumb are people going to get??
The helium filled balloons represents each idea I have had that has either popped, backfired or I never got around to. The big red balloon just out of my reach? That’s my book. The blue one that’s floating up up up to the ceiling? That was my art business. That annoying yellow balloon that keeps bopping me in the face despite me trying to swat it away? That was when I moved to Newfoundland for a fresh start and lost all my belongings. Everything I owned. The little ones floating away? Those are my exes. Quick! Give me a pin!
The Ringleader or Ring Master, is God who tries to keep me on track. He tries to organize my thoughts in to manageable compartments and keep me focused on the task at hand. He tries to make me a better human. He gives me warm peanuts and sticky cotton candy. He gives me hope that the next act will be better…
You may have noticed my absence the past 4 days. Maybe you didn’t, listen to me- talking like I’m somebody. I was exhausted and having migraines. I have to force myself to take a break every so often to avoid staring at a screen because it’s giving me headaches. I think I need new glasses too. So I took a break and watched some TV and slept whenever I could. The season changes usually prompt long bouts of insomnia. I’m not really sure why. All I know is that my anxiety levels are as high as Willie Nelson on a Sunday afternoon.
I’m trying hard to remain gluten free in an effort to reduce the inflammation in my body and skin but it’s making me irritable. I want all the sweets and pizzas and battered things and why do I have the sudden urge to punch you in the tit? I’m trying to eat things like fruits and vegetables and nuts and seeds I want a donut and it’s not going well. I guess the sugar withdrawal is making me even more for the love of God give me a cookie tired than usual.
In the past week I’ve written 3 pieces for the Higher Living Blog so at least I have been writing and I definitely haven’t been sitting around binge watching Horror movies and the last 2 seasons of Downton Abbey that I missed resentfully eating seeds instead of the pie I crave.
Another exhilarating thing happening in my life is flea extermination. Shout out to the neighbors’ ghetto-ass kitties for bringing the gift that keeps on giving to our 6 unit building. My many bites are healing and the house and dog have never been cleaner. The recent temperature, constant vacuuming and homemade flea treatment has just about eradicated the problem.
I’ve also spent some time researching blogging tips and tools and ways to improve my views. Analyzing my posts made me arrive at the conclusion that people seem to respond better when I talk about personal things.
Here’s something personal. I lick potato chips before I eat them.
To be honest, I have a lot of anxiety and am feeling a little depressed. The cooler weather has made the pain worse, it’s harder to walk around now and my sleep is really off. I feel fat and out of shape. My clothes all feel tight and constricting. My body is swollen and I feel ugly.
I’m off to stand in front of the open refrigerator reminiscing about the good times…
Fresh pot of coffee on a sunny Saturday morning? Don’t mind if I do. I have been dragging my ever increasing ass all week. I have been incredibly tired and have had a lot of pain in my legs, back and neck. I’ve also been experiencing a lot of inflammation lately. I’m supposed to be gluten free, dairy free, caffeine, refined sugars, alcohol free but I don’t always follow the rules. Not because I don’t want to, it’s because I’m poor and would rather eat a sandwich than go hungry.
My partner and I are trying to get by on just her income and it’s just not enough to support all the things I’m supposed to do to try and keep symptoms at bay. “Have you tried acupuncture?” “Why don’t you take this?” “Why not get a massage?” What part of poor and uninsured do you NOT understand?
It’s being stuck in a situation where you need a job to pay for all the things you need, and are supposed to do but not being well enough to keep a job, even a part time one. Since 2004, I have been fired from 11 jobs. Not because I wasn’t a fast learner, fun to work with, a good salesperson or a hard worker. It was because of illness and calling in sick.
I have NEVER called in sick unless I physically could not make it to work to do my job- I couldn’t afford that luxury supporting myself. I don’t have a car so that means walking everywhere to get to bus stops, standing and walking and walking and standing, no matter if it’s pouring rain or minus 30 degree weather.
I am now 43 years old with severe arthritis and ME/CFS, degenerative disc disease in 3 spots on my spine. I have a hard time some days taking my dog out for a pee. Days where I spend my shower time laying in the tub absorbing the heat letting the water pound my skin because I can’t stand.
I would love to have a job and be a normal contributing person. No one chooses disability, illness and poverty. No one. I’ve had to resort to doing things like selling my paintings when I was able to paint. I have dog sat, hemmed pants, blogged for dollars on paid blogging sites that don’t seem to exist anymore. Currently I do laundry for a neighbor, I offer to walk my neighbors dogs, I have offered to make sales calls for a friend’s husband, I have created a site for my friend’s business and blog for that. The money is minimal but it makes feel like I’m doing something. I just need more.
I get depressed and bummed out a lot because I can’t do the things I want or need to do. Most recently, my dog has gotten fleas. Now, she is a city dog who is indoors and on sidewalks and always on leash. I don’t give her regular flea treatments because she doesn’t really need them. The only thing I can conclude is that my neighbors who have cats coming and going all the time are carrying fleas. My neighbors, although nice guys are rather irresponsible and dirty. They also have multiple pets in a one bedroom apartment. Our apartments are very close and we share a (very dirty and cat sprayed) back hallway that leads to the rape basement and laundry area. Plus any time my dog comes into contact with the neighbors’ cat, she seems to get fleas on her. I don’t know, either way, I can’t afford the meds my dog needs to be rid of them. I had one tube of Advantix left that I put on her after a bath. I can’t tell you how guilty I feel for not having the things my dog needs. She also needs a vet check up that I can’t afford. It makes me feel like a bad dog mom.
Feeling like a failure is a common theme for my days. Even if it is beyond my control, I feel like I have failed at life. A lot of my friends my age have homes, families, cars and go on trips. Their Instagrams read like travel brochures then there’s mine.
Lots of bath, blanket and book pics. I also commemorate good meals I have enjoyed.
I really want to upgrade my blog and get my own domain. It costs $60. I don’t have it. If we have $60 it usually goes on food and toiletries. It’s so frustrating. I always feel like I’m hog tied and told, “Ok, now do life.”
I don’t even qualify for government services because I live with my partner. The government says she makes too much for me to get help. With that and the way my family treats me I feel like a discarded coffee cup that’s been tossed out a window and kicked to the curb. If you’ve ever driven anywhere in Canada, you’ll see A LOT of discarded Tim Horton’s cups on the highways, streets and overflowing in city trash cans. I bet for every one of those cups that have been deemed used and useless by someone, there is a disabled person struggling to live.
I brew my own coffee at home and use a travel mug.
I believe everyone has a purpose.
Maybe mine is providing a voice for others who are suffering.
How do you get by if you suffer from chronic illness/pain?