You don't have to go home but you can't stay here

Well, as was made perfectly obvious in my last post, I've indulged myself in a bit of a pity party over the past few days.  Call it reality catching up to me or PMS or whatever the hell you want, it's been rough.  I don't like getting stuck in The Bad Place, but I certainly have no intention of punishing myself for going there and getting it out of my system.  After so many days of pain and exhaustion, it's really pretty normal.

And I try not to take my own bad moods and feelings too seriously.  I've been posting statuses on facebook like "Quick, somebody call the wahhhmbulance, I need a trip to the bawwwwspital." and "Oh my god. If these inconsiderate assbutts don't stop playing the bass in their car so low that it's rattling my BRICK house and making my head hurt worse, I will simply lose my shit and go out there with a spatula and an egg beater and whomp them like their mamas should have."  If anything's going to make the rest of my life bearable, it's retaining my sense of humor.  


I didn't make it to my brother and sis-in-law's this weekend.  My Chronic Fatigue decided to show its ass.  Boo.  I went on an 18-out of-24 hours sleeping jag, and I think today might be the first time I've really woken up since.  I really wanted to see everybody, especially my aunt Linda, but between how shitty I felt mentally AND physically, I would have been a total drag anyway.  

I did get to go see my therapist on Friday, which was definitely a good thing.  It was very cathartic, at least.  I think the most important thing I got out of it was that I need to take my friends and family at face value when they say they aren't angry and that they do understand when I have to flake.  I think I'm just so accustomed to thinking of myself as a slacker and a flake that I can't possibly see how folks wouldn't be mad, or at the very least, hella irritated with me when I can't do the things I want to do or say I'm going to do.  I set up some pretty destructive thought patterns during the years that I kept my pain to myself.  I have to break them or I'll be a miserable old coot well before my time.  He also says I'm not allowed to hole up by myself for extended periods of time until the mental ship rights itself.  Hissss.


There's some definite bright spots, though.  I did go get a massage like I threatened to in Tuesday's post.  I found a really amazing therapist.  I got there and filled out all the paperwork, then told Ari I was on day 8 of a come-and-go migraine.  He did some sort of wizardry with peppermint oil and face/scalp/neck massage, and I was out of pain in the first 5 minutes.  I wish I could say I got to just relax for the other 55 minutes, but he gave me the most thorough neck and shoulder massage I've ever had, some serious deep tissue shit.  It hurt like hell, especially when he'd hit trigger points (which he then attacked vigorously), but HOLY CRAP, that man is magic, and I felt well enough afterwards to go to Jeff's birthday dinner.  Two hours late, but I wouldn't have been able to show up at all had I not gotten some substantial relief.  I stuffed my face on Eggplant Parmesan and Lemon Buttercream cupcakes.  Jenny, Jenny, is there nothing you can't do?  It was a really chill gathering with awesome people.  I hissed a bit at the fact that I couldn't try the sexy-looking sangria, but them's the breaks.  I'd rather have the level of pain control I have now than revert to alcohol as self-medication, that's for damn sure.


Today's agenda?  THE SPRINGS.  And Fatkini Alchemy.  Mix two way-too-small triangle tops, some thread and ribbon, and maybe come out of it with a triangle top that will make sure I retain what dignity I have remaining.  XD  Can't wait.


Before I go put on my wizard's hat, I want to thank everyone for all the kind words and encouragement recently.  I do know that I'm loved and that people think I'm awesome, I just tend to lose sight of that when I get my head stuck up my own ass, because it's awfully dark up there.  I also want to say that we have our first reader submission on Fatkini Riot!  Go check out the hotness!!!

On yelling.

Contrary to popular belief, I hate yelling.  More specifically, I hate being the one that has to do the yelling.  I used to be a big fan of yelling, back when I drank like a fish and couldn't see what a fucking train wreck I was turning into.  But now, thanks to quitting drinking, therapy, and medication, I just...don't yell.

But goddammit if two people haven't pushed me to the point of yelling this month.  And not even a shouted sentence or two, a full-on, lung-bending, blood-boiling, black-out RANT.  I don't even know what the fuck is going on with the universe right now.  This month alone, I've had to cut four people out of my life.  I'm not as into astrology as I used to be.  Are we under the star of douchebaggery or something right now?

Only one of these losses truly makes me sad.  That would be my surrogate mother-in-law, who reacted to my olive branch by alienating me in cliche form.  Yeah, the same one I wrote a love letter about a couple weeks ago.  Chosen family is only family until you're under the influence of a lie, then they're disposable family.  Oh well.  A new alpha fag has been chosen, and a new surrogate mother-in-law will come in time.

I hate that I feel such a strong need to have that sort of a relationship with someone in my life at all times.  At 30, I still don't feel like much of a grown-up.  Adult matters make me feel like Bambi on wobbly legs.  I don't need someone to baby me or to do things for me, I just want someone who's been doing this grown-up thing for awhile to be my friend and well...I guess a mentor, of sorts.

But back to yelling.  It sucks.  It makes my head hurt.  The adrenaline rush usually renders me useless for 5-10 minutes, then once it dies down, thus begins the withdrawal migraine.  I yelled last night and actually woke up with a sore throat today.  WTF?  But physical shit aside, it's just so unseemly.  It shouldn't be necessary, ever, but sadly, it is. 

I guess I should just be grateful that I've ceased being a doormat, and that I'll actually stand up for myself now.  That's major progress.  I suppose this is the inevitable backlash, though--after spending so many years of running from conflict or just trying to smooth things over, I suppose it's only natural that upon waking up, I come out roaring.



p.s.  I have a new fatkini!  Springs trip tomorrow--hopefully I'll have some pics then!

Self-care of a different sort.

This is still not my OMG SQUEE AWESOME WEEKEND post, but bear with me.  I'd rather go ahead and purge the negativity so I can be in an appropriately pleasant mindset to describe what was one of the best "reunions" I've ever had.

As everyone learns throughout the years, some friendships and some people are toxic.  You love them dearly, and you try to help them see and understand their issues.  Where they're going wrong.  Why they're offending you and others.  You tolerate and forgive because you see the person's heart and know it's good.  You explain until you're blue in the face.  You forgive and forgive because it's hard to imagine your life without the person in question.  Personally, I've wound up staying in too many toxic situations just because I believe so firmly in the goodness of the person in question.  My persistence has been both punished and rewarded.  Such is life.

But at what point do you decide you're done?  Empathy and forgiveness are components of any successful relationship, friendship or otherwise.  But there have to be limits.  Everyone has a breaking point.  There's only so much aggression and negativity that can be accepted and forgiven before the whole situation becomes hideously codependent and unhealthy.  The longer the timeline, the more difficult it becomes to cut ties and to know where that invisible line between "good friend with problems" and "sociopath" lies.

As for me, I have my own problems, mental and physical, both of which I'm taking an active role in understanding and treating.  Frankly, it's exhausting, because I'm not the sort of person to just kick back and let the pills do the work.  Thinking that medication is a panacea, especially for mental issues, is the acme of foolishness.  There has to be actual real-life work done to succeed.  For me, this includes making myself actually talk to people (or the internets.  Hai, Internets!)  rather than stewing in my own juices, confronting my phobias, being aware of my mood, being mindful (and honest with myself) about what may have triggered my current state, and eliminating as many triggers as possible.  Toxic people and the drama and stress they bring are most definitely triggers.

So this begs the question, exactly how much should a person tolerate in hopes that the person they once had faith in will get it together, stop projecting their issues, stop creating drama, and deal with conflict in a mature way?  There's no easy answer, and every situation is going to be a case-by-case basis.  Whereas one friend may have committed such morally despicable actions that you decide, without speaking to them, to simply cut off contact (did this with a confirmed sociopath on my wedding day--happy marriage to me!), another may deserve a warning.  And another warning.  And another chance.  Enter the slippery slope of faith and false promises.  Faith that no, really, there's a good person under there somewhere, and maybe this was one last outburst, one slip into lashing out at you when they're really angry with someone or something else.  But how long do you operate under that mindset?  How long do you tolerate the abuse, not to mention live with the constant specter of this person's eventual explosion into unjustified rage?  I don't feel it's possible to have a functional, healthy friendship if you're just waiting for the next time your "friend" is going to take a (figurative) swing at you when you've done little to nothing wrong.  And woe be unto you if your false friend loves to make a spectacle of personal drama on the internet.  Please, someone tell me why in the hell anyone should accept treatment like that from anyone.  At some point, you have to make good on your word.  You have to drop the hammer and be DONE.

Do it for your health.

Foolishness.

I had a fantastic weekend, which I'll post about later when I'm in a better headspace.

I got home without being jinxed or cursed or murdered by my car, so that was cool.  Then today, a steaming pile of drama hit, completely undoing my weekend zen.  RUDE.

After so many abuses of my good nature, though, all I can do is cut ties and walk away, for now at least.  I sincerely hope this isn't a permanent thing, but I'm not holding my breath.

Hope for the best, prepare for the worst, and never, ever mistake kindness for weakness.

Ugh.  I'm cried out.  I need sleep.

GTFO, take two

I rescheduled this week's stitch-n-bitch date with Jeanette to today since I won't be around on Friday.  I made Shrimp, Crab, and Corn Bisque for lunch, which came out better than any other time I've made it.  I impressed myself.  And Jeanette.  And Brandell.  I made a full batch, as in, enough for meal-sized servings for 6 people.  Between the three of us, it was polished off by 6pm.  Glory!  I taught Jeanette some of the basics of crochet.  It's been a really mellow day, which is what I needed. 

I'm still continuing to improve.  My overall pain level has decreased, and my doctor had the wild idea of using a small dose of an appetite suppressant as a mild stimulant to help cut through the fibro fog, and that's working out pretty damn well.  My mental state...well...it's fluid as always.  At least it's not stuck on "Heinous."  Things are pretty good, though.  Can't complain.

I'm going to be out of town for the next two days, so I'm just going to leave you darlings with this.

We have a backlog of soda boxes.  Our roommate had a bad day.  Bring on the hilarity.

To anyone who reads this, please send me happy, calming thoughts and good traffic mojo for tomorrow.

ps  I'm getting my Super Secret Hilarious Tattoo on Tuesday.  Just so ya know.  XD

Alarm fail.

Well, suffice to say, my ass is NOT in Tallahassee right now.  I set three alarms.  All of them were within two feet of my head.  I also had Jenny call me twice, and did not hear the phone right next to my head, either.  Fail, fail, fail. 

I guess part of my problem is that the post I made last night got me thinking.  I thought about what's mandatory, what's obligatory,  what's optional, and what I really, truly, legitimately want to spend my spoons on. 

Time, effort, and energy are precious commodities to anyone, but doubly so when one runs smack into the reality that it's not a matter of laziness or being antisocial...the mind is willing but the body says FUCK THAT.

For example:  Can I comfortably sit on a bar stool or stand for 4-5 hours?  Hell no.  Can I drink with everyone else?  LOL, no.  Do I enjoy being sober around drunk people?  Do I even have to answer that question?  Do I really think I'll be able to spend quality time with the person I came to see?  Yeahhhh no.  Will I be relaxed and comfortable in a loud, unfamiliar place?  Not at all.  Logical conclusion?  Send regrets and possibly a thoughtful gift.

Today, I'm going to Diabolik Ink to set an appointment to have the Tree of Life I had outlined over a year ago filled in.  It's effing huge.  It goes from the ankle to the knee on the back of my left calf, and is wrapped in a banner that says "I have seen in a forest of myself little books from tall trees", a quote from Release, my favorite Blackalicious song.  I'm going to have the artist add in some wisteria to the branches, too.  And if there's an artist free today, I'm going to have a wee spoon tattooed on my left wrist.  It just seems like the thing to do.

I suppose it's time to break free from my mentality that I'm a shitty friend if I can't make it to all the things I say I will.  I get so excited, so very very excited, when I hear about fun things to do.  I don't consider my limitations.  I don't think about the realities that said situation will entail.  I need to learn to say "That sounds like fun.  Let me get back to you on that." and stop agreeing because the annoying-ass idealist who lives in my brain forgets my current reality.