The Return To Innocence

Seriously, though. This toothbrush containing edible gold, bought at H-Mart, made in Korea, seems to really do something. I've taken colloidal gold before. It was good to my teeth. The toothbrush, with nothing but herbal powder, actually seems to make my teeth feel clean, smooth, and hell, even detoxified. I don't even know if that can be a thing. I used it dry a few times and got the same sensation. DeoLife toothbrushes. Gold, bamboo charcoal, silver. I get the silver and the charcoal, those are famous for being antibacterial and such. The one with the gold calls itself detoxifying, removing plaque build-up easily. I am skeptical, but there seems to be some interesting evidence. My teeth are certainly whiter.

So, "Orphan Black" is still awesome. "Black Box" is still interesting despite possibly turning into a "magical mentally ill doctor always saves the day" stereotype. I mean, I really need to see more than these first two episodes, and I hate that a mere two episodes in it is already being torn by critics. But I mean, it's like watching my life in an alternate reality. What if I were a neuroscientist, dealing with my own neurodivergence and mental illnesses, able to help my patients precisely because I could connect to them on such a specific level... I need to keep having faith in the show, except for how Catherine doesn't want her fellow doctors to know she is bipolar, even though they probably wouldn't give a shit. Like, the boss was saying that any doctors with medical conditions needed to report them, since that one surgeon with the brain tumor had a seizure during a brain surgery and became suicidal. I realize that my disabilities and invisible illnesses are my private business. But if I were a specialist working in a hospital, in charge of brains, I might understand that my supervisors might want to know about my specific mental illnesses, you know, in case I had an episode. I don't know. I find Dr Black a bit untrustworthy with her addiction to her mania. I realize she has wanted to keep her bipolar private for her own Reasons. But I don't think that is helping anyone, least of all her daughter. I mean, there is a teenager involved, who is already displaying symptoms of her own. Does Catherine really need to stay under that radar if it might cause damage to her kid?
Thoughts, anybody?

Also, this is something I wrote on Facebook and might as well copy here.

***
http://chaoslife.findchaos.com/aging-agility
Perhaps I should attempt this "Max Capacity" exercise thing they describe in the comments. So far, kundalini has done nothing for my joints, but I am a smidge looser, so. As I told a friend, I am maintaining a broad sense of humor. Spastic hypertonia plus ataxia equals falling over and bruising myself. Which must be laughed at. Lest I go mad. But, you know, I learned something very important: Now that I have made the very personal decision to do a very specific type of yoga on my own, with no suggestions from anyone, I feel that I can better combat health zealots.

Speaking of, I so called it: A commenter posted this: "Not to be a bother but… If you did a little more exercise… I mean, there are 80 year old people that can do a perfect arch, so the age is just an excuse to do not do anything!"

Ahh, health preachers. Everyone knows what's best for you, and obviously you cannot think for yourself. It's like partisan politics, but way more personal. One side wants to be a coddling Mommy, one side wants to be a strict Daddy, one side wants to be a weird Uncle, nobody wants to actually help you without taking something for themselves. It's fun to sit back and watch, though.

And you know what, guys? I am actually going to ask for yoga advice. Specifically, though, regarding kundalini. I need suggestions for very light, gentle stretches that are good for osteoarthritic knees and hips. In particular, the ligaments are ridiculously tight due to palsy, and they keep tightening back up after any kind of exercise.

You see, I have been having intense dreams in which so much pain has been concentrated in my knees that dream me is often unable to stand and walk without screaming violently, both within and outside the dreams. It has gotten to a certain point in which I start lucid dreaming and become afraid that I cannot change the dream pain. I become afraid in the dream of moving in certain ways. In my dreams, all my fears and anxieties and obsessions are released, naturally, and not even using my cane eases them. It never helps that nobody notices, not unless they are unknown dream people. Too many dreams have taunted me about my friends not seeing these struggles, being too far away, requiring me to walk helplessly until I find relief.
A couple of dreams ago, I was in northern Brooklyn, trying to reach my childhood neighborhood of Midwood, along Kings Highway in southern Brooklyn. No taxi would take me after sundown, and this I was forced to walk and walk, and it did not get better. I had no magic powers. The dream people around me could only walk with me and talk to me.
The dream abruptly dropped me in a Metro station in which the escalators and elevators were broken. It may have been Wheaton, which has the longest escalators in the Western hemisphere.That is indeed a nightmare. For anybody, anywhere, regardless of health. Fitting that it would be in my dreams.

Back on topic: I would love advice on how to apply physical and emotional exercise to my unconscious mind.
However, please do not tell me to stop taking traditional medical treatments. Please do not bash my pharmaceutical medications, since they actively help my symptoms. If you want to see what type of supplements I take that are anti-inflammatory and joint supporting, check my Notes section for a post that lists all my medicine before making a supplement suggestion. Chances are that unless it is an extremely obscure herb, or an unusual TCM medicine, I have tried it.
Eh. I'll post that medication list.
https://www.facebook.com/notes/joanna-capello-paul/take-all-the-pills/10151028056823107
***

I cannot say I am well. Am I ever truly well? I mean, the only reason I consistently talk about symptoms is to remind others that we can work with all of this crap. Many of my dear fellow chronically ill cripples want to keep their posts sharing pain to a minimum, which I support, respect, and understand - because, really, it's the same thing day after day. I think the main reason I'm a frequent updater is because I get so many questions, so many please for help, so many requests for advice and suggestions and just words of love. And those things, I can give.

Also I think I may be in a depression episode. It's taken a couple of weeks to realize that. It's so... light. So subtle. Huh.

So. Other things...

http://juststimming.wordpress.com/2012/05/01/truth-is/
"What if being cured didn’t fix those things?
Because ultimately, if I took a cure, I’d be surrendering. Instead of fighting for my right to be treated and valued as a human being regardless of disability, I’d be letting go, giving in, and letting myself be changed into someone easier, someone acceptable, someone convenient. And I want to be clear– there is nothing wrong with wanting things to be easier or wanting to feel safe or accepted or just being done fighting. That just means that you’ve been asked to be much, much stronger than everyone else for much, much too long.
But if, in order to be safe I have to stop being me?
Then I’m really not safe at all."

http://erinmccolecupp.com/2014/05/01/blogging-against-disablism/
"We are prone to feeling defeated because it’s a battle just to get our muscles to move us out of bed every day, so telling us to “be more positive” in the face of that is kind of insulting."

Sensory Processing Disorder. Cerebral Palsy. Temporal Lobe Epilepsy. ADHD-Inattentive. Major Depressive Disorder. Multiple Anxiety Disorders. Autism. Fibromyalgia. Chronic Stress Disorder. Hypersensitivity. Spastic Hypertonia. Migraine Disorder. Chronic headaches. Chondromalacia. Sleep Disorders. Dyscalculia. Sciatica. Chronic Back Pain. Lordosis. Rhinitis. Asthma. Recovering Anorexia.
Oh, absolutely. Being told to "be more positive" is indeed kind of insulting.

My mom keeps telling me that I've fixated too much on being autistic, on advocating, on activism. She suggested that I just BE. I'll take it.

So, I had a lovely shopping day Saturday. And I proved to myself that I can certainly haul around up to fifteen pounds of bagged cat litter, get in a vehicle, and get home, if I had no one to drive me to a store. While Adam, Charlotte and I were at PetSmart, I bought a bag of "Arm&Hammer Essentials Natural Clumping Litter", which made the claim that due to pine and baking soda, the litter did the work of thirty pounds at half the weight. I imagined that if it worked, it would be the easiest litter to get by myself when taking a bus (Also, previous Arm&Hammer brand litters had worked very well and I had heard lovely reviews for this one).
Adam and Charlotte had gone to Home Depot, so while waiting for them, I carried the bag around for a few minutes, testing it on my shoulders, in my arms, by each hand, etc. Then I found canned food and treats and got a cart, and by that time I found Adam and Charlotte in the fish section, getting a new fish tank stand.
Previously we had been at Wal-Mart, where I bought a few needed toiletries and socks for half the price at a CVS, Adam got all his tires replaced, and we got a few new things for the new downstairs. Charlotte and I also found paint for my work room. We had brought along my little Fluttershy toy, explaining to the highly amused lady that we wanted to try and color match the yellow body of the My Little Pony. The color matching machine couldn't work with the toy since the toy kept casting a shadow at all angles, and the computer didn't get the yellow properly, so we just physically matched Fluttershy against a bunch of swatches and came away with Canary Song.

(Which got me realizing that I really needed to tell people: Just because I love the TV show doesn't mean I want to see or hear about everything possibly related. This realization came after Adam showed me a photo of a handmade cloth doll of a "Ghost Pony" that was one of the freakiest, creepiest, most nightmarish things I have ever seen. People have been sending me erotica art, random pictures, and bizarre fanfiction. Don't do that. Please don't send me Pony porn. For the love of Luna, please don't do that. At least ask me first. Same with TMNT, Futurama, Simpsons, Adventure Time, and pretty much everything I've mentioned that I like. Sometimes I just enjoy something simply to enjoy it - although I am proud to own Pony and Ninja Turtle clothing, toys, etc. As for Futurama and others, I just watch and quote, that's all, fini.)

Also, my neck is ridiculously stiff and painful. My head is throbbing and might at some point become a migraine. Stupid head.

Also, now the fish tank is back downstairs. My work room feels more open and quiet. Although I might miss falling asleep to the humming and bubbling of the filters.

"That which does not kill us leaves us with scars." -Failure To Fire webcomic

As of 11:58 PM April 6, I will have survived for thirty-four years with all my scars still around. I am constantly asked why I don't have the scars smoothed over or rubbed out. And I have finally realized that I don't want to. They are here for a reason. They are not going anywhere. They cannot go anywhere.

Also, if I try to rub out the keloids, I suffer blisters that look like third degree burns. That is what happens to tender newborn prematurely born technically still fetus skin where veins and blood vessels and lungs and brain matter and organs collapse and struggle even in life-saving incubators. All that tape to hold in all those IV needles. Scars all over my abdomen, arms, hands, legs, skull, tiny bits of flesh missing and regrown in textures that look like prokaryote cells - scars that look like tiny nibbles from tiny sharp teeth. Skin that stretches and alters as the body grows, scars that grow with body growth in fascinating ways.
Three months early birth, three months stay in hospital, one pound thirteen ounces, mild periventricular leukomalacia, mild cerebral palsy ... I earned those fucking scars. The only one I might want smoothed out is the one on the side of my right breast, where that tube was inserted to inflate my lung. Sometimes it makes it hard to wear a bra properly since the keloid pulls the breast tissue flat and crooked. But the ankle keloids will stay. They hurt constantly. They are highly sensitive. They bleed extremely. But they remind me. I did not die.

Let's see.
Coffee, protein fruit smoothie, amazing yoga pants from Rugged Warehouse, comfy bra by Barely Breezies, massive pain drugs, brain sickness drugs, athletic socks, big librarian glasses, best couch in the world, cuddly cats, Netflix via PS3 on a 52-inch wall mounted flat screen TV, novel up and running, story outlines writing themselves, migraine weakly gasping for sustenance, me laughing sadistically.
This is a good Sunday.
Later, I will finish reading "Emperor Mollusk Versus The Sinister Brain" by A. Lee Martinez and then "Trance" by Kelly Meding, and then call my therapist to discuss some stupid OCD compulsions.
Oh, and also, I spent a few glorious minutes on the phone with the wonderful Rose with her sweet Celtic pixie princess voice, while she compared my voice to deeply rich wine-soaked chocolate cake. Speaking to friends is of course always an incredible mood lifter.
I still feel a shadow of depression, which is unfortunately dulling me so much that I need a mask to talk to family. But at least I have that sweet close relationship with my family, even though my mother is way too good at sensing my masks.
Also, I shall practice some magic healing self massage with a touch of physics and see how far that gets me.

They say social networking is all about chronicling our lives in increments that may or may not interest other people, so here is mine, condensed into a cube of thoughts and actions. Enjoy, I guess. <3

Dear Migraine and Other Painful Things: Stop laughing at me. It's not funny anymore. Bah. No, wait, it is. It's Funny Ouch and also Funny Oh Crap and also Funny This Sucks.

The sky needs to rain already. The weather forecasters say it will rain already. I do hope they are right. If it's true, I hope the guys delivering the new couch tomorrow will cover the couch in plastic or something. It's microfiber suede, after all.

In the mail today, I got to see records from doctors and psychologists and neurologists that my lawyer had put together, and everything mentioned that I had Severe Problems With Just About Everything. Since we had been trying for a disability approval, that was... good, I guess? But as a general human thing, it is... very not good. I will most certainly be following up with doctors and such once we can really afford it. Also, according to the psychology records, it would appear that my "total intelligence" has dropped quite a lot while specific intelligence quotients like vocabulary and grammar and such are still awesome like supterstars. But I never liked IQ tests. I find them generally pointless. I even had a long fantastic discussion with friends over it.

My mother is very paranoid about my talking about this with "people online" and I said "You mean the people I'm very close to who are my friends? Because I wouldn't discuss this in any public forum and especially not in detail, and especially since right now even I don't have all the details, and even when I get all the details I'm not going to talk about it?" I'm not going to broadcast my financial specifications online, not even privately. I don't think people would care, and even if they did, I wouldn't toss around major details. My mother was still skeptical. I did call her out on her sounding paranoid, and she agreed, but she called it concern. It's very hard to explain the internet to someone who never goes on the internet. I get it, there is deep concern and skepticism because in a few months I will have more money than I have now, and maybe unfriendly people from the internet will decide to trick me and gain access to the money. Which is why, some time ago, I made sure that if I were to order anything online or put my financial information online, I would do my best to wipe out any trace, which can be highly difficult but workable. Mom is still skeptical, but that's okay. It's good to be skeptical and ask skeptical questions, even when the consistent answer involves the words "privacy" and "close friends" because on the internet sometimes those words mean absolutely nothing.

Anyway... how are you guys? I feel run over by a truck, which is normal, hah hah.

Oh, 2012. I hope you will be sweet and kind and fascinating. You probably will be. We shall see.

This is my kind of New Years Eve Party: Sitting in a friend's basement, surrounded by four televisions, two laptops, one desktop computer, and three Playstation 3 systems. The smallest TV, in the center, is playing a Big Bang Theory marathon on TBS. We have French champagne and strawberries and chocolate and food and coffee, and I have painkillers.

I am pleased.

I'm still feeling hellish, but it's okay. These times are why I have a prescription for codeine. Also, exercises and tea. Everything is better with tea. And coffee. With super cocoa powders.

Just finished watching the season finale of Doctor Who, "The Wedding Of River Song." It's now my favorite of the Matt Smith episodes next to "The Doctor's Wife." It's so simple, and so complex, and so simply complex, and ultimately beautiful. It ties everything together, and at the end there's really only one question left, which circles back around to the heart of the show itself, and that means that the next season in 2012 can start freshly and fantastically. Also, I love how River comes full circle but her story will be constantly continuing, because of who she is, who she has been, and who she will be. This episode also solidified my joy in watching Amy and Rory together, because I love seeing epic love staying epic no matter what alternate reality or cracked timeline it is. I don't know, it just all felt right. Obviously there are minor issues, little problems that every episode has, and no episode is perfect. But this was a really good solid finale.
This spoilery blog post sums up many of my feelings. http://www.guardian.co.uk/tv-and-radio/tvandradioblog/2011/oct/01/doctor-who-wedding-of-river-song

Tomorrow will be better, because I will make it better. I have errands to run, dammit.

Hello, September in Maryland. You still feel like August.
Pain levels are back up everywhere, after a lovely respite yesterday and the day before.
Breakfast consisted of deep fried potatoes and bell peppers, eggs over easy, espresso, and deep fried bacon.
Adam and I ran errands, bought groceries (Yay, Fage yogurt with goji puree!).
We made a fabulous dinner of Cornish game hens cooked in oregano, basil, paprika, garlic, and hard cider.
We watched True Blood, and are now watching "Dinosaur Revolution" on the Discovery Channel.
Tomorrow, Adam will go fishing after visiting his brother Mikey in the Annapolis group home for disabled adults, and I will get more writing done. It will be a wonderfully unremarkable day.

Adam and I both slept in past noon. I was busy being caught in some very intense dreams crafted out of horror movies. Adam and I went out for a bit, made lunch, rested, and prepared for rain.
Rain and thunder and wind are now busily lashing out at the world and making me a bit anxious. Also, hurting. Nothing else is new.

I exercised for most of the day, mostly in the form of walking and simple movements. No matter what I did or how I tried, the fatigue kept creeping in. It's fine. It happens.
Tomorrow, I may go to a social gathering. Guarana, yerba mate, suma powder, B vitamins, and cha de bugre should help. I still feel balanced and stable, content and mellow. I like that. It's about time.
The fatigue will end soon. It always does.
For some reason, I am craving a bottle of Vitamin Water Drive, which contains yerba mate and blood orange. Any flavored beverage that claims to have zero calories makes me hesitate, but I like the taste of this product. Time to go to Safeway again. Also, I am insanely happy that my local 7-11 store now carries Bazi Superfruit Energy Shots. There is so much sea buckthorn juice that my lips are stained reddish-orange for a while. No dreaded sucralose, and a lovely soft rush of energy. I approve.