ARGH.

Stressed out womanWe 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.

 

Live Humbly, Be Charitable, Live Graciously,

S.

 

Image Credit

http://www.clker.com/clipart-634242.html

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The Price is… Too Much

Firstly, I apologize for my recent absence.  With the holidays and travelling and personal matters I cannot share at this time, and an officially broken wrist, I have been too distracted, tired or sore to go on social media.  I needed a break (pardon the pun).

Not much has been going on here but a few minor observances and a shit load of Netflix watching.  I’ve watched a few movies I enjoyed like I, Tonya, and the Disaster Artist.  I was pleased to see Franco take an award for that.  I blew through the Wormwood series in a day, I enjoyed the biographical movie All Eyez on Me about the iconic Tupac Shakur.  It’s been pretty quiet here.

Quiet.  That’s something I enjoy.  Peace and quiet.  I don’t like loud things, loud movies, loud shows, loud noises.  I’m an aficionado of documentary films and quiet quirky humor without the blatantly obnoxious laugh tracks.  I’m a big girl, I know when to laugh, thanks.  Even my musical tastes have changed.  When going for my MP3s to accompany house cleaning, I’m beginning to shy away from the loud raucous rock and metal that I used to listen to, opting for Radiohead, Wilco or, most recently, Diana Ross and the Supremes.  You can’t go wrong with Motown.

Cannabis brownieWhich brings me to the crux of my story.  Recently I acquired a medicinal brownie.  I’ve been pretty blunt and upfront about the fact that I have a permit/prescription to possess medical cannabis for chronic pain and PTSD.  So, I got this brownie..  Keep in mind I am very experienced, a veteran of cannabis if you will.  I have been using it for about a decade for pain, I have done my research, I know my strains and I know my doses.  I have never had a bad experience… Until now.

This brownie was about 3 inches long and maybe an inch wide.  I split it in half.  It’s a Saturday night so I offer the other half to my partner so she can relax.  Apparently this was not a 2 dose brownie.  I repeat, NOT a 2 dose brownie.  In actual fact, this was a four or 5 dose brownie.  So we unknowingly nibble at our brownies while enjoying a cup of coffee with a little Baileys in it.  Mistake number 2.  Do not mix said brownie with alcohol, even the wee bit of Baileys you dumped in your after dinner coffee.  I put on a recent episode of The Price is Right for shits and giggles.  We don’t have cable so occasionally I find game show episodes online for us to watch so we can feel like real people that have cable.  The Price is Right was mistake number 3.  It was at the second big wheel spin to see who the showcase showdown opponent was going to be when the brownie took hold.  

Holy fuck.

Too much
Too much The Blog BroadThere were flashing lights, bells ringing, thunderous applause, ” It’s a brand new car!!!” , people screaming and molesting Drew, saying hello to every fucking person they knew, people losing their shit screaming down aisles flailing their arms, people pushing past stunned models to grab at their haul of prizes, people screaming random numbers at shocked contestants, weird T shirts begging to Drew to love them, flashy costumes, honking horns, that yodelling Swiss guy, then it’s topped off with guilt about the unneutered pet population.

How do people watch this?

How the fuck does Drew Carey sleep at night?  No wonder he’s lost weight, poor bastard probably has PTSD.  I sure hope they pay him well and he has a good benefits package.

How did Bob Barker do it all those years?  I mean that guy was old as shit when he retired. 

That show is like an overdose of Aderall with a hit of meth all in one 21 minute episode.  It was too much.  TOO MUCH.

This brownie was too much.  TOO MUCH.

All we could do was go lay on our bare bed, (I had the brilliant idea of washing the bedding pre-brownie).  We had been over stimulated.  We grabbed the comforter and threw it over us like a protective fort.  Looking at each other under our fort all we could do, was repeat “Too much.  Too much.  Too much.”  

The lights were too much, music was too much, smells were too much, touch was too much, The Price is Right  was TOO MUCH.

I vomited a couple of times and crawled back into the fort with “C”.  We fell asleep.  I eventually woke up and finished the laundry but “C” was out for the night.  Lesson learned.  Well played meth brownie, well played.

It did get me thinking about how The Price is Right kind of mirrors American society.  

Play the game, win prizes!

The more shit, the better!

LOUD LOUD LOUD!!  with some screaming for good measure

It’s all about advertising, but throw in some literal bells and whistles and flashing lights and no one’s the wiser!

I want it all now now now

Who cares about the fine print, like duties and taxes that need to be paid, a lot of people don’t even take their prizes because it costs too much.  Nothing is truly free but it looks like it is and that’s all that matters


Yay!! America! 

yeesh… 

Too much. 


Live Humbly, Start Small, Live Cautiously,

Sam


Images

Hank Hill/ too high  http://media.ifunny.com/results/2014/02/06/yqeg15gwyf.jpg

Price is Right gif  https://uproxx.files.wordpress.com/2014/10/tpir.gif?w=650

Brownie/Selfie are my own.

Can I Borrow a Spoon or Two?

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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The Blog Broad Tag


Sam

Blogmas Not So Much

The Blog Broad BlogmasI 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.

B’ah.  Humbug.

I need a nap.

The Blog Broad tag line
Sam

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Images by Canva

For the Birds…

Typical Sunday here in Saint John.  It’s cold and windy and grey.  I started my morning hobbling out of bed.  Didn’t sleep well last night with back, neck and wrist pain.  My legs begun to throb around 4 am.  I took Lucy out for her morning pee and poops.  It’s sweater weather so I put on her pink and brown argyle.  If you’ve never seen a mini dachshund in an argyle sweater, you just aren’t living life. 

I sprained my wrist two weeks ago and tore some ligaments.  It’s healing but it’s a painful process.  I wasn’t able to blog much last week.  I can’t really type well, more like keyboard pecking and my wrist aches the entire time.  I managed to get in a blog post for the cannabis blog I write but only at the last minute and I needed help from my partner.

Enjoying some fresh coffee with “C” this morning and I got to feed some pigeons.  Yes, a little known fact about me is that I love pigeons.  I love the way they walk, I love the purple and gold and silver shiny splashes of color on their velvety plump little bodies.  I also find the sound of their cooing comforting.  Sure, I may not be the most popular broad on the block when I’m out there in there in my jim jams on the sidewalk crumbling crackers for the masses of swarming pigeons.  Ask me if I give a shit though.  I’ve only fed them a handful of times over the past 2 years so I don’t think that will do any harm.    For a couple of brief moments I get to enjoy an urban glimpse of nature in its gritty glorious form.  There must have been close to 30 pigeons at my feet vying for the biggest chunks of crackers, trusting me while I stood only inches away all cooing away in delight.  Shit like that makes me smile. 

For the Birds
Me, over a year ago, feeding the pigeons.

I love animals.  I love nature.  I don’t get to enjoy it as much as I used to.  We don’t have a vehicle so we’re pretty much limited to Uptown Saint John, but I understand and hear legends that New Brunswick is quite beautiful.

The Blog Broad Pigeons
Just a few, but I became quite enamoured with the white one. I called her

The Blog Broad Midge the Pidge
Midge the Pidge.

I’m going to catch up with my favorite bloggers today, doing laundry, while indulging in a Peep Show marathon.  It’s fleece and throw blanket weather.  We have the space heater on and my love put on a fresh pot of coffee and bacon.  Grateful for these weekend favorites.  Grateful for the birds today.

How was everyone’s weekend?  Do you feed local animals or am I just a crazy ol’ Broad?

Live Humbly, Be Charitable, Live Graciously,

Sam

Bad Ideas

The Blog Broad is broke.  She’s slow, resistant and doesn’t seem to want to work.  Actually, I’m having a lot of pain.  The past two days I’ve had Painsomnia where the pain doesn’t let up long enough for you to be able to sleep.  I’ve caught a few winks in the late mornings/early afternoons but I’m dragging my ass a mile behind me.

My wrist is still healing  after badly spraining it.  I still have limited range of motion and blogging and texting is still quite painful but here I am because of FOMO (fear of missing out).  My love took care of most of the household chores while I recuperated.  Thank God for her, I don’t know what I’d do without her.

Over the weekend, we had passes for a rock show that was being sponsored by her work.  The problem was that the show didn’t really start until 10 pm.  Now, I’m 43 years old and 10 pm to me is usually, hair in a pony, jammies and face cream.  I haven’t gotten ready to go out that late in a long time.  I was already in pain from my body and wrist but I pushed through it for the show.

During the getting ready process, a couple of “C”‘s friends came over to have wine before the show.  So I said, “Sure, pour me a glass.”  Little did I realize, the wine our guests had brought was homemade and very potent.  Two glasses later I was inebriated.   I was woozy, spinny and all around barfy.  My partner was in even worse shape.  We snuck out before the show to grab a sandwich to help ease our ailing liquor bellies.  Two drunk broads in a Subway shoveling 6 inches down our gullets like we hadn’t eaten in a week, then stumbling out, giggling like teenagers on Prom night.  At that point it was almost 11 pm and normally, “C” is passed out by that time of night as her days begin at 4 am.  Even though we wanted to see the show, we ended up making our way awkwardly and drunkenly back home holding each other up as we made the seven hour journey by foot back home.  Ok, it was 15 minutes but it felt like seven hours.  We missed the show.

Bad Idea
(Not actually Us)

I was reminded of another time like this.  Back in 2008, I had tickets to go see one of my favorite bands of all time Queens of the Stone Age.  I was so excited for the show that I didn’t really eat much.  While I was getting ready I downed three Mojos.  Those were those Guarana Caffeine vodka drinks that went down like pop.  Before leaving I thought to myself, “Well this isn’t going to end up well at all.”  But I went anyway and hopped on the bus.  By the time we got to our friend’s house, I made a mad dash for the bathroom.  I don’t remember much after that.  Except waking up in my bed about five hours later realizing I missed the show.  I was devastated.  I am still devastated.  This was by no means a band like Queens but still.  Alcohol got me again.  When will I learn??

 

Can you still handle alcohol?  Have you ever missed something really important because of a bad idea?

 

Live Humbly, Be Charitable, Live Graciously,

(Drink Responsibly)

Sam

 

Image

Drunk Girls  http://metro.co.uk/2007/11/05/drunk-girls-proving-a-facebook-hit-474899/

Discarded Cups…

Sam Clattenburg loves Doctor WhoFresh 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.

LesGeek on Instagram

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.”  

Discarded CupI 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.  Discarded Cups

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?

Live Humbly, Be Charitable, Live Graciously,

Sam


Images

Tim Horton’s cup on street http://ecofriend.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/tim-hortons-coffee-cup-street_CFUMo_18770.jpg
Trash can full of Tim Horton’s cups https://i.cbc.ca/1.2111753.1382068838!/httpImage/image.jpg_gen/derivatives/16x9_1180/technology-100706-tim-hortons-cups.jpg
Instagram and Doctor Who mugs my own 

Another Fu**ing Poem: ME/CFS

fucking tired

Fuck this chilly weather change

Making me feel tired and strange

All I want is to sleep and sleep

Making me mad, making me weep

Throbbing head and swollen body

A bigger bitch I couldn’t embody

Trying to hear what you’re saying

I think “Hello” is what you’re conveying

My head’s all muddled in shades of gray

Repeating my words, my brain’s on replay

I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what you said

All I’m really thinking about is my bed

Shuffling and grunting like some old hag

Cursing and swearing at my Magic Bag

Why you so small Magic Bag?  You can go to Hell

I need you on my back, my hips and buns as well

In a rage, I plug in my heating pad

The time it takes to heat also makes me mad

Laying on my back, missing the warmth of summer

The period leading in to winter is a fucking bummer

Staying in due to cold means a belly and bigger ass cheeks

While I dream of sunshine, eating chips for the next 28 weeks

“At least you get to sleep in everyday” say the mindless few

You have no clue, the pain, the tears, the guilt I go through

So back to my fleece, hot bath and couch I go

I’m fucking tired and my back hurts me so

Because why I came I fucking forgot

Oh yeah, to tell others to not be a fucking Twat

If you know someone with Fibro, MECFS

Someone that you regularly address

Be compassionate, gentle and most of all kind

Because they are suffering; bear that in mind

 

Live Humbly, Be Charitable, Live Graciously

Sam

If you enjoyed this, you might like this 

Images

I’m so fucking tired kitty   https://cdn-webimages.wimages.net/05197f03e21089241289b6b115c808dadf2f0b-wm.jpg?v=3

CFS: A Poem

Chronic Fatigue Syndrome
A whole new night of still no sleep

Nothing works, not even counting sheep.

I’m somewhere between asleep and awake

Another night of this pain I cannot take.

When I do drift off I’m plagued by dreams

Violent and bloody I wake up in screams.

It’s tossing and turning all night long

Thinking of all the things that I’ve done wrong.

Ideas for writing projects visit me far too late

I get up out of bed so I don’t disturb my mate.

Questioning myself whether I locked the door

Thinking of tomorrow’s shopping trip to the store

Worrying about money, food and bills

Wishing I could afford those sleeping pills.

Knowing I’ll suffer from this sleep lost

Going thru days in pain is often the cost. 

Sometimes when I pray I ask why I’m such  a mess

The answer I get is my dear, you have CFS.

Live Humbly,  Be Charitable,  Live Graciously, 

Sam
Image

http://www.insomnia.net/images/chronic-insomnia.jpg

Recovery:  The Sand in My Underwear

Chronic Fatigue CFSAfter writing close to 5000 words between six posts, creating a new blog site for the Higher Living Wellness Centre, my friend’s shop in Nova Scotia, and dealing with a bum eye and blurry vision, I needed a rest.  I crashed Friday afternoon and slept off and on most of the weekend.  The fatigue was blinding and I was in a lot of pain.  No matter how successful I want to be and how hard I can work periodically, I still need recovery time.  

This weekend was about self care and recharging my batteries.   Hot showers/baths, Netflix with my love and walks with my dog.  Quiet time is an essential part of my recharging process.  During quiet time, I don’t check my messages, I leave my phone charging in the kitchen on silent, I don’t check my blog or Twitter.   The logic behind this social avoidance is that I may see something that triggers a blog post and I’m trying to rest.  I also have excessive social anxiety so disconnecting for a while allows me to take a breather; to disconnect from people’s energies. 

When I’m blogging, I get obsessive about it and I will often edit a post several times before posting it, then I’ll go back and update it a few more times changing words and correcting punctuation and grammar flaws.   After posting a blog it’s constant “stat” checking; checking notifications, responding to comments and reading other blog posts.  What begins with a 700 word post (after editing of course) becomes a 4 hour commitment that I have a hard time walking away from.  Nothing exhilarates me more than writing something I’m proud of that other people respond to.  It’s kind of addictive.  

ME/CFSLiving with chronic pain and CFS (Chronic Fatigue Syndrome) makes it difficult to give your all 100% of the time.   If I give my all to something one day, I can expect recovery time from it.  It’s like a 3:1 ratio.  For every day I spend busy and working, I’ll need 3 days to recover.  It’s a pain in the ass, the proverbial sand in my underwear.  

Calculating your recovery time becomes part of your inner daily dialogue when you have chronic pain and CFS.   A friend asks you to go for coffee and a walk: that equals 10 minutes of walking downhill, 15 uphill on the way back, walking around the city- another 20-30 minutes for a total of almost an hour walking.  It’s also damp outside which means you’ll need a hot shower when you get back to warm up to reduce the inflammation you feel in your spine and joints.  When you are able to fall asleep, because your legs and back are going to ache all night, you can expect to wake the next morning feeling like you’re walking through waist deep water.   That half hour or so you spent with your friend became an entire day of recovery time.   All this plays through your head while your friend is simply asking you, “Hey, you wanna go grab a coffee?” 

CFS is not just being tired.  It’s being pulverized by fatigue.  It pierces your bones, it wrinkles your soul.   You can’t think straight, you can’t form proper sentences, you wobble when you walk feeling like at any moment, you will drop to your knees and sleep for days.  After almost a decade of CFS, it never gets easier or less depressing.  When you know you could be so much more if only you didn’t feel so worn out, so exhausted and depleted all the time; if you didn’t have all the pain.

I still have laundry to do and I can barely move let alone hobble down to the rape basement with a hamper full of clothes.   I’ve been using Kratom for fatigue and it helps but I have to be careful because it has a tendency to make me over do it which means even more recovery time.

CFS

What’s your favorite way to recharge your batteries? 

Live Humbly, Be Charitable, Live Graciously,

Sam


Images 

Woman with CFS http://images.emedicinehealth.com/images/slideshow/chronic-fatigue-syndrome-s1-woman-suffers-from-cfs-in-bed.jpg

“Fatigue is different …” https://i.pinimg.com/736x/e9/07/f5/e907f5a0dde5f840d733eadcbfc7d2b6–chronic-illness-chronic-pain.jpg

ME/CFS cycle http://www.drugfreedoctor.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/WhatIsMECFS_Venn1.jpg