| before you know it it's gone | ||||||
| Nov. 6th, 2007 | 01:39 pm | ||||||
[journal ends] |
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help solve the puzzle | |||||
![[mood icon]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v11/nematoddity/moodthemes/bwinter/angry.jpg)
angry
| just get your things, I've made up your mind | ||||||
| Jun. 24th, 2007 | 06:41 pm | ||||||
Second. OMGWTF. I have not updated in FOR FUCK EVER AGAIN! Damn it. And all the lovely stuph to rant about...wait no...'cos I got another blog for the Second Life related crap...and...shit. Trying to track down a new non-lame layout. Which should hopefully help me think I can post more here. Jesus, I have no idea what everyone's doing. |
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3 puzzle pieces - help solve the puzzle | |||||
![[mood icon]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v11/nematoddity/moodthemes/bwinter/bitchy.jpg)
bitchy| halluciginations | ||||||
| Oct. 26th, 2006 | 02:52 pm | ||||||
Mostly I've been busy with the incredibly addictive Second Life online game. But more importantly...we have activity. A long, long time ago, I started this journal as a rant space, but also as a place where I could poke and prod my consciousness in various ways, trying to wake up sleeping alternate selves. I sort of succeeded. I now have awake alternate selves. But they tell me they're dead. Which...frankly? CREEPS ME THE FUCK OUT TO NO END. How'ver, I gotta go with it, it's their reality, not mine. But it feels like there's so many more people back there, people I've never met, never named, never interacted with....and yeah, it scares the hell out of me. Also? Functioning on zero sleep. By the time I get home, I will have been awake for thirty-seven hours. Much head stuph to process, stuph I didn't want to deal with, stuph I was trying to put off dealing with...which of course meant it rose up and hammered me and sat on my chest and said okay, mofo, you will now HEAR US. Yaaaagh. So I'm up. I'm staggering. The entire world is shimmering and I only hope and pray I'll make it through today without passing the fuck out somewhere in the halls. Wish me well. |
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help solve the puzzle | |||||
![[mood icon]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v11/nematoddity/moodthemes/bwinter/awake.jpg)
awake| gah no nurses no dripping water no hands in the dark | ||||||
| Apr. 27th, 2006 | 01:29 am | ||||||
There are no hands to grab you, there are no hands, there are no hands in the dark, it's your basement fer chrissakes, there are no hands-- I step carefully past where my lady fell asleep in the chair, and listen to her clogged snores. --you know her, that's the woman you love, that is not some monster in wait for you as you walk around in here--in the dark--waiting for the hands-- I reach the chair and turn it to sit down; it makes a vague, metal-on-metal whine. Would you for fuck's sake CALM DOWN?!? Pyramid Head is not coming to get you! Okay. I admit it. Silent Hill got to me. GAH. |
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1 puzzle piece - help solve the puzzle | |||||
![[mood icon]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v11/nematoddity/moodthemes/bwinter/scared.jpg)
scared| and consequences that I've rendered | ||||||
| Mar. 9th, 2006 | 10:38 pm | ||||||
The fits of depression come and go, and I'm used to them, and they pass, and mostly, I know what cause them, and that's the good news. The bad news? The physical stuph, the tangible, the stuph that should be fixable and...somehow, isn't. I did the begging-the-doctor thing, and she sent me in to the hospital to get X-rays taken of my knees and legs. Thing is, I'm fairly sure it's a joint dysfunction, which means MRI, not X-ray, will show what's going on. But my insurance company is also known for being miserly cheap, so X-ray it is. At least to start with. It's funny. They have these amazing, beautiful buildings, full of solid copper tiles and quarried marble and hand-carved wood and stone. But they can't afford to give their patients the same care. Isn't it always the way... Anyway. Spent the whole day tottering about on legs that didn't quite seem to work as legs. Spent some of it asleep, because it was easier than forcing my body to move and waiting for the legs to go. As, inevitably, they would. A friend, with similar leg problems--though a different etiology--has given up and gone to a wheelchair when out of the house. It's easier, she says, and allows her more mobility. I guess I'm stubborn; I refuse to go into a wheelchair until there is literally no other option. I'll go back to using the walker first. Damn it. I just want to know what's going on. I want to be able to rely on my limbs to function as limbs. Is that so much to ask? |
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help solve the puzzle | |||||
![[mood icon]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v11/nematoddity/moodthemes/bwinter/busy.jpg)
bleak| and how long's it going to be this time? | ||||||
| Feb. 28th, 2006 | 12:42 am | ||||||
why the hell are you still up? your head's all stirred up and you're still not in tune with it enough to parse out what it's worrying over, and why is that? and there aren't enough horror films to feed the alligators in the backbrain. something big is surfacing again. and what's it going to be this time, how's it going to rearrange the life? fractured. you're fractured. and you're so very good at faking it. so good, not even your love in life knows how deep it goes. no wonder you can't see what's coming until it's in front of you, teeth sunk into your skin. you're too old for this. you're not old enough. you're thinking too much. you're not thinking about the right things. you're so tired. why don't you just go to sleep? why don't you just go to sleep? why can't you sleep? |
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help solve the puzzle | |||||
| even though I tried, it all fell apart | ||||||
| Feb. 20th, 2006 | 02:24 am | ||||||
[d] loves [e]. [e] is female. so is [d]. but [e] is straight. [d] isn't. now, in most settings of unrequited love, partner one tells partner two that they are in love; partner two responds that it can never be; partner one is hurt but, as with all things, must eventually accept and move on. there's not so much accepting and moving on in this situation. [e]'s my cousin. [d] is the idiot crackhead with the martyr complex who wants [e] to have no life that doesn't involve her, and no love affair without [d] in it. even though [e] is straight. and has stated that, even were she un-straight, she wouldn't be un-straight with [d]. it's a mess. at this point, [e]'s contemplating killing herself to get out of the situation of being hammered at verbally, abused with words, until she feels the size of a splintered thorn wedged into her own side. [d], of course, being the melodramatic asshat she is, is threatening to kill herself with every argument that rages out of her. sadly, this has not happened yet, and honestly, at this point, the rest of us are contemplating helping her hit the reset switch. oregon does have a sturdy assisted suicide law, but, unfortunately, one of us would have to be a doctor. alas. life is hell. I'd say when isn't it, but it was getting better. and then the house fell apart. fuck. |
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help solve the puzzle | |||||
![[mood icon]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v11/nematoddity/moodthemes/bwinter/blah.jpg)
bleak| what is it? | ||||||
| Dec. 25th, 2005 | 04:55 am | ||||||
I know. what is it? are you having nightmares? No. Or I don't think so. Or I'm not remembering them. you should go to bed. you're not sleeping. I know. what is it? is it the futon? No. Yes. Well, it's an old futon. But I've fallen asleep there before. are you hungry? No. Definitely not hungry. And I've already taken the pills that should be knocking me out anyway. are you hurt? No. No, not really. My back hurts. But I've had a pretty good day, the last couple of days. More or less. And today the idiots were gone all day long, so the entire house finally relaxed. That was good. are you angry? No. Yes. Well, yes, but not enough to stop me from sleeping. I don't think. you should sleep. you should be sleeping. I know. you should go to bed.. I know. you should take better care of yourself. I know. |
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help solve the puzzle | |||||
| trying to roll with the punches, here... | ||||||
| Nov. 16th, 2005 | 12:43 am | ||||||
So this is new. I'm typing last night and listening to this little French voice in my head, saying things in French I do not understand, and listening to some kind of lilting boppy jazz, and trying to get past it to get back to the writing, when I suddenly stop, and just sort of hang over the keyboard, and think it through. The TV's not on. No music's playing upstairs. I don't have my headphones in for my .mp3 player, it's lying in a black-wire pile by the bed. What I'm hearing--what I think I'm hearing--is a feminine, slightly breathy voice talking inside my head. In French. I don't speak French. I don't even speak enough of it to figure out what it means phonetically, because as soon as I clue in that there's someone talking and it's not recorded and it's not me...there's this breathy little giggle, and silence. Absolute...fucking...silence. Oh, great--so now I have the choice of being possessed (again) or knowing someone of the sleeping ones woke up? And it's someone I can't fucking even understand when she talks to me?? Great. Let me know when my medication gets here. I have so had it with this. |
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1 puzzle piece - help solve the puzzle | |||||
![[mood icon]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v11/nematoddity/moodthemes/bwinter/confused.jpg)
confused| fun with Dick and Jane | ||||||
| Oct. 10th, 2005 | 01:09 am | ||||||
( Some discourse on the dark side. ) |
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help solve the puzzle | |||||
![[mood icon]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v11/nematoddity/moodthemes/bwinter/distressed.jpg)
disturbed| it's the art of losing | ||||||
| Sep. 29th, 2005 | 12:59 pm | ||||||
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help solve the puzzle | |||||
![[mood icon]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v11/nematoddity/moodthemes/bwinter/cynical.jpg)
cynical| officially? don't get it | ||||||
| Sep. 28th, 2005 | 03:17 am | ||||||
we better figure out soon, or we're going to crack up. don't you think I'm joking. I can see you in the mirror better than you think I can. |
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help solve the puzzle | |||||
| choking on your alibis | ||||||
| Sep. 26th, 2005 | 12:32 am | ||||||
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help solve the puzzle | |||||
![[mood icon]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v11/nematoddity/moodthemes/bwinter/bored.jpg)
bleak| Sep. 18th, 2005 | 10:33 pm | ||||||
So accusing their eyes Like they have any right at all to criticize Hypocrites, you're all here for the very same reason ( So. Lord of War. One BIG spoiler. ) |
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help solve the puzzle | |||||
| Sep. 16th, 2005 | 04:01 am | ||||||
Green Day Summer has come and passed The innocent can never last Wake me up when September ends... Like my father's come to pass Seven years has gone so fast Wake me up when September ends... Here comes the rain again Falling from the stars Drenched in my pain again Becoming who we are As my memory rests But never forgets what I lost Wake me up when September ends... Summer has come and passed The innocent can never last Wake me up when September ends... Ring out the bells again Like we did when spring began Wake me up when September ends... Here comes the rain again Falling from the stars Drenched in my pain again Becoming who we are As my memory rests But never forgets what I lost Wake me up when September ends... Summer has come and passed The innocent can never last Wake me up when September ends... Like my father's come to pass Twenty years has gone so fast Wake me up when September ends... Wake me up when September ends... Wake me up when September ends... maybe October'll be better. If you need me, me and Neil'll be hanging out with the Dream King... |
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3 puzzle pieces - help solve the puzzle | |||||
![[mood icon]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v11/nematoddity/moodthemes/bwinter/depressed.jpg)
depressed| and life's like an hourglass glued to the table | ||||||
| Sep. 15th, 2005 | 03:35 am | ||||||
I do not need this, damn it. wtf am I avoiding? I'm trying to listen. wtf am I listening for, damn it?? there's a light at each end of this tunnel, you shout 'cause you're just as far in as you'll ever be out these mistakes you've made, you'll just make them again if you only try turning around wtf, brain? what? do you speak English, damn it? fingers. agh. on little pads of turning-red cotton in little boxes. I slipped a note into the last one written in blood that said, save the finger bones. if I get out of this I'm going to want them. gods it felt real. |
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help solve the puzzle | |||||
![[mood icon]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v11/nematoddity/moodthemes/bwinter/cranky.jpg)
cranky| okay, we're going there. | ||||||
| Sep. 14th, 2005 | 04:20 am | ||||||
for the past eight nights, I've sat up until really, really late. to the point where Cat's wondering if I sleep, period. she worries about me, worries about a lot of things about me, and to date, I've only been able to say, don't know why, sorry, don't know why. this has got to stop. not the not knowing, but the not sleeping. staying up 'til five or six in the morning? sleeping until two or three? what the hell is going on? last night I fell asleep at the keyboard, just for a few moments. in that time I had a startlingly vivid dream of myself dressed for Halloween, in my purported doll costume, clutching my little doll prop. and suddenly, without warning, I'm standing outside my physical self, invisible. the expression on my body changes--the former animation on the face turns slack, immobile; the former wildly gesturing hands drop to the sides. the hand that's not clutching the doll starts clenching, and I hear myself make some comment out into the crowd at the party, and the voice of my physical self is breathy, childlike, but at the same time low and menacing. I watch Cat walk over to my body, looking concerned. I hear my body say, I'm dressed to play. I need my knife. I remember snapping awake, inhaling, like I'd stopped breathing, and flinching, like someone was close behind me. I did not want to turn around, I did not want to see behind me. It was the creepiest, most unnerving feeling...made more so by the fact that I know this house is not haunted. I still stayed awake last night for an additional hour, coming in just as Cat was getting ready for work. made me curl up inside, that she just sighed, and shrugged, and got up and got dressed. as if it's already been engraved in permanent pattern that I stay up all night and that's just the way things are. I can't...I don't know what's happening, yet. I don't know what's going on. there's something I'm not processing on the very deepest levels of consciousness and...it feels...big. I'm not ready for big right now. and maybe that's why I'm staying up. trying to avoid it. trying to push it away with sheer exhaustion. and, as I've learned all too many times...it won't work. because it never does. it just makes me more tired. I need a mental purge, I think. pity you can't just walk into the drugstore and ask for the popular brand. nobody makes those drugs...for legal sale, anyway. and we don't know anyone dealing in the illicits. gah. I just...I hate this. I do. I hate that I feel I can't cope with it. I hate that I feel I have to stay awake to stave it off. I hate now that I'm scared of wearing the doll costume, the outfit I'm pulling together all this doll research for, because of some misbegotten dream thought that wearing the outfit, being the walking broken doll, is going to resurrect Janice and she's going to hurt people. she's not big enough to hurt people, some part of me thinks. and the rest of me...is still scared of her. you shouldn't have any personality you're afraid of, I keep thinking. but I have her. little girl with a knife. and I still don't know why. she's so...angry. and there are missing chapters in the book of my life. there are missing places in my childhood. the same missing years are reflected in what my cousin and my other cousin can't remember. whatever happened to us...happened to all of us, when we were all the same age. eight years old, six years old, four. those were our ages, respectively. now I'm thirty-eight and have waking hallucinations; the other cousin's thirty-six and rarely spends a day unstoned, be it by Vicodin or pot; and the cousin that lives here is thirty-two, embittered, boundlessly angry, and alone. yep. great poster children for the future. and I'm still staying awake. I hate this. |
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help solve the puzzle | |||||
![[mood icon]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v11/nematoddity/moodthemes/bwinter/tired.jpg)
bleak| got to believe somebody | ||||||
| Aug. 8th, 2005 | 04:14 am | ||||||
new look to the journal. not perfect yet, may change it, but it's different from what it was. still same as yesterday despite all the new changes. it's like putting spackle on a fault line, frankly. it's just cosmetic. but you fake it long enough and it's yours; I learned that being an introvert who wanted friends. fake being outgoing long enough, and presto, you become outgoing--no matter how shy and reserved and terrified of social interaction you are. pull on the mask and go party, because it doesn't matter, it's not you, it's just your social face. shocks the hell out of people when I drop out of social face. friend of mine called it the not-there phenomenon. as in, sometimes she'd be with me, and I'd be bright and sparkly and chipper and funny, and then she'd come back on a different day, and I'd be quiet, and reserved, and she couldn't make headway getting into me. because I'd dropped the mask. I'd dropped the 'everyone knows me, how about you' gloss of surface. and what remains when I leave the mask behind is me--battered, wary of everyone, more inclined to repel advances than invite them. the not-there phenomenon. wish I could've explained it wasn't her on those days, it was just the concept of anyone not-me. doubt she would have understood the distinction. so. it's sort of like mental housekeeping, in a way. the online equivalent of what I'm doing in private. someone's left the house, let's sweep up and toss out and maybe move the furniture around. tell ourselves we're not going to miss them. find new things to do. move the hell on. same thing I'm doing inside the head, really. and same thing I'm doing here--changing my colors, changing my mood theme, realigning myself, reconfiguring. this time's going to be harder, because this is the first friend I've ever had who left me because of me, in the quiet times. not me behind the mask. not me putting on a front. that's the hard part. mark. all comes back to mark, right now, and what was real, what was false. this was the boy who held me when I thought I'd shake apart in his car from the force of the revelation. this was the man who introduced me to musicals he loved and books he adored and concepts that made him think for days. this was the person who had his heart broken, listened to me when I was, kept shoring me up when I felt weak. mark gave me two important mental concepts to help me survive. one was the concept of walking through fire to green, which was our shorthand for sometimes, you have to go through hell to get to a place of peace and rest. I embellished to allow for those times of ice--because sometimes you burn, and it hurts, but other times, you freeze, and your fear overwhelms you. he agreed. the second important construct was of human-as-cathedral, with myself being the stone walls enclosing the heart of devotion, that would fall apart completely were it not for the buttresses shoring me up. and those buttresses were my friends, the pillars that held me in place, the strong stones beside my foundation. thing is, I'm now evaluating, obsessing, analyzing, way too much. when was it he left me? because I've been writing him for years, and for years I thought he was walking beside me, and now I'm wondering how long I was wrong, thinking that. couldn't have just been the snap of disconnection fourteen months ago. had to be more than that, the way he phrased the final letter--but how long was he not there for me? how long did I mistake social politeness and a desire to disengage for friendship? and will I do it again? and am I doing it now? the questions are overwhelming. unfortunate. terrifying. depressing. but I want to know, if it's possible to know. and, yes, I'm tempted to write him back. but...I think that's the one thing I can't do. I can't make this about me. which is sad, because if I wrote, I'd want to know more about him, more about the changes he's gone through, that made him turn his back on me. ultimately, it comes down to this, too--I'm only in touch with one remaining high school friend now. everyone else moved on, moved away, lost track and lost direction. now there's only one left, and...what do I tell her? is she in contact with him? should I say anything? obsession. analyzing. reducing to structure. it won't make any more sense as bare bones than it does now, though. and that's going to haunt me for life. |
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help solve the puzzle | |||||
![[mood icon]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v11/nematoddity/moodthemes/bwinter/exanimate.jpg)
exanimate| who knows exactly what I'm after? | ||||||
| Aug. 6th, 2005 | 05:35 am | ||||||
Yeah, well. pulling away he found it so easy so easy to discard me should a human be so easy to discard? maybe this is how wars start, when one soul turns their back on another, saying we have nothing in common and we cannot come to terms and we will never be together again shouldn't there always be hurt feelings? shouldn't there always be pain when one side of the pairing is pulling away? maybe I'm too involved to see clearly, but my soul keeps screaming, do not cut me off completely let me explain, let me apologize, let me reconstruct my life so that you like me better--and at the same time, I want to plunge deeper into the shadows he so disliked in me deeper into pain and anger drive huge wedges of controversy and disdain around me so that no other soul can get near enough to touch--but I don't think either reaction solves the problem the problem is he found me so easy to throw away he was my happy thought for years, my small golden glow deep in the dark center of me--and now he doesn't want to be that anymore and I don't know what I mean yet without him the heart of my heart has left me. --6 august 2005 |
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help solve the puzzle | |||||
![[mood icon]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v11/nematoddity/moodthemes/bwinter/crushed.jpg)
crushed| in the still of the...crap, I'm up late | ||||||
| Aug. 4th, 2005 | 02:13 am | ||||||
screaming headache, check. shoulders knotted up with tension, check. depression and sense of futility, check. legs hurt, joints hurt, hands hurt, eyes are blurring. check. no idea if there even are any funds to shop with on my state card because I haven't checked, check. yep. ready to go to the doctor's tomorrow. the appointment which I didn't even remember having. shitdamnfuckwtfdidithavetobetomorrowDAMN check. gah. |
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help solve the puzzle | |||||
![[mood icon]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v11/nematoddity/moodthemes/bwinter/disappointed.jpg)
disappointed| empty and I want to | ||||||
| Aug. 2nd, 2005 | 04:17 pm | ||||||
and the bad stuph happened while they were here. I got worse. I got so much worse. freaking out over carpenter ants, red ants, creeping into the house and stumbling after the crumbs from food left behind in their area. I got worse. I stopped watching Monk entirely because even watching the show would set off OCD attacks. I stopped writing. eight months, and I stopped writing. I may have killed the novel because of it because I don't know how to restart it again and they're gone and I'm alone and the house is so empty and... gods. and it's ridiculous. we wanted them gone. but I'm adaptable, aren't I? I get into set patterns, and things change, and I panic and I scramble, and I find a new place for the set pattern, and then things change again. feels like I'm always scrambling to find the way to set things right. it's so exhausting. and now they're gone and the house is empty and I don't know what to do with myself. I do not know what to do. I keep looking over at where their computer used to be. I keep expected Jeff-the-idiot to be slumped in a chair somewhere, snoring. or down here watching tv that I don't want on. the tv's not on. and it's like the silence is the most deafening sound I've ever heard. they're gone. we wanted them gone. but now the house is empty and I'm lost in it. I'm all alone again during the days, no one else here, and it's not like I wanted anyone else here but I... *sighs* I'll cope. I'll get used to it. I'm just not used to it now and it's driving me crazy. top everything else off, I'm sick, and I have zero energy, and all I want to do is sleep, and it feels like I'm hiding, not resting, so I force myself to be active, and all I want to do is go lay down and be in bed again, and it feels like hiding. I don't want to hide from my own empty house. it's ridiculous. y'know, there are days I wish I wasn't so fucked up. would be nice... |
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help solve the puzzle | |||||
![[mood icon]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v11/nematoddity/moodthemes/bwinter/aggravated.jpg)
aggravated| child, oh innocent child | ||||||
| Jul. 19th, 2005 | 04:10 am | ||||||
that's nearly too gothic to type out, but...I can't think through another way to phrase it, currently. and I'll let you in on something even my girl doesn't know--the OCD is escalating again. so far it's controllable, but...man, this sounds stupid...every time I go to the bathroom, and I mean literally to the room, whether it's for the intended use, or to pour a glass of water or wash my hands or face or...or whatever...I have to say or think something that stars with "p". and it's never simple, like "pi" or "pert" or "port", either. no, I have to say or think arcane words, like...I don't know how many times this past week I've thought perpendicular or peristalsis or propinquity. insane. absolutely insane. made-up words seem to do the trick just fine, too, as long as they're involved. periandra works, and so does perillium and persuentanis. doesn't seem to matter, as long as I say or think one of the words. and when I don't, when I resist saying the whatever-word-it-is at the moment, I just twitch. I've literally burst out into a cold sweat. man, bring back the obsessive thoughts already about horrible things I'll never do to children, or something. jesus. because this is just making me seem nuts, even to myself. well. yeah. but I mean, really nuts in scary nonfunctional ways. :) ( marjory dreams of horses. ) |
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help solve the puzzle | |||||
![[mood icon]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v11/nematoddity/moodthemes/bwinter/contemplative.jpg)
contemplative| okay, okay, okay... | ||||||
| Jul. 3rd, 2005 | 11:18 am | ||||||
So, I won't be running off into the distance. Even though it's really going to come down to just me sitting here, talking occasionally to ![[info]](http://piktures.deadjournal.com/userinfo.gif){kind=small} sphynxcatvp and deus_ex_machina. But hey. I guess that works.In other words, hi. Not dead yet. |
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3 puzzle pieces - help solve the puzzle | |||||
| and so it goes | ||||||
| Apr. 21st, 2005 | 09:59 pm | ||||||
so...with resignation and angst...I'm announcing I'm leaving too. Over the next few weeks, I'll be moving any entries I want to keep over to my secondary LJ account, mistress_emilly. so look for me there, I suppose, if you still want to keep track of me. *pout* |
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3 puzzle pieces - help solve the puzzle | |||||
| keep me in your heart for a while | ||||||
| Mar. 8th, 2005 | 05:43 pm | ||||||
Okay. We're contemplating moving. If I haven't mentioned it, BOY are we contemplating moving, and the shit that's been happening over the last few entries are EXACTLY why. I'm going in for surgery on the 18th for removal of a two inch gallstone and the gallbladder. My surgery is scheduled for the day after the Feast of Padraig, which for everyone else in America is Saint Patrick's Day, how's that for irony? So it'll be getting up in the fuck-is-it-early hours, standing outside for the bus, then going to the hospital to be checked in, knocked out, and I'll wake up without bits of me. Should be one night of recovery in hospital and then five days of taking it VERY easy at home, and, according to everything the sites say online, I should be out of harm's way. Eh-heh. No, really. This is, if it's actually a laparascopy, it'll be three, maybe four incisions, annoying, but pretty easy to heal--the only problem, she says, is if there's a lot of internal scarring. The only problem is that I have keloids, so papercuts scar on me. Eh-heh. And then there's the Topamax issue. Topamax? Been one of the wilder rides of my existence. I'm taking Topamax because it's the only non-heart-impacting migraine medication on the market right now, but the problem is, it wasn't designed to combat migraines. It was designed to combat very severe temporal lobe disorders, like very extreme bipolar disorders, or very severe epilepsy, neither of which I have. So the side effects, for me, have been extreme, and bizarre. Things like, I can't eat anything with sugar--it tastes like I'm eating beef fat or saccharine. Or, f'rinstance, I've gone vegetarian, because meat is suddenly repellent to me. Yeah. Involuntary vegetarianism, and all sugar has dropped out of my diet. Gee. There could be worse things, I guess. However, I'm worried over the severe skin itching--I'm scratching holes in my skin, I'm not kidding. And I'm suffering a bit of shortness of breath, and that's starting to worry me. Also, my feet are tingling, off and on, for no reason I can figure out. I'm seeing my doctor on Friday, so I'll fill her in on everything. It's all so weird. But if it works, man, if I can adjust to the side effects...because you do not understand how amazing it is to have no daily head pain...Seriously--I had headaches every single day of my life. Since age sixteen. I thought everyone had them. Now? I don't. I still get migraines--which is weird, because this stuph is supposed to prevent them--but fuck it, if it's preventing everything else, let it, man. It's just...can I live through the side effects? Because if they're going to be worse than the good stuph...argh. |
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5 puzzle pieces - help solve the puzzle | |||||
| I live with cavepeople | ||||||
| Mar. 8th, 2005 | 04:53 pm | ||||||
CAVEPEOPLE! I LIVE WITH CAVEPEOPLE!!! CAVEPEOPLE! ( I do. Trust me. ) |
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4 puzzle pieces - help solve the puzzle | |||||
![[mood icon]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v11/nematoddity/moodthemes/bwinter/infuriated.jpg)
infuriated| guess it's time for a change of plans | ||||||
| Feb. 20th, 2005 | 08:11 pm | ||||||
so I was laying down today, because I'm developing a migraine and my neck's seizing up, along with the live coals that are taking up residence underneath my kneecaps and the general body pain. I'm working on a really prime case of depression and, laying down in the dark room, realizing my feet had gone numb again, and that Cat was in too much pain to rub circulation back into my lower legs, I just had this thought. Wait, I thought. Wait until everyone falls asleep. Then go upstairs, grab a sharp knife, and just slash the hell out of an arm or two. Walk out, close the door, and walk slowly out to Jennings. Shouldn't be too much of an effort. Flag down a car, see if they'll take you to the hospital. If you don't make it... ...hey. No worries, then, right? I'm sitting there, thinking this. I'm starting to cry, but the plan's firming up. It's starting to be The plan. The Plan. It'll be good. Few slashes, I know I can do it--done it before--big trick will be not cutting deep enough to bleed to death on the way. Not after suicide, just a few days off. Just to get away. Just enough space for a breather of sorts. Just...out. Out of here. Cat walks in while I'm staring at the wall, thinking about everything. She hobbles over to my side of the bed. Over the piles of laundry I haven't been able to do and the blankets I haven't picked up. She hobbles over with her cane and sit down and I just stroke her back, over and over. "Hey," she says, softly. "I promise, when we move, I'll take a couple days off, and we can both run screaming if we need to. But don't do anything too drastic, okay? I need you here." I love my girl. I do. I love that she hears me, even when I think she doesn't. But now I have to come with a plan B. And plan B won't be as easy. |
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2 puzzle pieces - help solve the puzzle | |||||
![[mood icon]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v11/nematoddity/moodthemes/bwinter/stressed.jpg)
stressed| damn, this shit is getting old... | ||||||
| Feb. 19th, 2005 | 11:49 pm | ||||||
Is this going to stop any time soon? Or am I just going to have to give up and start clubbing people with random bits of furniture? My fucking gods. |
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5 puzzle pieces - help solve the puzzle | |||||
![[mood icon]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v11/nematoddity/moodthemes/bwinter/pissedoff.jpg)
pissed off| we've reached *that point* | ||||||
| Feb. 5th, 2005 | 12:34 am | ||||||
Otherwise? I stay downstairs. I stay downstairs and I don't go upstairs and I don't touch anything and I fucking stay out of her way. And I still get yelled at, for shit I didn't do. So...we've reached That Point. I'm now looking for somewhere else to move. And it's beyond the worst possible time--no savings, no clue where we'd move to, no working vehicle, no credit, and neither Cat nor I work well enough, physically, to shlep everything out to another place. How the hell are we going to do this? Fuck if I know. But I gotta try. I at least have to look, because... The night before last I dreamed that La Roommate stabbed me. Just came downstairs and stabbed me. Then yelled at me for calling an ambulance. Then yelled at me for filing charges against her for assault. Then my cousin yelled at me for trying to get her arrested. Then I got sent back downstairs. To bleed. Last night, I dreamed I was in a beautifully appointed house, with beautiful things, surrounded by those I best love, and we sat and talked of many things, embraced by the spirit of conviviality and companionship. Then we all burned to death. I have to get out of this house. It's killing me. |
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2 puzzle pieces - help solve the puzzle | |||||
| I have to rant the rant | ||||||
| Jan. 21st, 2005 | 04:40 pm | ||||||
So Cat currently has some fairly crippling knee problems. We got a diagnosis yesterday on what it is, btw. Tendonitis in both knees. Specifically, the tendon that wraps the knee, underneath the patella. Her doc was pretty blunt about it yesterday. Told her it was going to be a grindingly difficult year of physical therapy, if not more than a year, that she would get depressed and discouraged and possibly suicidal, that it would get worse before it got better. But if she doesn't give up, he told her, it will get better. So. She has prohibitions now, at work. She can't drive, period. So much for getting the car fixed. She can't stand for any length of time. She has to sit to work, and so far, that's working out with her employer, but it's so iffy right now--they just let someone go who 'wasn't work-relevant' to the company. Whatever the fuck that means. Bringing us to now. Around ten this morning, everyone in the house barring [Mk] troops off...somewhere unknown. [Mk] doesn't go because he's at work. I've been alone most of the day, no big deal, answering emails, dicking around, getting the afternoon mail...when suddenly it's four-thirty and no one's back yet and Cat's calling, asking when she's going to be picked up. Well, really, I have no clue. Because the fuckheads who live here forgot they told her they'd pick her up every day. And, normally Mike's home by now, but...he's conspicuously missing, too. So...she's going to have to take a cab home, is what it's looking like, because our aunt doesn't want to be bothered to drive out here. Now, granted, we do ask her a fair amount to drive us around places since the car died, because we cannot rely on the fuckheads here, but...this is a) somewhat of an emergency situation--which I devoutly hope will not be repeated--and also, b), we do not have the fucking money for a cab. And I mean that in the sense of, we don't have rent money now, with what she got paid this week, and cab fare will take a chunk out of that money. Seriously, check it--normally she pulls in between $580 and $700, depending on overtime hours, every two weeks. On slim weeks, where it's just straight hours, the lowest she's pulled in was $436. This week she got a paycheck for half hours, plus, having no vacation or sick days left, as she thought she had, the four days she took off were unpaid. She got $237 this week. Period. And we didn't even get all of that, because the only bank that will cash those checks--since we don't have an account--charges $5 to do it. Total before going to Rite-Aid and dropping $45 on new medications and refills of the old ones: $232. Rent each month: $450. Yeah. We gotta wait until the 5th of February to pay the rest of rent. Plus we have to pay bills out of that check, which means, we may not have enough for them. And then make up the rest out of the next check on February 20th, which is also the next rent check. Meanwhile, Cat's working all the hours she can, all the hours her work's giving her, with her knees the way they are. FUCK. [Mk] moving in--weird, but adjustable. We work around it, he's a cool guy, there are problems here and there, but for the most part, everything resolves. [M] and [Jf]--inconsiderate fuckheads. I don't know how to get arough the fact that I like them as people, and I hate them as roommates. I just can't parse it properly in my brain. And, considering they are always fucking here, and the TV is on practically 24/7 when they're awake, I am getting ZERO writing done. Cannot cope at the moment. Can't kick 'em out, can't cope with them, can't bludgeon them to death with shovels. It's a puzzlement. |
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3 puzzle pieces - help solve the puzzle | |||||
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Kelandris the Mad |
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