brightlotusmoon: (Asha)
So, my thoughts have been spinning merrily amidst what could be a spiraling episode of... Oh, fuck, probably everything at once. After I had a chat with three doctors about the consequences of stress-related memory loss, I quietly decided to start a private mindfulness therapy, which I have only been sharing with the psychologist, for advice, while I move forward in my own brain to stop my own brain from destroying my mindstate.

Tomorrow, I see my general physician and have her write a referral for the local hyperbaric oxygen therapy center. Although it's a bit premature, as they have yet to call me back about an initial consultation. While I was filling out their online New Patient form, I started wondering if they would even take someone like me, with two dozen illness. Even though cerebral palsy is the cornerstone. I just feel so excited about it. That's a good thing. I can still most of my emotion things.

What I find beautiful and fascinating about my private therapy protocol is that almost nobody believes me. I have been stuck in something insane since 2010. Why would they believe I would "get better" now, so many years later after therapy and medications and meditative exercises? Then again, none of them have been in long term therapy or medication. It really does take many years to spur a change this massive. Hence the secret protocol, which includes a possible medication update and potential oxygen therapy.

I don't expect anyone to believe me. I don't expect anyone to believe in my desire to change with this therapy protocol. How could they? Why would they? I am the same as I was when symptoms started. But I don't want their belief. I don't really want support if there is no actual active knowledge. How can you say "Hey, I've been there, I get it, fist bump in solidarity" unless you really have gone through a similar structure of treatment repeatedly for a grab bag of illnesses that mindfuck you for no reason?
Actual legitimate question, BTW.
If you're also a parent of someone with interconnected psychiatric and neurological disorders, I would love input, because when I try to explain these things to my mom who only has hereditary ADHD controlled via lifestyle, my emotion-brain starts shutting down so my technical-brain can word at her, and I know she wants less science and more human. I'm trying. I just cannot get past that very protective mental guardian who shields emotion-Joanna from Outside. And oh, as much as I love Serena, she feels it is easier and gentler to let me sleep while she and Koan the calico kitten organize and compartmentalize all the Me. Ananta works hard enough balancing out all the neuroweird that Alicia in my private epileptic Wonderland can't reach. I haven't had much success in psychically merging with Asha. We are working out my dissociative and depersonalization episodes first.

I will do this. It will happen. Steps have been severely taken. Hard to talk. But if you think you get it, I would love a discussion via Private Message. I am willing to reveal bits and pieces of my Rebuild Joanna Brain Project to acquire tips and advice from those who get it.

Now, see, I view many people as family beyond my blood family - who shall remain the besy family I would want. Various people in my social circle - friends plus family - have always stood with me. I will always need and want that. But for those who are truly normal and looking at me with confusion, puzzlement, exasperation, fear, anger... and the type of condesencing that means pats on the head, chuckling, and "I love you sweetie. Of course you'll change." "You do nothing. You never help. You are too self absorbed, you don't think, you claim memory loss. It is all right, dear. We are used to hit. Just finish writing." Followed by another hair tousle. I'm used to it. It's routine because I am me.
I am not out to prove them wrong, not entirely. I am out to prove to myself that my neuroplasticity really might eradicate the worst of the annoying symptoms.
Maybe this whole autistic ramble came from my hope and excitement over this slow gentle therapeutic process. If loved ones want me to speed it up, I can turn away for a while to meditate.

All I know is that my own husband has been putting up with me forever, and that says something huge.

Love you, LJ family.
brightlotusmoon: (Snow White Ruby Blood Dragon Witch Light)
Back pain back pain back pain backpain backpain backpain NNNGGHH.
It's the lumbar area, leading to sciatica down both legs. Of course, you know? I've got an appointment with my new orthopedist on January sixth, and we're going to get be fitted for true customized orthotics... although I am going to insist they be cushioned, if not highly comfortable. The ones I had as a teenager actually made my feet hurt whilst walking. I still have the left one from those days. It is not comfortable. I understand practicality and function, but still.
Nnngh. Back, hips, legs, knees, ankles. Come on, drugs, work faster.

When we came home from grocery shopping, I looked up at the stairs and whispered, "Mama's home, Rose." I had meant it merely for her memory, for her spirit that now lived in the house, free to leave the clay statue that was a vessel, as Adam had not bound her to it. Adam said, "She's still gone, sweetheart." And I knew, and I reminded him that it was just... oh, I couldn't even find the words. It was just for her ghost. But he knew. We held each other and he knew.

My friends have cried for me, I think, more than I've cried for myself. I will have pockets of moments in which I will break down in gasping sobs, but they are so quick and triggered. A brush that had moved through her fur while I was comforting her in her lethargy, before I understood what was really happening, tufts of fur clinging to the bristles that I may not remove for a while. My pillow, and the soft bean-bag type pillow behind it that served as a general cat pillow but which was generally used by Rose especially in the mornings. A bag of Greenies treats that I realized I no longer had to move to a high place where Rose couldn't grab it and tear into it. Sitting in this desk chair, now, and knowing that Rose will never jump onto my lap and rub her cheeks over my mouth. She will not curl up on the floor, waiting for me to announce that Mama is going to bed so she can lead me there and see me to sleep. Oh. Yes, I'm in tears now. Oh, babygirl. Luna is on my lap now, kissing me, nuzzling. In her own Luna way.

We will be adopting another cat. Yes. It may be sooner than anyone thinks. I've already dreamed of her. I've already named her. I already know her age range. But... you know, someones through the grief and the numbness and the deep deep shock and the horror of physical death, we know deep deep inside that even if it takes only a week or two to get another pet, it is nothing like a replacement. It just means that the throbbing empty hollow burning in our hearts might start to heal, just a little. Luna is still my heart and soul, my queen and my moon goddess, my precious love. Jupiter is still my beautiful big boy, my chatty feline child who brightens my day just by smiling. The new kitten, the new young cat, will never be Rose. She will be herself.
Rose is never coming back, not even in a new incarnation. I'm not even sure I want that; it might hurt too deeply. Rose herself was already the reincarnation of Adam's patchwork dog, Ralph. Rose spent five glorious years learning to love and be loved. In Buddhism, that is a vital thing. All animals understand this. It is slightly Jainist. Adam and I, in our eclectic paganism, are mildly Buddhist in various, often conflicting, ways. It is not possible for us to be fully Buddhist in any way, but eclecticism is a wide arena.

"Life is a journey.
Death is a return to earth.
The universe is like an inn.
The passing years are like dust.
Regard this phantom world
As a star at dawn, a bubble in a stream,
A flash of lightning in a summer cloud,
A flickering lamp - a phantom - and a dream"
brightlotusmoon: (Snow White Ruby Blood Dragon Witch Light)
Since I am still in shock, I feel like I'm moving through the Kubler-Ross stages of grief completely out of order. I've accepted that Rose is dead and I am deeply depressed. While I held her waiting for Adam, I knew she was dying and I was already angry and bargaining. When the vet said she was critical, I accepted and realized she was probably going to die. When she coded and they couldn't revive her, I accepted and understood, then went right on to bargaining again, blaming myself and how I just kept waiting. It became anger, wondering how the fuck a five-year old cat with a clean bill of health could suddenly present with congestive heart failure and die so quickly. I became angry that we hadn't figured it might be genetic. I became depressed that I couldn't have known. I still blamed myself for not finding a way to take her to the clinic sooner.
When we held her body, I went through acceptance and depression again, followed by deep gratefulness that at least she waited until Adam came home, that Adam got to hold her, that she knew how much we loved her. Depression again. Acceptance.
No denial. Slight isolation.
I updated Facebook right there in the clinic's comfort room, since in this age of instant communication it was much faster than a sobbing phone chain. We finished holding Rose and signed the private cremation form. We walked to the car. My best friend Beca called and all I could hear was her screams, and I cried. She and her husband James came over with food: Whole rotisserie chickens that I ripped into because I hadn't eaten all day. Alcohol because it helped dull the pain. Being a doctor, she commanded that I keep taking Klonopin, as well as baclofen, two to three times a day just to keep my mind and body from shattering.
I realized how desperately I needed them there, and she knew it, and late that night she brought me to bed, fed me my drugs, and climbed into bed with me. Adam was downstairs on the couch with James.
I clung to my plushie ginger tabby Haiku all night. Beca and James left early this morning, and Adam came up to sleep with me. I woke up and instinctively reached behind my head to the soft pillow where Rose would be sprawled out, and I made a soft whimper of intense pain, because she wasn't there.
And Jupiter has been meowing, softly. Meowing and meowing. I don't know how much he understands yet. Luna has been so quiet, but always there, always ready for a hug. It's only been a day. I've only shed a few tears. The real grieving hasn't begun.
People are gently discussing taking me across the street to the new shelter on Solstice or after Christmas, to let me adopt a cat. Others have suggested waiting a few months. I cannot wait. Because I don't believe in waiting for too long. My heart cannot take it. I cannot spent months mourning and empty when a pet dies, otherwise I may lose my mind. See... After Tuesday died in November 2006, I spent four agonizing months with a growing, burning, echoing hole inside me, until I begged Adam to take me to the old shelter on Rothgeb just to look, just to see... and that was where Luna stole my heart and filled my soul. And one year later, my other best friend Charlotte begged us to come see her former coworker's new litter of five female gingers, and Adam picked up one, looked into those wide bright sunny eyes, and announced she was coming home. And Rose took our hearts and ran.
I never expected the baby of the family to be the first to die.
I think we will always be a three-cat house now.
I want and do not want isolation. I don't want platitudes. I am completely fine with "I'm so sorry for your loss" - as "sorry" is shorthand for "sorrowful" and it helps me to know that others feel the loss and mourn with me. But I am depressed. And I don't know what to say.
We have been getting so many phone calls and messages.
She was only five years old. I guess it was genetic. She was so young.

Now, her soul resides in the gold-cream clay sculpture Adam had made in her likeness months ago. Adam absorbed her energy, stored it, released it, and made sure she would stay with us.

The house of Rose's soul.
Oh sweet Bast, please love Rose and care for her. Give her sweet cuddles and nuzzles and kisses. And give her as many treats as she wants.
With Adam Paul´╗┐, the sculptor.
brightlotusmoon: (Snow White Ruby Blood Dragon Witch Light)
I'm too much in shock and too tired, so I am copying from Facebook.

Yesterday Part 1.
I don't think I'm having a nightmare. But if I am, I just want to do something to make Rose stop panting rapidly and lethargically with wide pupils and mild legarthy. It is four in the morning. I have no car. I could call a taxi service to take us to the Nebel Street emergency clinic but I can't think straight. Maybe she is having a cat anxiety attack. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's nothing. I will stay awake for her. I will offer her treats. I will remain calm because Klonopin is in me and I cannot panic. She is letting me cuddle her. Maybe it's nothing. I need it to be nothing. It's four in the morning and I can't drive and I can't find a carrier and vets don't make house calls. I need this to be nothing. Bast, please let Rose be fine. I will stay awake.

Yesterday Part 2.
Okay. Rose is okay. I mean... well, she did turn down Greenies, which never happens, which means she may not be hungry or is just very tired. When I pressed my ear to her side, I didn't hear anything unusual, just breathing and purring. But she also turned down water and food, which makes me concerned. Her nose is dark... is that a thing? I mean, it's not that 'normal' bright pink flush. She is also acting physically weak - when I picked her up she went limp, and when I put her on the dresser with the food and water bowls she looked almost depressed. She then jumped off and lay on the floor and mewed. I think it's allergies or maybe the start of a cold. She is absolutely lethargic. There isn't much I can do right now - I don't want to rush her to a vet right now just out of worry. She's breathing fine. Adam won't be home until tomorrow, though.

Today Part 1.
As soon as Adam gets home we are rushing Rose to the VCA emergency clinic on Perry Parkway. FYI. Her breathing troubles are much worse.

Today Part 2.
Rose Sunshine Paul.
Time of death: 2:20 PM December 14 2013. VCA Veterinary Referral Associates.
My cat died of heart failure caused by liquid around the heart and lungs.

Today Part 3.
Rose Sunshine Paul.
April 2008 to December 2013. Confirmed cause of death: fluid around the heart and lungs. Heart attack and shock.

At the Gaithersburg VCA Veterinary Referral Associates, the closest pet emergency hospital, the one we have been going to for years since its Darnestown location... they called in every single doctor and nurse into the ICU since Rose was already severely critical. They did everything possible to stabilize her even through the Code Blue. A dozen veterinary specialists for one little cat. They spent 15 minutes on resuscitation. Dr. Marc led us to the comfort room and said there was nothing else to ben done. Let me stress that every single doctor was in that room working to save our cat.
We opted for a private cremation. Just like Tuesday and Ralph and Puff, with polished wood boxes and name plates and clay discs with paw prints. These people were wonderful.
Rose died knowing she was dearly loved. She knew how intensely we cherished her. She loved us with every part of her soul. We were tribe.

Adam and I held her in the towels and hugged her body, and Adam absorbed her soul. At home, he transferred Rose to the sculpture he had made, with gold and cream paint. Rose as a soul will always be with us.

Read more... )
brightlotusmoon: (Snow White Blood Red Dragon Witch)
Aww, I remember writing this last year and people being very amused.
Bright eyed, bushy haired, bright colors, babbling due to painkillers and happy muscle relaxants and healing gemstones and all that weird pseudoscience silliness that I believe in despite my atheist agnostic upbringing.
I've been pagan since I was a teenager, so hah. Polyagnostic polytheist pantheist eclectic witch who will believe even if proven completely wrong. Even when my parents insists that it's just my brain and that psychic powers don't exist, I will agree because that is true, too. There are so many truths out there. I love quantum everything.
See, I follow the Discworld concept: Even if a deity manifests in front of be and insists it is a great god, I will tell it "That's nice. Just because you exist doesn't mean I believe in you. I believe in my Higher Brain smushed with my Subconscious, which you possibly came from. But since you are here, let's party anyway. Red wine?"
I firmly believe that Man created God, and the Universe created both Man and God, and all gods everywhere sprang fully formed from Man's brain because Man's brain is more complex and extreme than we can ever conceive. The universe is bigger than everything.
And I have also always believed in All The Gods, so whenever someone asks me if I believe in God, I always ask "Which one?" which leads to confusion and people thinking I'm, like, evil or something and must be saved or whatever that means. *shrug* I don't care. I like what I like and I don't want to push it on anyone because my faith is mine and your faith is yours.
I just ask that you please please do not attempt to convert me to Christianity because nope nope nope. I am half Jewish, I know that Christianity is a Jewish heresay, I know Yeshua was just a man who explored various believes including paganism and then returned to talk about it, and that he wasn't part god, he was just a very good orator. So, no. I am who I am and if you leave me alone I will not roll my eyes and facepalm at you. I love you all, I always will... but I can love everyone without being bothered by proselytizing. Love is love is love is love. There is no wrong or right, there is only love.
brightlotusmoon: (Snow White Blood Red Dragon Witch)
I often "cross post" between here and Facebook, since sometimes stuff I say there, in increments, can be transferred here as stories and ruminations.

Lately, I've been getting genuinely angry at many Facebook friends and acquaintances - and it takes a fucking lot to make me genuinely angry. Multiple people on my Feed have been reading and watching the internet and talk show versions of medical conspiracy theories and tabloids - technincally slightly true, definitely not completely true. "So, these doctors on this daytime talk show or YouTube segment or extremely biased blog are saying that almost every serious health problem in America can be linked to pharmaceutical drugs or the side effects from those drugs. So, have fun taking those deadly dangerous pills! I'm going to be all smug and condescending because I don't take any pills at all even though I probably should for medical conditions I refuse to talk about."

Have you ever had a triggering of your rage gag reflex? Not quite retching, but a mental version of "I am about to explode rage all over this!" because something has truly, severely pissed you off. That has been me over the last couple of days. Some very very intelligent friends have been reposting these ridiculous claims, and my response is usually double facepalm and "For fuck's sake, take everything you read and hear on these blogs and talk shows with grains of salt, please, please, please." Like... okay, I like watching the Doctor Oz show every now and then. Quite often, he is extremely insightful, helpful, and correct. But he is also trying to get high ratings. Same for that talk show The Doctors. Who also used to be Oprah's friends. A panel of four core doctors from different specialties talking about medical breakthroughs, things that are good and bad for you, et cetera. Apparently, a recent episode featured the ER physician claiming that pharmaceutical drug side effects were causing most of the country's medical problems. At which point I facepalmed, went online to trusted websites, and proved him essentially wrong with a few keystrokes. It turns out that after the episode aired, multiple physicians and specialists who were not mere ER doctors called bullshit and blasted the episode and the hosts for being irresponsible. Again, ratings ratings ratings. But so many Facebook friends are falling for it that I wound up "hiding" their posts because I was getting seriously insulted. Funny that this happened after I made a status post about how grateful I was for the pharmaceutical drugs I've been taking to help mitigate my conditions.

Look, pharmaceutical drugs are not the Best Things Ever. They have serious side effects for many people. They alter the body and brain in ways that can be more damaging than the conditions they are treating. BUT. For millions of people, they are lifesaving. They have treated the symptoms of thousands of crippling diseases successfully. For many patients, they are the only options, because holistic medicines, supplements, and alternative therapies haven't worked for those patients (and of course, holistic medicine is either The Best Only Medicine Ever or Quackery Placebo Bullshit). So, to say something like "I heard from a TV doctor that pharmaceutical drugs are the main cause of most medical problems" and to follow it up with a slap in the face like "Good luck taking your pills, guys!" is... a slap in the face. Especially if that doctor was being paid to exaggerate findings or to promote some sort of media, to gain readers or viewers. And especially if the people repeating these claims hadn't seen a doctor themselves in years due to lack of opportunity, fear, hatred, or simple mistrust of doctors - which makes me laugh my ass off. "I don't trust doctors, doctors have never made me feel better, but this one doctor said this thing and I believe it completely and so should you!" It is one thing to drink the Kool-Aid. It is another thing to splash the plastic cup of Kool-Aid in my face.

You know, this is why doctors practice medicine. Practice, not master. It is a practice. Many many times, they get things wrong. Doctors are not perfect. Nobody is perfect. Not even you. So, dear Facebook people, please double check your facts, get second opinions, and actually think about it before you quote what sounds like medical conspiracy theories.

In the meantime, I'm going to sit back, smile, watch silly cat videos, and take my evil pharmaceuticals and my quack herbal supplements that are all maliciously working wonderfully to effectively relieve the worst symptoms of my twenty separate medical conditions. Damn them! *nods*

Also, in May I have my first appointment with a licensed craniosacral therapist. Having had craniosacral therapy twice, with extraordinary results, I am eagerly anticipating this.
brightlotusmoon: (Snow White Makeup)
It starts with Saturday, Imbolc 2013.
See, on Facebook, I ran into the girlfriend of a guy I had been friends with for years but had never honestly had one on one time with. Which is the story of my life, actually: Having all these friends and these acquaintances, and having memories of only parties, large gatherings, where if I wanted to talk with someone alone I had to almost push my way through and schedule a place.
Ben had always been The Dude. He abides. He has always abided. He is friends with so many people. It is understandable. His girlfriend, Jess... I didn't know her. We seemed to have many things in common. After months and months, I finally reached out to message her. And we began talking. And something started happening.
I said, "We really really need to get together. Just us. No parties, no house gatherings. Adam may or may not be home. But no matter what, I want you meet you, in my house." And she agreed, and we made arrangements for Imbolc weekend. Adam was indeed going to be home, so he and I set up for brunch and awaited the arrival of Ben and Jess.
They arrived, and I hugged Jess like an old, lost friend, and looking at her there was this instant knowing, this instant understanding and energy of "Yes, I know you. It has been so many lifetimes. I missed you." I hugged Ben the same way, but with a little less intensity, as I already knew him.
After a magnificent brunch, I gave Jess a tour of the upstairs and showed her my gemstones, and we talked about our spiritualities, our energies... how I am a beacon and she is a generator. And yes, the energy that came from her made my head buzz pleasantly. I realized that several items I'd been keeping hidden had been meant for her, and she was extremely grateful. I had randomly thrown wood brushes, lip balms, skin creams, gemstones, and makeup into a black canvas shoulder bag; I gave her all of it. It turned out that it was all exactly what she needed, even the bag. It had all been intuition and connection. I had known her already. And we talked about knowing people, about how she and Ben had known immediately that they were for each other. We talked about energy, about metaphysics and quantum physics. We talked about getting together again, since they live very close to our neighborhood.
When they left, and the energy was still rushing around the house and my head, I sat and considered. I believe I tend to be a little forceful and intense when establishing a friendship with a person I deeply like. I wanted badly to grab Jess' hands and tell her how deeply I knew her, how intensely we connected. But she knew. It was in her face. She always made eye contact when we talked and she always smiled at me. She glowed.
Later, I messaged her, asking if I did okay, if I wasn't too extreme, if I didn't put my feet in my mouth too much. No, she said, she and Ben had genuinely and honestly had fun and wanted to see me again. And that relaxed me more than I could have realized.

Making friends is so, so, so difficult, because I need to communicate on specific levels before I can actually approach them. Fascinatingly enough, Facebook and Livejournal are among the best things that have happened to me regarding this kind of communication. I need to type out words, ritualistically, deliberately, allowed to pause and stumble and correct. I need to assure myself that there can be a connection when we meet. My family cannot understand, and I know why, and I get that. But I am unable to simply walk up to someone and start a comfortable conversation without feeling an absolute terror of possible rejection so deep that I can hardly speak.

I love fiercely, I love deeply, I love powerfully, I love in ways that seem insistent. I need friends who can do that with me. And yet I will always, always wonder if I am making mistakes, if I am coming off as "too crazy, too weird, too dumb, too whiny, too clingy, too repulsive." I have learned that in the past, people have questioned my relationship with my husband, wondering how he could "put up" with me, if I was truly the right partner for him, if he could even handle me on a constant, consistent basis. I have taught myself to let those comments go, because nobody has any say about my relationship but my partner and myself. However, it really is fascinating and very interesting that people who should know me would assume that I am not good enough to be loved by someone who has so many different ways of living than I do.

Loving me is a hard thing, a wild thing, a weird thing, a deliberate thing, a test of strength and resolve. I am intense and extreme and stubborn and wistful and insane and I am too much inside my own head and quite often not fully aware of my environment. To love me is to live a journey through many worlds. I just want friends who can do that for me. I don't even care if they would badmouth me. These days I have stopped caring about many things.

The heart-breaking problem with online friendships is that meeting in person is usually improbable, or highly difficult. But if I were able, if I had all the money and opportunity, I would find a way too meet all the friends I have made online who I knew could love me the way I needed.

Right now, all I know is that I must see Jess, and Ben, soon. Maybe it will help bring me out of this quantum shell I have constructed around my heart.
brightlotusmoon: (Snow White Makeup)
I'm... oh, hell, what is just under "okay" but not near "bad" or "poor"? Medication and meditation have both helped immensely. Cuddling with spouse and cats has helped immensely. I was laughing. Except there was still that Dark Nope in my mind, flattening me and reminding me that darkness was everywhere in my brain right now. There is absolutely no point in pasting on a smile and ignoring the depression, because fuck it, there it is, and it will end when the episode ends. See? Clinical major depression is an entity, and it will leave when it is ready. It can be coerced, cajoled, enticed, forced and tortured. But sparkly thoughts are not a treatment. I have not and do not live any part of my life by the so-called "The Secret" book suggestions. Nice idea though.
I have been envisioning things that relax me, entertain me, and amuse me, of course.
Best to take my pills with something decent in my stomach - milk in coffee, juice, yogurt. Followed by a full meal. I just have no feeling for an appetite. It's not a rejection of food, it's just a lack of feeling hungry. I ate half a burger with sliced cheese and yuk choy vegetable dip, washed down with thick acai pomegranate juice. It was plenty.
I just feel empty, dark, slow, neutral. That is it. Neutral. Shrug. Whatever. Okay. I don't mind. "I have no strong feelings one way or the other." (Hah! I knew I'd find a way to quote that line soon.) I don't really want to go anywhere particularly to anyone else's houses and couches. If I were to move, it would to go walking, shopping, moving for exercises. I'm just a cat. If someone wants to hang out with me, they had better enjoy sitting on a couch, reading books and watching TV and browsing online. With the occasional discussion about physics and neuroscience and maybe fandoms.
See, here's the tricky part: Depression is a great pretender. It can put on a perfect mask. It can smile, laugh, and interact with the best of them. That is what viruses do. It can move me, control me, make me do whatever it needs me to do while it quietly spreads across all my nervous system and tweaks each little neuron so that gradually it overcomes its host and becomes a best friend. Creepy, isn't it?
But I will know. I have been learning. That is part of my library magic, my moonlight magic. I am just as sneaky. I have weapons. I can sneak into the main consoles and screw with the auxiliary systems before I even start working on tampering the primary systems. Sometimes I get caught and I get locked up and I even get tortured. But usually it is worth it.
In conclusion... I will be okay. For now, I am that thing just below "okay" which is nebulous.
Nebulas are pretty.
I've been watching too much Star Trek. I don't even care.
brightlotusmoon: (Snow White Makeup)
Yeah, I think I'm starting to slip into a depressive episode.
I just want to stop reacting whenever anyone insults me in any way.
I feel like crying over... I don't know, nothing and everything.
That is why watching Futurama and My Little Pony Friendship Is Magic is comforting, so shut up.
I want people to stop telling me how to be or not be physically and mentally disabled, bisexual, ethically Jewish, eclectic pagan, psychically sensitive, a female, very short, curvy slender, balanced between holistic and pharmaceutical medicines, a writer, a reader, an intellectual, a human.
I want to remind myself how to ignore those people and live my life my own way no matter who says what. I want to stop reacting and overreacting. I want to remind myself to just shut up and walk away with the knowledge that they will not learn nor understand, but others will.
I want to learn how to actually make and keep more friends on my own without wanting to run away.
I want to squeeze all my toys and dolls and meditate and cry cleansing tears.
I just want to be.
brightlotusmoon: (Default)
Dear Bullshit: Please don't start happening around me until this depression has lifted at least a little. I will do my part by refusing to engage in arguments disguised as discussions, whether on Facebook, forums and communities for varied disabilities, or blogs.
I am not well at all. My husband will be home soon, we will run errands tomorrow, and I will try to put myself on autopilot with the toughest strongest masks I have, because in my emotional brain I just want to curl up, read books and blogs I like, eat only if I feel very hungry, and not talk to anyone unless I think there is something worth talking about.
I know that everyone I love on Facebook and Livejournal will rise up and stand with me and give me strength, hope, love courage, and light. I am so very deeply grateful and just the thought moves me to tears. But I have no idea what my depression trigger was or is, and I don't want that unknown trigger to strike again and knock me down even deeper. I am responsible for myself and always will be, but it is always beautiful to know I have friends at my side, at my back, and standing in front with open arms.
You'll do that, right? You'll love me? Even if I am a fucked-up, mentally screwed, clumsy idiot who can't even work around Sensory Processing Disorder to figure out why the entire world feels like one massive tactile and visual scream inside my head?
brightlotusmoon: (Default)
I think my "give a fuck" just broke. It's bad enough that I'm in a major depressive episode and already filling up with self-loathing about everything I do and am. It's worse when I forget myself and defend my medication choices to a douchebag who is yelling at me with "All Big Pharma Is Always Evil Forever. You need to stop taking all your poison drugs and just eat these specific plants and herbal formulas, since they will cure your pain and your seizures and your depression and they will even heal your brain damage so you won't have cerebral palsy anymore."
I admit, I flew off the handle just a bit. You know, "Listen, moron, I did the purely holistic thing for twenty-something years, and then I was prescribed a seizure drug and a painkiller drug and a muscle relaxant which completely changed my life in many ways, because I had never known what it was like to have loose, relaxed muscles that didn't clench, spasm, feel paralyzed, or feel like burning. I mean, holy shit, people actually live like this normally? Is this normal? I should have done this sooner! Why hadn't I done this sooner?" And how I looked back on my other life and realized how stupid I was: because even if Big Pharma Is Truly Evil, sometimes they get it right. Sometimes just one drug, or three, can change the life of just one person in unimaginable ways.
And then I explained how I still use supplements and herbs and plants and holistics, and I carefully balance everything, and how I met with half a dozen different doctors who all decided I did not have an addictive personality and that it would be perfectly safe for me to take the wonderful drugs every day. And how strangers on the internet tried to call me junkie and addict without knowing a single fucking iota of a thing about me.
And I explained that because I was in chronic pain, constant agony, and major suffering that was not going to stop on its own, it was safe and fine for me to continue taking the drugs, and fuck everyone who tells me otherwise. And then I explained how sometimes I am in far less pain than normal and when I took one of those drugs, nothing happened. At all. So I was not becoming addicted, because I felt nothing if the pain was not great enough to require drugs.
And then I said a few more angry things about judging strangers because you are not actually concerned about them, you just want to project your personal bullshit onto someone who is doing something that perhaps you or a loved one used to do and it led to addiction and it was horrid for you, and perhaps you have made it your superhero mission to save everyone you encounter from the awful evil Big Pharma that destroyed your life, and perhaps it's easy to yell at people over the internet because you don't need to see their faces or show your face and you feel you have perfect control because the poor stranger is obviously spiraling downward into a terrible tragedy of dependency that only you can save them from.
And by "you" I mean "stranger asshole who decided she knew exactly who I was, what was wrong with me, what I needed, what I didn't need - because obviously those Big Pharma drugs were killing me rather than saving my life in multiple ways."
So, I sincerely apologize if anyone reading this feels slapped, because that is not what I'm trying to do. Normally, when someone gives me the "Drugs bad, herbs good" speech, I just smile and say, "Balance and harmony in all things. Every person is different with different responses to different treatments. Some patients cannot take supplements, and some patients need drugs to continue living a fairly easy life. I am very lucky that I can easily take pharmaceutical drugs and natural supplements in balance. Maybe some day, I will find a plant or vitamin that can legally replace all my prescription drugs forever. I doubt that, because I need certain drugs to keep certain illnesses in check, but if I can reduce the prescriptions and have a supplement as my main treatment, that would be wonderful. Until then, nobody needs to tell me what I should and should not do with my medical health treatments." And that is the most polite thing I can say.


Jun. 28th, 2006 06:51 pm
brightlotusmoon: (Default)

And the best part is, I know all these types...

Also, the comic itself is a laugh riot and must be read by everyone. Because I say so. It's a short comic. But every single strip makes me laugh until I cry.

Thanks to [ profile] illusionmajik for sending me the link.


brightlotusmoon: (Default)

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