To tell the truth
So I'm tense right? Here's the rundown on what has actually happened. Just March I'll skip the rest of the bullshit.
So in March the management company of my apartment building decides I owe them 1500 dollars and we should be evicted. I go to court once, get it continued. Then that same week I took Mike back to the emergency room...
He was diagnosed with epididymitis. So his right testicle (he has huge balls anyway) was blown up to about the size of a large grapefruit and he got pain meds and antibiotics. It seemed like he was getting better and then the swelling started to increase again. After doing quite a bit of research I found out that can happen and we weren't worried.
Now for the gross.
Then the skin started to split and ooze pus. Mmm yeah.
Then it wasn't oozing it was fucking pouring.
It smelled terrible and he bled and it was very very scary but after he made it into the tub and what seemed like more than a cup of material oozed out he felt better. In fact he looked more human and the swelling went down.
It continued to ooze then like an abcess something came out of it and it oozed more and he was in pain. Pain enough to make him cry and talk about his mother (she passed away from complications of Lupus and um fuck...aplastic anemia. She had a bone marrow transplant as the last resort and her heart stopped.) He cried and cried and told me how he felt so weak because his sweet little Mama had suffered for more than fifteen years and here he was only days and couldn't think let alone function.
So took him back to the ER and the short story is he lost his right testicle in emergency surgery this past Monday night. He's still in the hospital.
Tuesday morning bright and early I was back in court and instead of evicting me they've decided to let me move out by the 30th.
So.
With all this going on I've resorted to the super functional I will get through everything regardless of how fucked up I'm feeling me.
Not great.
Since I'm being honest I haven't been eating. Not much anyhow. Most of what I eat either constipates me until I want to eviscerate myself or makes me shit until I want to disembowel myself or shove a cork up my ass.
And well lets see.
Might as well let it all out no?
So I am about 80% sure I have fibromyalgia. A close friend of mine has it and prior to meeting him I'd never heard about it so I did quite a bit of research and fuck me if I'm not spot on for symptoms and progression. Even he has said (gently at first and these days pretty rudely) that I need to go to a fucking rhuemetologist (I fucked the spelling on that word) yesterday.
I know that but I can't.
I can't afford it and I can't be fucking around with medications and shit at least until Mike is semi up and around.
I'm really starting to hate every fucking God I used to believe in. People are always saying shit like 'this too shall pass', 'what doesn't kill you blablalbla'.
I appreciate the sentiment I do but, when it's been your whole motherfucking life what then? I am not goddamn Mother Theresa, I'm not some ascetic monk, I'm just one quickly weakening human. I really don't know how much more I can take before I fucking just lay down and don't get back up.
I'm not suicidal. But I'm not very excited about living either.
All I have ever wanted was a life that wasn't a constant fight and struggle. I want to be able to come home, write for awhile, and go to sleep while getting my butt rubbed. That's it. It doesn't have to be easy. I wouldn't dare ask for that. All I want is just maybe a few months of peace. A few months of nothing fucking up or going wrong or just being all the way around shit.
I have most of what I need to live peacefully and happily.
I am loved. I have friends who have put up with and supported me through hell. But the hell just keeps going.
Wow.
Journalling hasn't been this cathartic in a really long time. Not since I had that first blackrose journal on diary x. I'm a little sad I purged it in such a fit of pique. But if anybody really wants to read those I suppose I'd email some.
I think I'm done for now. I feel a little better. I might actually write about being multiple and all the how's why's and what's I can answer for bud. But right now I'm tired of being front. I'm tired of feeling like I want to cry even though I can't.
Ok I'm not done. The crying thing bears explaining.
I can't cry anymore. I've tried. At best I manage a little weeping, a little thick throatedness then nothing. I suck it up and keep moving. It's automatic now. Again I should say. I've been this way before and it doesn't particularly bode well.
Hmmm. I was just thinking I'm going to put my 'anonymous' entries I've had over the months in here. Might as well. I was already 'outed' so to speak by someone who reads my main journal on dx. So yeah. Goodnight moon I'm going inside to the beach to sit and watch the storm roll in.
So in March the management company of my apartment building decides I owe them 1500 dollars and we should be evicted. I go to court once, get it continued. Then that same week I took Mike back to the emergency room...
He was diagnosed with epididymitis. So his right testicle (he has huge balls anyway) was blown up to about the size of a large grapefruit and he got pain meds and antibiotics. It seemed like he was getting better and then the swelling started to increase again. After doing quite a bit of research I found out that can happen and we weren't worried.
Now for the gross.
Then the skin started to split and ooze pus. Mmm yeah.
Then it wasn't oozing it was fucking pouring.
It smelled terrible and he bled and it was very very scary but after he made it into the tub and what seemed like more than a cup of material oozed out he felt better. In fact he looked more human and the swelling went down.
It continued to ooze then like an abcess something came out of it and it oozed more and he was in pain. Pain enough to make him cry and talk about his mother (she passed away from complications of Lupus and um fuck...aplastic anemia. She had a bone marrow transplant as the last resort and her heart stopped.) He cried and cried and told me how he felt so weak because his sweet little Mama had suffered for more than fifteen years and here he was only days and couldn't think let alone function.
So took him back to the ER and the short story is he lost his right testicle in emergency surgery this past Monday night. He's still in the hospital.
Tuesday morning bright and early I was back in court and instead of evicting me they've decided to let me move out by the 30th.
So.
With all this going on I've resorted to the super functional I will get through everything regardless of how fucked up I'm feeling me.
Not great.
Since I'm being honest I haven't been eating. Not much anyhow. Most of what I eat either constipates me until I want to eviscerate myself or makes me shit until I want to disembowel myself or shove a cork up my ass.
And well lets see.
Might as well let it all out no?
So I am about 80% sure I have fibromyalgia. A close friend of mine has it and prior to meeting him I'd never heard about it so I did quite a bit of research and fuck me if I'm not spot on for symptoms and progression. Even he has said (gently at first and these days pretty rudely) that I need to go to a fucking rhuemetologist (I fucked the spelling on that word) yesterday.
I know that but I can't.
I can't afford it and I can't be fucking around with medications and shit at least until Mike is semi up and around.
I'm really starting to hate every fucking God I used to believe in. People are always saying shit like 'this too shall pass', 'what doesn't kill you blablalbla'.
I appreciate the sentiment I do but, when it's been your whole motherfucking life what then? I am not goddamn Mother Theresa, I'm not some ascetic monk, I'm just one quickly weakening human. I really don't know how much more I can take before I fucking just lay down and don't get back up.
I'm not suicidal. But I'm not very excited about living either.
All I have ever wanted was a life that wasn't a constant fight and struggle. I want to be able to come home, write for awhile, and go to sleep while getting my butt rubbed. That's it. It doesn't have to be easy. I wouldn't dare ask for that. All I want is just maybe a few months of peace. A few months of nothing fucking up or going wrong or just being all the way around shit.
I have most of what I need to live peacefully and happily.
I am loved. I have friends who have put up with and supported me through hell. But the hell just keeps going.
Wow.
Journalling hasn't been this cathartic in a really long time. Not since I had that first blackrose journal on diary x. I'm a little sad I purged it in such a fit of pique. But if anybody really wants to read those I suppose I'd email some.
I think I'm done for now. I feel a little better. I might actually write about being multiple and all the how's why's and what's I can answer for bud. But right now I'm tired of being front. I'm tired of feeling like I want to cry even though I can't.
Ok I'm not done. The crying thing bears explaining.
I can't cry anymore. I've tried. At best I manage a little weeping, a little thick throatedness then nothing. I suck it up and keep moving. It's automatic now. Again I should say. I've been this way before and it doesn't particularly bode well.
Hmmm. I was just thinking I'm going to put my 'anonymous' entries I've had over the months in here. Might as well. I was already 'outed' so to speak by someone who reads my main journal on dx. So yeah. Goodnight moon I'm going inside to the beach to sit and watch the storm roll in.