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Terror of wish fulfillment and fear of self sabotage..

I have a date for double knee replacement.

This is exactly what I wanted.. what I’ve needed for over 10 years now and have been actively striving and hoping for since a particularly terrible Christmas vacation in VA, Christmas 2014, just before I got my wheelchair, and I was moving so poorly that I only left the hotel room twice.. the whole trip.. and as I lay in the the uncomfortable bed I swore that no matter how scary it got I had to do something to make things different..

But I’m complicated.. so hearing all the risks that go along with the operation, some of the scariest being that I’ll need a blood transfusion after, that he’ll need to shorten my legs to compensate for the contractures because if he doesn’t the nerves won’t be long enough and my legs will get gangrenous and maybe even need to be amputated, that I will need to be rigorous with extremely painful stretching and PT or I could end up right back where I started 6 months post op as the contractures are going to want to reassert themselves immediately postop.. etc.. scary af.. but what’s the alternative?

Choosing at just turned 40 years old that I want to stay trapped and increasingly dependent on an at turns indifferent or disdainfully angry spouse?  After my fall in the spring I spent about 45 days inpatient rehab, and Husband often sneers at me about how much I loved it there because I was “waited on hand and foot”.

Is it so wrong to want 3 meals a day? Help with showers? Assurance that I would have my meds on time every day, and never have to wait because Husband didn’t see pain relief or whatever other med as important as I felt it? Added bonus, I did PT 5 days a week there, did therapy for my psych stuff weekly, could have visitors with no need to race around cleaning up or making excuses cause I was too exhausted, round the clock nurses meant that I couldn’t take too much or little of any med and that was an indescribable relief as that is always a struggle for me in times of stress..

I am scared.. but now Husband.. after stressing how important this is for me and for us is all fixating on the risks and not even willing to have the smallest crumb of faith that this might change our lives for the better..

Part of me wonders if he’s acting like this because he’s afraid of me being healthier, more mobile, less dependent on him.. anytime weight loss, fixing my teeth and now my knees actually seems like it might happen he always gets all, “what about this scary thing or that possible complication?” “What about if you screw it up by falling into your old ways?”

Always playing on my worst fears.. always pointing out the things I hate most about myself..

Also feeling like a crappy mom today cause I woke up anxious and headache-y which really makes me want to be by myself, and for some reason Son was clingier today.. I love my kids.. one of the only times anymore I feel like I have a purpose is being a mom so when doing mom stuff feels like something I wanna get away from it kinda makes me hate myself a little..

All of these unknowns, pain and complicated emotion make me reach for something, anything to numb.. to feel other.. and I’m fresh  out of stuff like that..

I’ll end with a couple of songs..

For my kids.. full grown Daughter and growing all too fast Son..

 

and to Husband..and myself..

 

new start to the 90 in 90 count… thanks for reading my bubbled corruptions.. for being down with my sickness.. ❤

 

 

Sick of it, sick of it, absolutely sick of it..

This post comes with a bit of a soundtrack.. I’ve been trying to get a grip.. to get enough of a hold on my thoughts so I can make words appear in a post so I can get some of this burden out of my head.. to try to bubble some of my own corruption.. (that’s a Steven Universe reference).. Son is into them and now I’ve recently gotten a little obsessed with them as well.

Anyway, I’ve wanted to start a 90 in 90 again, which is my own version of therapy, 90 posts in 90 days.. I did it before and it was quite therapeutic, but even though I know writing helps and I have a ton I could be writing about it’s been difficult to make myself start moving and stay moving.. but back to the music I started talking about.

First is a song I always liked that’s kind of background to this clip I’ve always loved in Skins. It’s part of the love story between Chris and Jal and though I searched for the song by itself I couldn’t find it. You don’t really need to know anything about the story to hear the song that’s been running in the back of my head as crap in my own life just keeps piling up and getting heavier though I’d totally recommend the series if you’re into watching characters with lives so effed up you feel better about your own garbage life

I’m really struggling. Sometimes it feels like drowning or being trapped under something heavy. My  marriage, my finances, my health  (the order of these issues’ importance varies given the day) my constant desire due to all of these things to do something, or take something, ANYTHING, just to feel something other than what I feel.. it’s overwhelming.

Husband and I are in an ugly place with each other. It’s that point where we’re both kind of looking at each other wondering what we ever saw in the other one.. he’s putting up walls and every communication from him to me is some sort of criticism of my everyday actions… I respond to said walls by becoming needier and whinier and also inadvertently doing more of whatever is pissing him off  even as I try not to.

 

 

 

 

You get it.. Basically, we’re both crazy and we’ve been together long enough that it feels like we’ve run out of new ways to handle old problems.

So I’m hurting.  And I hate being at odds with him because I could really use some support right now. On Tuesday, I’ll be going in to Boston to consult about the double knee replacement that I need to get me up out of this wheelchair. My anxiety on this topic is tremendous and I can’t talk to him about it when he’s being SUCH a douchebag all the time!

That’s all for now.. I had planned to delve into more if what’s in my head but I never really know how things are going to go when I actually start posting.. I wanted to say when I go to put pen to paper, but writing hardly ever involves pens and paper anymore.. somehow saying putting fingers to keyboard doesn’t sound the same..

So I don’t leave on too negative a note, here’s a song for anyone whose in their own crappy space right now or for any of the sad or angry or self loathing feelings any of the other songs may have brought up..

 

More later.. I plan to try and manage a productive family day out in about 3 hours on no sleep.. if that’s not fodder for the keyboard nothing is.. 😀 … thanks for reading!

 

 

It’s been way too long…

When I got out of the nursing home in April I applied at this program called SHARE for a laptop. I was told laptop would have the latest version of Dragon, and I will sure once I had it I would have no problem blogging every day.

But I finally have laptop, all I seem to be doing, is getting obsessed with more Facebook games. I miserable right now… I’m in the midst of a flare my feet and legs are so horribly swollen… I really should be on bed rest to avoid cellulitis.

I know that writing is a useful tool for me when my body and mind are a painful prison. Sometimes when you are really low the hardest thing is to look up.

I know when I’m messed up like this, writing is crucial. I think I may need to do a 90 in 90 like I did when I first started. I need to get my head right. I need to go back to the beginning.

 

Uninspired and vegging out..

I’m at the keyboard again completely uninspired. I’m only posting due to my committment. I’m hurting from a long day out and all I want is rest but I can’t get comfortable enough to actually sleep.

I survive nights like this by propping my most tender joints with pillows then binge watching Netflix till I drift off.

Today I’m grateful for WordPress. No matter how crummy or uninspired a post is today, I’m still welcomed back tomorrow.

The blog post that didn’t want to happen..

I’m miserable today. It’s raining outside and and I had a weird night of broken sleep for the second night in a row. My joints hurt and I’m having trouble distracting myself.

Normally I wouldn’t even go near WordPress feeling like this, horribly sore and completely uninspired, but I’ve committed to 30 in 30. 30 blog posts in 30 days whether I feel like it or not. I need to be writing.

Writing is an important part of me and I know that when I am working on goals as huge as wls and then knee replacement after weight loss, I need to be writing. Not everything I write is going to be gold or even a metal of any value but it will be WRITTEN. 😆

Today I am grateful because Husband was happy with his Father’s Day gift. Nothing special just a card I had Son write in and a couple of DVDs but it genuinely made him happy and I’m glad because it’s his day.

Seat of our new old couch

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We had to get rid of our old old couch at the beginning of the summer. It had a busted spring. So we spent the last 8 or 9 weeks with my lift recliner as our only furniture.  Then that broke on one side but we kept it cause it was still somewhat functional but it was too painful for me to sit in. We couldn’t afford to buy something new  and every time I found a hopeful prospect on Freecycle or Craigslist it always fell through.  Then my church emailed us saying that some members were moving from a house to an apartment. Though nothing of theirs worked out for us, that got our need onto the church grapevine.  Then when the church itself wanted to get rid of a sofa, we were the first people they called. It was a real blessing.  They even had a bunch of deacons load it into one of their trucks, drive it to us and help Husband get it into the apt!  Even though we never would have picked this couch ourselves,  it’s free, in great shape, and it’s a sleeper sofa so now we’ve got extra space in case of overnight guests.  I feel like I’ve been given my living room back.  Because of my arthritis, spaces without comfortable seating are not really accessible for me. Which kind of had me confined to my bedroom when I was home. Which was depressing.

The hard stuff..

When Roland saw the lobster-things coming out of the waves again (their coming had nothing to do with tide, then; it was the dark that brought them), he left Eddie Dean to move himself before the creatures could find and eat him.

The pain he had expected and was prepared for. He had lived with pain so long it was almost an old friend. He was appalled, however, by the rapidity with which his fever had increased and his strength decreased. If he had not been dying before, he most assuredly was now. Was there something powerful enough in the prisoner’s world to keep that from happening? Perhaps. But if he didn’t get some of it within the next six or eight hours, he thought it wouldn’t matter. If things went much further, no medicine or magic in that world or any other that would make him well again.

Walking was impossible. He would have to crawl.

He was getting ready to start when his eye fixed upon the twisted band of sticky stuff and the bags of devil-powder. If he left the stuff here, the lobstrosities would almost surely tear the bags open. The sea-breeze would scatter the powder to the four winds. Which is where it belongs, the gunslinger thought grimly, but he couldn’t allow it. When the time came, Eddie Dean would be in a long tub of trouble if he couldn’t produce that powder. It was rarely possible to bluff men of the sort he guessed this Balazar to be. He would want to see what he had paid for, and until he saw it Eddie would have enough guns pointed at him to equip a small army.

The gunslinger pulled the twisted rope of glue-string over to him and slung it over his neck. Then he began to work his way up the beach.

He had crawled twenty yards almost far enough to consider himself safe, he judged when the horrible (yet cosmically funny) funny realization that he was leaving the doorway behind came to him. What in God’s name was he going through this for?

He turned his head and saw the doorway, not down on the beach, but three feet behind him. For a moment Roland could only stare, and realize what he would have known already, if not for the fever and the sound of the Inquisitors, drumming their ceaseless questions at Eddie, Where did you, how did you, why did you, when did you (questions that seemed to merge eerily with the questions of the scrabbling horrors that came crawling and wriggling out of the waves: Dad-a-chock? Dad-a-chum? Did-a-chick?), as mere delirium. Not so.

Now I take it with me everywhere I go, he thought, just as he does. It comes with us everywhere now, following like a curse you can never get rid of.

All of this felt so true as to be unquestionable … and so did one other thing.

If the door between them should close, it would be closed forever.

When that happens, Roland thought grimly, he must be on this side. With me.

What a paragon of virtue you are, gunslinger! the man in black laughed. He seemed to have taken up permanent residence inside Roland’s head. You have killed the boy; that was the sacrifice that enabled you to catch me and, I suppose, to create the door between worlds. Now you intend to draw your three, one by one, and condemn all of them to something you would not have for yourself: a lifetime in an alien world, where they may die as easily as animals in a zoo set free in a wild place.

The Tower, Roland thought wildly. Once I’ve gotten to the Tower and done whatever it is I’m supposed to do there, accomplished whatever fundamental act of restoration or redemption for which I was meant, then perhaps they…

But the shrieking laughter of the man in black, the man who was dead but lived on as the gunslinger’s stained conscience, would not let him go on with the thought.

Neither, however, could the thought of the treachery he contemplated turn him aside from his course.

He managed another ten yards, looked back, and saw that even the largest of the crawling monsters would venture no further than twenty feet above the high-tide line. He had already managed three times that distance.

It’s well, then.

Nothing is well, the man in black replied merrily, and you know it.

Shut up, the gunslinger thought, and for a wonder, the voice actually did.

Roland pushed the bags of devil-dust into the cleft between two rocks and covered them with handfuls of sparse saw-grass. With that done he rested briefly, head thumping like a hot bag of waters, skin alternately hot and cold, then rolled back through the doorway into that other world, that other body, leaving the increasing deadly infection behind for a little while.

6

The second time he returned to himself, he entered a body so deeply asleep that he thought for a moment it had entered a comatose state … a state of such lowered bodily function that in moments he would feel his own consciousness start down a long slide into darkness.

Instead, he forced his body toward wakefulness, punched and pummelled it out of the dark cave into which it had crawled. He made his heart speed up, made his nerves re-accept the pain that sizzled through his skin and woke his flesh to groaning reality.

It was night now. The stars were out. The popkin-things Eddie had bought him were small bits of warmth in the chill.

He didn’t feel like eating them, but eat them he would. First, though …

He looked at the white pills in his hand. Astin, Eddie called it. No, that wasn’t quite right, but Roland couldn’t pronounce the word as the prisoner had said it. Medicine was what it came down to. Medicine from that other world.

If anything from your world is going to do for me, Prisoner, Roland thought grimly, I think it’s more apt to be your potions than your popkins.

Still, he would have to try it. Not the stuff he really needed…or so Eddie believed..but something which might reduce his fever.

Three now, three later. If there is a later.

He put three of the pills in his mouth, then pushed the cover..some strange white stuff that was neither paper nor glass but which seemed a bit like both..off the paper cup which held the drink, and washed them down.

The first swallow amazed him so completely that for a moment he only lay there, propped against a rock, his eyes so wide and still and full of reflected starlight that he would surely have been taken for dead already by anyone who happened to pass by. Then he drank greedily, holding the cup in both hands, the rotted, pulsing hurt in the stumps of his fingers barely noticed in his total absorption with the drink.

Sweet! Gods, such sweetness! Such sweetness! Such..

One of the small flat ice cubes in the drink caught in his throat. He coughed, pounded his chest, and choked it out. Now there was a new pain in his head: the silvery pain that comes with drinking something too cold too fast.

He lay still, feeling his heart pumping like a runaway engine, feeling fresh energy surge into his body so fast he felt as if he might actually explode. Without thinking of what he was doing, he tore another piece from his shirt soon it would be no more than a rag hanging around his neck and laid it across one leg. When the drink was gone he would pour the ice into the rag and make a pack for his wounded hand. But his mind was elsewhere.

Sweet! it cried out again and again, trying to get the sense of it, or to convince itself there was sense in it, much as Eddie had tried to convince himself of the other as an actual being and not some mental convulsion that was only another part of himself trying to trick him. Sweet! Sweet! Sweet!

The dark drink was laced with sugar, even more than Marten who had been a great glutton behind his grave ascetic’s exterior had put in his coffee in mornings and at ‘Downers.

Sugar …white …powder …

The gunslinger’s eyes wandered to the bags, barely visible under the grass he had tossed over them, and wondered briefly if the stuff in this drink and the stuff in the bags might be one and the same. He knew that Eddie had understood him perfectly over here, where they were two separate physical creatures; he suspected that if he had crossed bodily to Eddie’s world (and he understood instinctively it could be done … although if the door should shut while he was there, he would be there forever, as Eddie would be here forever if their positions were reversed), he would have understood the language just as perfectly. He knew from being in Eddie’s mind that the languages of the two worlds were similar to begin with. Similar, but not the same. Here a sandwich was a popkin. There to rustle was finding something to eat. So … was it not possible that the drug Eddie called cocaine was, in the gunslinger’s world, called sugar?

Reconsideration made it seem unlikely. Eddie had bought this drink openly, knowing that he was being watched by people who served the Priests of Customs. Further, Roland sensed he had paid comparatively little for it. Less, even, than for the popkins of meat. No, sugar was not cocaine, but Roland could not understand why anyone would want cocaine or any other illegal drug, for that matter, in a world where such a powerful one as sugar was so plentiful and cheap.

He looked at the meat popkins again, felt the first stirrings of hunger … and realized with amazement and confused thankfulness that he felt better.

The drink? Was that it? The sugar in the drink?

That might be part of it but a small part. Sugar could revive one’s strength for awhile when it was flagging; this was something he had known since he was a child. But sugar could not dull pain or damp the fever-fire in your body when some infection had turned it into a furnace. All the same, that was exactly what had happened to him … was still happening.

The convulsive shuddering had stopped. The sweat was drying on his brow. The fishhooks which had lined his throat seemed to be disappearing. Incredible as it was, it was also an inarguable fact, not just imagination or wishful thinking (in point of fact, the gunslinger had not been capable of such frivolity as the latter in unknown and unknowable decades). His missing fingers and toes still throbbed and roared, but he believed even these pains to be muted.

Roland put his head back, closed his eyes and thanked God.

God and Eddie Dean.

    The Drawing of the Three

By Stephen King

I’m in a difficult mood right now. I am furiously angry but I also want to cry. Part of this, I know, is due to the fact that I am giving up another substance at the moment, and I am finding this extremely difficult. I am giving up soda. This may seem trivial and easily done, for many who are in recovery and for some who aren’t. It isn’t easy for me though. I’ve tried probably hundreds of times. This is the first part of a larger, almost inconceivable plan to give up sugar.

Also, I’m yet again having relationship problems with Husband. He doesn’t understand mt struggle I know, but some days it hurts and infuriates me that he won’t even try to show some concern, empathy something.

And.. Son is exhibiting signs of severe anxiety again, when we were doing so well! We had a great day yesterday but he had two near panic attacks. Once at at the Back to School BBQ when he became convinced the baby chicken he was holding was going to hurt him and then later in the evening, driving home from a friend’s birthday party. It was storming out and he voiced his concern that we would get struck by the lightning we saw. Husband and I tried to reassure him but only seemed to make things worse so that by the time we were home and he had to get out of the car, he was practically in tears and he sprinted for the house in a spreed I have never seen him move,

This seems out of the blue! I thought we had gotten past this point. We were all doing so well together. Now I feel simultaneously unsure of how to help him and 100% sure that Husband’s way of dealing with this is doing more harm than good.

Lastly, I have been preparing a post on my drug addiction. It is much more slow, difficult process than any of my other blog posts were. I know it’s important for me to share but it’s so hard still.