Update: Why I haven't been blogging much, if at all this year, and some review.

This year has been one of change, grief, suffocation, adjustment and recuperation, and pain with little moments of quiet and dots of happiness. A lot has happened and I've wanted to share or blog about many things, even saved the pictures from, but I couldn't and barely managed the few posts I did. I'm going to try and break it down in smaller sections so I'm not all over the place. 

House: We came into the year, thankfully, with a home of our own. Being evicted from our apartment when we hadn't done anything wrong and the way in which it was was done, really messed me up. We were blessed enough to have been approved for a home loan and a couple months of couch surfing later, find our house. Since moving in, we've had little hiccups with the house itself. We had to get a new stove, we have only one bathroom, I've had trouble establishing boundaries, and the summer was especially hard since we were living in the living room. We don't have central air conditioning or a unit for our room yet.  Some friends offered to get us one to help me keep my sanity, but feeling so low I just couldn't take them up on it. It also didn't feel right for them to fix problems we needed to fix on our own. Recently, now that it is much cooler and winter, we have moved back into our bedroom upstairs and have finally gotten the house just about in order. We've begun the downsizing we hadn't been able to do before moving in. 

Family: I've been struggling with forgiving my parents. I think I have forgiven and understand all the reasons why they didn't come to my wedding, but the fact of the matter is, what they did hurt me in such a way I don't know if I will ever truly heal from. Sometimes I am furious, sometimes I can't fathom why what they did hurts so much, or how to even explain it to friends. But how do you explain growing up idolizing your parents and grandparents no matter what? How do you impart that your parents were and still are two of your best friends? Or even that your Grandparents are too? Or that family means more to you than you can explain?

Then of course, my Grandpa died during the summer and I go up and down with that all the time and will for awhile. 

My Aunt Laura, my mom's twin, is- hell I don't know what she is trying to do, but she's taking us all on an up and down ride. 

My cousin Tony found my Mom's lost older sister, Debra. That was exciting and she is so nice and sane. But her husband has cancer and so does she, which is upsetting. 

I did get to reconnect with my cousin Crystal this year, which has been good. My cousin Dashiel is still a shit head.

Friends: My in-person friends have kind of let me down and frustrated me a lot this year. Some have made me feel pretty awful. I'm sure I've done the same. I kind of became even more of a hermit this year, but some of that is health related. In the last few months, I've kind of reached a soft breaking point and had a bit too much. I've had to be much firmer than I would have liked with some friends and told one that the way she was treating me was not okay. And, it has become vividly clear that I simply do not think in the same manner as everyone else. Twice, when things have been so utterly horrible, I've let people know I was drowning in my depression and that I didn't know what to do. 

1. It is extremely difficult for me to put that out there and if I am telling someone that, it is because I'm in so deep I don't know if I am going to be able to climb out on my own. That is a call for help. It is not that I am too proud to ask for help. It is that I've spent years believing that I didn't deserve it and had to fix things on my own. 

2. Telling me you love me and you're there if I need you, tell you what I need, doesn't actually help. It was a struggle for me to tell you how bad its gotten, chances are I can't put into words or even know what I need, other than for someone to keep me talking or come sit with me. And this is where I think I think differently, because if one of my friends told me they were in this position, I wouldn't have to ask them what they needed, I would talk to them or go to them. But, that's just me. 

3. The last thing I need is the brush off or a lecture about everything I am doing wrong or to be told what you think I should be doing, especially when you won't do these things for yourself. 

Body/health: At the end of the day, I find myself sometimes quoting Leto Atreties II from the movie Children of Dune, "my skin is not my own". Of course I'm not about to turn into some giant sand worm that produces the spice the universe runs on, but the feeling of feeling like my body belongs to me or feels like its right, is the same concept. In fact, I feel like mine has betrayed me in major ways. I described to my therapist that it feel like I'm stuck or trapped in something I can't tear off. It feels like I'm under or surrounded by something foreign and if I could get rid of it, things would feel more like me. I know part of that is the weight. Which has been a struggle in and of itself. The rest is depression, fibro, the hysterectomy, and my back. As much as I desperately needed that hysterectomy and was begging to have it done, that was still a big part of me and suddenly I don't quite feel right any more. I don't feel so much like a girl and I actually really wanted kids of my own, even though I knew I couldn't. Having that finalized, IS VERY hard. I feel like I somehow failed even though no one blames me. And I go up and down with that too. And in the last year the fibro and my back have gotten worse, which doesn't help. And my level of energy has dropped dramatically. Some days I truly struggle to get even the simplest things accomplished.   

Therapist: I really like my therapist and I think she is a good fit for me, but she's kind of screwed me over a couple of ways. First was with the insurance. I could have had health insurance this whole year had she told me she was going to stop taking what I had and that I should find another insurance provider. True the company I had seemed to be doing some shady things. So I switched, but in doing so, we had to update some financial information and that made it so instead of free insurance, we had to come up with deductable and copays and pay for insurance every month. Which wouldn't be a big deal except that we don't have that money and were trying to figure out how to pay her bill since I had lost the free insurance. She put me on a sliding fee scale based on Amanda's income, which helped. But we had already been behind and have yet to catch up because she didn't charge me a couple of visits like she was supposed to and we didn't catch it. To make matters worse, she's been fussing at me to get health insurance just about every time I see her. What part of we can't afford it, do you not understand?! And the best part of this is, she's now going to take the insurance I was originally on! I could strangle her.
On the matter of health insurance itself, I am hoping that after a month or two, Amanda and I will be caught up on everything and can wipe some things out. I am hoping then, we can readdress the health insurance issue for the both of us. If not, that's just how it is. We are in the weird middle ground of just enough income to not qualify for free health insurance but not enough to actually afford it. But, no matter what, I know that things will work out some how- or at least enough to keep up on the most important medicines we need. Certainly dropping therapy and getting her paid off would free up more of our income for other medical needs.

The second part, is on the topic of my writing. I know she is a therapist, but I don't think she understands the writing process. She's said some things about it that made me feel like I shouldn't write. That I was spending too much time writing (which, for me is actually kind of limited since I can only sit at my desk for so long before my back starts cramping and seizing up and I have to go do something else for a while). She worried that I was escaping too much instead of being present in the real world. I can go through phases where I am a workaholic and need to see the end of something like a chapter or section of story- but that's not limited to writing, that goes for house cleaning or cooking, or craft stuff. I have used writing as a way to cope with things that are too painful in the 'real world' before. Its how I made through high school and the few years I lived at home before I moved out. I can also get a bit involved and obsessive and I know that not everyone gets it or wants to hear about what is thrilling or exciting to me or wants to be a sounding board. I recognize and understand these things and can usually catch myself in the process of them and back up. But the way in which she's addressed them made me feel so guilty and like there was something wrong with me, that I couldn't actually stay on the momentum I had last year when I rewrote and finished the novel length fanficion I had been working on. So the triumph and self proof that I could do this was so utterly dashed and stamped out that I was afraid to try. And with friends fussing about me being a little over excited or obsessive and talking about me needing to find balance between this and that, I was really scared.

It finally came to head the other night, when after months of agonizing over all this I was finally able to put it into words to Amanda. Thank the Gods she is a writer and actually understands. I am truly blessed to have her, because despite submitting two pieces of writing this year, I hadn't written anything other than fanfic and rps. But after finally being able to get all of that out and talking to her about it, I actually feel like it is okay to be this part of me again. And I don't know when or where or why there's this part of me that needs permission to do things sometimes, if it is part of my trying to please people or be considerate of what other people feel and think, what they want- or really when I started being so accommodating, or if its part of a lack of self esteem, guilt for paying more attention to what makes me happy instead of what makes other people happy, or even a combination of all of the above. All I do know is that I have enough trouble fighting with fibro fog, fibro pain, exhaustion, and back pain, and lack of confidence, that I don't need anything else piled on. Further if my therapist and my friends can't accept or put up with my excitement and joy and be supportive, then maybe its not me, it's them who are in the wrong and maybe they don't get the privilege of taking that ride with me or celebrating any accomplishments with me along the way. Thanks for making me feel less than or crazier than I already do.

Finally: I really have been just exhausted. I've been too tired to keep up with much of anything and have had to tell Amanda that the rate of comapny- the one that come all the time- needs to slow the hell down because I never get a weekend along with her when she is off work, and I almost never see the people who don't constantly ask or just show up with little or no notice. Her parents are taxing and with all my stuff going on on top it, I'm crankier, have less patience, and just can't. Which of course affects her in that she wants to go out and do things but I don't have the energy. In fact if I even settle down on the sofa 9 times out of 10, I fall asleep within five minutes of sitting down and faster if I have to the heating pad for my back. I feel as though I am running on borrowed fumes most of the time. It both frustrates me and makes me cry. I'm only 34. If  things are this bad now, whats it going to be like when I'm 40 or 50?

So there you have it. Some of it is broken record but I've said it many times, this is my venting ground. People don't just get over things and move on. It takes time to process things properly and when dealing with grief or loss, it can take even longer- especially if you stuff shit.      

  

Of explosions, icky tummies, and trying not to fuck it up.

Well this alchemist has apparently hopped on the struggle bus and can't seem to drive it up and over the hill so she can coast down the falling action and resolution of her story. I'm in the final stretch. The main bad guy (who has been there in spirit and now in the flesh) has left his "Doll face" a nice surprise in her house and has come down her stairs. There was fire and then an explosion. But I claw for every single word. But I'll come back to that in a few moments. 

We never got to any of the writer's panels this weekend. Yesterday E. was really sick from Jet Lag. Today we went to Amanda's parent's house early to do all the laundry that we were backed up on. We have a small washer and dryer. They have a full sized one. Anyway, I ended up falling asleep to something Francis was watching, the British Wallander. I awoke to Midsomer Murders. I haven't seen much of the former and what I have seen was mostly the Swedish version. Of the latter, I really enjoy Midsomer Murders. It is something that we can watch with Amanda's parents that we can all agree on. I actually enjoy watching the British shows with Francis. Speaking of Francis, he was giving me shit today. I reminded him that I know where he sleeps.

Our friends Rachel and her boyfriend came over for dinner and we played a couple of games afterward. It fun and really nice. However, Amanda's been sick tonight. I'm really starting to worry about her. She'd thrown up in the middle of the night several times. I want to know if it really is heart burn or something else. I, on the other hand, have had issues of another icky tummy nature tonight. Not sure what that is about, unless I'm having trouble with milk. I had some today. Or maybe it was the deli food we had for lunch, either way, my stomach hasn't been happy with me. 

Back to the story struggles. Last night before another painful night in bed, I made myself a note:

"GET THE BONES OUT THEN THE MUSCLES< NERVES AND FLESH LATER"

That's so much easier said than done. But really, this draft is the bones. My editing process later will be the muscles and nerves because I will be editing and a friend will be reading it and I'll ask her for suggestions. Then another run through will be the flesh. But I suppose I'm afraid I'm going to fuck up the bones hence why I am struggling. I also don't want to screw up the bad guy. It is a fanfiction so it's not that important, but it still means something to me, so in a way, it matters. Still, I am excited and ready for this story to end. I'm not complaining or bitching, just kind of venting. I'm also writing a blog because some times if I write something else for a few minutes and then return to what I was working on- that's giving me trouble- I can pick it back up again and make some progress. 

October isn't just Orange, Black, Green, and Purple, it's Pink too, time to talk boobies.

While October is filled of spooky haunts and delights, it is also a time of remembrance and honoring of our ancestors. Not only that it is Breast Cancer Awareness month, a topic that is both necessary and a more than a little frightening, but most of all a deeply personal one for me. I'm not usually one to jump on "cause bandwagons" emphatically, but this one I will.  This entry is about me, it's about my Great Aunt, and its about all the women I connect with in day to day life, yeah, that means you too. Hell, its even about the men.

Me, Mom, and Aunt Joan

Taken back in 2002 at my high school graduation, my Great Aunt Joan (pronounced Jo Ann), the lovely lady on the right holding the paper, was hiding a terrible secret from the family. She looks so happy and she played the 'perfectly fine and normal' card our family seems ingrained to play, so well. Damn us Irelands and Richardsons we sure do hate to bother anyone or make anyone worry. I don't know exactly when she learned she had breast cancer, but it was before this. 

Aunt Joan kept this secret until the cancer spread so deeply throughout her body, that her arm snapped while she was trying to open a jar of jam. She didn't even tell her sister, my Grandma Evelyn until that day. The apparent excuse was that she was scared, well no kidding!

As you can imagine it was pretty shocking, difficult, and hard news for our family and for me. I was 18 years old, it was summer, and I was soon to be going off to college an hour away from home. I was never one to believe that people were immortal or invincible, but if there was ever anyone who could do anything, it was Aunt Joan. She was amazing, talented, and a freaking genius. My Dad once called her a Renaissance woman. She'd worked in the Forest service in Estes Park, Colorado. She'd traveled, she'd moved home to help take care of Great Grandma Ireland. She was a teacher of college math and even taught herself calculus just from reading a text book. She was the only person to explain mathematical ratios to me in a way I could understand. She knew so much and was so fun to be around. More than that, she I don't remember her ever losing her patience with me as a kid even though I was wild and had ADHD. She was the only Aunt I ever had a positive, healthy, and good relationship with. I wanted to be just like her and still do in a lot of ways. 

She kept teaching at Butler County Community College for a little while, until she couldn't. I got to come home and visit her a couple of times. The last time I saw her, it was devastating. Aunt Joan was so frail, so thin, and she was struggling to breathe. I wanted to talk to her but she was sleeping and one of her friends who was staying with her at the hospital promised to tell her that I had come to see her.  Two days later, my Dad called me at school and told me she'd passed away. I did not handle this well, in fact. 

We had her funeral, she was cremated. She has a headstone out in Toronto, Kansas next to Great Grandparents. Her ashes were later taken to Christi Meadows, Colorado where she had spread the ashes of her beloved dog, Rose, several years before. 

  

Since her loss, I have had developed a horrible, hateful relationship with my breasts. I decided that there was no reason to get attached to something that would just betray me. I didn't want to feel anything for them and so I never really allowed romantic partner to touch them. I didn't even like touching them. I thought, why get attached when they are just going to rot and try to kill you? In fact, I decided that if there was ever any hint of cancer found, I would just have them removed asap. 

Amanda likes my double d's and likes to touch them, its something I have had to get used to, to learn to like. But even now, I find myself scared to let myself enjoy them, to like them, to want to flaunt them, or to even care about them. 

But this isn't good either. Its hard to get over or passed something like this. It is hard to deal with the fall out, the emotional upheaval and so on. It is hard to lose someone and be afraid for your Grandmas, your Mom, your Aunts, your cousins, and other member of your family and even your friends. 

We walk along every day thinking that everything will go as usual, that nothing bad is going to happen, that we won't get sick, or we hope we won't get sick. No one wants to think about Cancer and all its painful ugliness. No one wants to think that they might become its prey or that that someone they love might. We try to ignore it. Well, we need to stop. We need to touch and check our boobies and get our mammograms. sure getting the mammies smashed isn't pleasant, but if you can catch it early, it certainly beast dying too soon. It beats leaving someone in your family utterly devastated. 

So tell your friends and family, and yes, guys too because they can get it. Most importantly tell yourself. I'm asking you to do this because I don't want to see anyone else waste away and die from this. 

For more information and guide check the National Breast Cancer site.