janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)
posted by [personal profile] janersm at 05:48am on 04/10/2012 under , ,

I have no appointment today. My mom does, but, for the first time this week, I don’t. I would normally say that a lack of an appointment is worthy of a happy dance, but I’m a bit worried about my mom’s appointment.

She has to have an ankle CT this afternoon to find out what the surgical approach will be to fix her left ankle. She’s got a dislocation, fracture/re-fracture, and bent hardware from a fall that she had at Nana’s house. It’s the first ankle that she had surgery on–the ankle that has already had two surgeries. And since she’s in constant pain since the fall, the orthopedist has already told her she will end up having surgery again. He had said, at first, that she might not have surgery again, but she explained that she’s in constant pain with it and he said that the fixes would, at least, be able to stop that–even if they make her ankle less flexible.

So, I shall worry about my poppet.

Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.

janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)
posted by [personal profile] janersm at 01:41pm on 04/04/2012 under , , ,

I’m supposed to get my laptop fixed on Friday. For once in my life, I guess I’m going to have to treat Good Friday as if it actually is good. I hope that the technician is able to fix it, but I’m not going to assume that it will be that easy. Experience has taught me not to expect things to happen as quickly or easily as one would hope. That is especially true of repairs.

In the meantime, my dad is being nice about letting me have time on his computer. I guess he’s become accustomed to my laptop deciding to take a sabbatical. I guess that that makes sense.

My mom is being extremely difficult lately. I know that that has become the norm lately, but it seems like she is getting worse. And it seems like it is about the weirdest things.

When my dad and I came home from the emergency room on Wednesday, she decided that because I wasn’t admitted to the hospital, told what was wrong with my digestive system, and wasn’t dead that I was feeling well enough to be bossed around. She felt that it was appropriate to start having me get her things within five minutes of coming in. If she hadn’t just heard that I was anemic and that my blood pressure was low, then I could probably give her a break on that, but she’d heard both things and she just didn’t care. Actually, she seemed a bit pissed that I went to the hospital instead of her.

When my parents went to the grocery store last week, I had put chips and chocolate (in that order) on my list, which is normal. My dad understood that because the two things were on separate lines, I wanted chocolate and chips. My mother, on the other hand, decided that I wanted chocolate chips. When they got home and I asked why they had gotten 2 bags of chocolate chips, she told me that chocolate chips had been on my list. I knew that wasn’t possible. (I had written the list out twice because I felt the first time I was a bit too rude about what I didn’t want [i.e. food I can't eat] them to get for me.) My dad still had the list, so I got it from him and I showed it to my mom. I asked her where on the list had I asked for chocolate chips. She realized that she’d made a mistake. Of course, she had already taken the “fun” step of accusing me of trying to make her look bad. That wasn’t the case. She told me that I was lying and that I was definitely trying to make her look incompetent.  She says that anytime anyone calls her on being wrong.  She thinks that it is my mission in life (and my dad’s mission in life) to make her miserable and make her seem like she doesn’t have a clue about what is going on.  I guess she thinks we enjoy giving her a hard time.

The next day, she asked if she was going to be getting my bank statements and bills and access to my accounts, so that she could get my finances “all straightened out”. She had decided that she was going to do this about a week before, after she’d told my dad that I had overdrawn my bank account again. (I hadn’t.) She’d come home from the grocery store that week to tell me that I was being irresponsible with the money in the account and that it was all due to being bipolar. She felt that, though she has a tendency to spend money as easy as (or easier than) me, she was the person who should be in charge of the accounts. At first, I had agreed, but that was only after she’d basically forced me to the brink of tears. By last Friday, though, I’d decided that I didn’t like that idea and I didn’t like how the “agreement” had been reached. When I told her, she said, “Your father told me that you would never let me do that.” I replied, “Well, I guess he knows me better than you do.” That pissed her off. She said, “I don’t know how.” I told her that dad and I had gotten a bit closer lately. She pointed out all the things that she had done for me in my life, and that my dad was always too busy for me. Basically, she was trying to use my insecurities with my dad against me. When she realized that that wasn’t going to work, she told me that she expected them to get the $200 per month that I owed them, even if I couldn’t pay any other bill or became overdrawn. And she seemed to think that I would definitely become overdrawn without her.

I realized about then that my mom has definitely been using me a lot more than I thought she did. I don’t know if she intentionally does it or if it’s just a “happy consequence” of the stuff I went through as a kid. I guess I’ve become so dependent on her for love and approval that I’ve given away my sense of personhood. The reason that I feel unappreciated and like a slave in my own house is probably that on some level, she doesn’t appreciate me and she does think of me more as a slave than as a daughter. And that’s depressing. I practically worshipped her for the majority of my life, and I feel like she never really valued me. Maybe I’ve let people step all over me my whole life because I just don’t feel like I deserve a real say in things.

Oh, I’m considering moving the posts from Hyperaware and Blah Blah Biddy Blah onto this domain. I’ve got a poll on the Facebook page for fuzzypinkslippers.com. If you could vote on it, I would appreciate it. I think it would be easier on and cheaper for me to combine them, but I want to know what other people think. Feel free to comment there or here about what you think about the possible combination.

Now, I’m about to talk about some stuff that might be gross for some folks, so don’t look if you’re squeamish.

Read the rest of this entry » )

Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.

janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)
posted by [personal profile] janersm at 01:20pm on 28/02/2012 under , ,

As a child, I had two sets of parents–the biological ones who provided me with food, shelter, and care and the musical ones who taught me the joy of music and dance.  As of February 11, the biological parents are the only parents I have left.  And though they are the only ones that I have ever personally known, I still feel a great loss after the deaths of my musical parents.

Whitney Houston was my musical mother and Michael Jackson was my musical father.  As a child, the only two people who influenced me more than my parents, grandparents, aunts, and other relatives were Michael and Whitney.  I don’t remember a moment in my life where I wasn’t a fan of the two of them. Though some might not realize it, there are probably few people born in the eighties that weren’t, in some way, influenced by the music of these two icons.

I would watch videos (back when VHS was in its heyday) of Whitney and Michael over and over; the obsession led to the tapes becoming completely worn out.  I would also listen to audio tapes and vinyl records in the same obsessive nature.  The Whitney album, containing “I Wanna Dance With Somebody”, can no longer be played because I’d listened to it so much that it became damaged.  I could recite the lyrics of the majority of their songs (that had been released at that time) and the dialogue from Michael Jackson’s Moonwalker before I started to elementary school. As I got older, I no longer watched or listened to the music with the same obsessive fury.  I would still get their albums.  I would watch their movies, though I still haven’t watched all of Waiting to Exhale.  I still adored these two people, even when the rest of the world turned their backs on them.

I wanted to be them, as a small child, even though there was no physical way for me to become the embodiment of either Michael or Whitney.  They were more than just role models to me.  They were, essentially, non-custodial parents.  And when they died, I felt like I had lost an actual family member.  I went through the same shock, denial, anger, etc. routine that I had gone through with the deaths of my three deceased grandparents.  It took days for it to feel real and, even now, it still sometimes feels like some kind of cruel dream.

And I have wondered, since the death of Whitney, if or how I should address her death.  I didn’t want it to seem like I was pretending to adore her, which is something many fans have been accused of since her death.  I wanted whatever I said to be how I actually felt, so I waited and waited and waited.  And what I’ve said still doesn’t seem like enough.

Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.

janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)

Today is my 28th birthday. I’ve received a few sweet birthday wishes from some of my friends.  I’ve also received a card and a check (for $20) from my grandmother.  I have a feeling that that will be it for the birthday celebration.  I’m very sure that my maternal aunt will not be sending any cards.  I think that she is still of the opinion that if I died, the world would be better off.  My paternal aunt might say happy birthday if she gets on Facebook sometime today.  My mom will probably forget that it is my birthday, and will thus expect me to run around doing things for her.  I don’t think my dad has even noticed that it is no longer the 16th, so he may not realize that it is my birthday. (Oh, there he just noticed.)

So, my plans for the day are:

  • Once my dad goes to bed, I shall watch the episodes of Vampire Diaries, Gossip Girl, and Grey’s Anatomy that I’ve had to DVR this week.
  • If I still have energy after that, I’m going to finally watch Breaking Dawn Pt. 1.  (I still haven’t seen it.)

That’s all.  No other plans.  No other plans to make plans.

I told my parents a few hours ago that I was not going to do anything on my birthday, meaning I’m not cooking or doing stuff for them.  I doubt that they will remember that.

I may see if I can go get Will (maternal aunt’s grandson) a birthday card so that I can celebrate his birthday, which is the 18th.  I have a feeling that a card from me would be unwanted by his parents and grandparents.  I don’t really care whether or not they want me to send him a card, though.  I have no problem with him.  He has no problem with me.  It would be nice to celebrate his birthday.

Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.

janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)

I’m going to start this by saying that I love my mother and father dearly because I may say some things that indicate otherwise.

I’m tired sleep deprived.  I don’t get to sleep well very often.  I’m always doing something for someone, whether it is waking up every two hours to get my mom food and water or waking up every morning to wake my dad up (even though he has an alarm clock) or waking up to cook dinner for them.  I’ve become a mother to my parents, and that might be okay, except I don’t want to be their mother and I don’t feel like I can keep doing these things for them.  I can’t quit, though, because it isn’t a job.  And I try not to complain because I know that they both don’t feel well and I know that my dad does some things around the house that I can’t do.

Still, I want to quit.  I want to run away and hide somewhere where they can’t find me.  I want to leave and never come back.  And I know that that is selfish, but I just cannot deal with this any longer.  I feel like shit and I need to sleep, but I can’t because someone always needs me.  So, the more sleep I miss, the grumpier that I get and the worse I feel.  I try to point this out, and it is remembered for all of two seconds before I get my marching orders again.

My mother fell last weekend and cracked her ribs.  She wouldn’t go to the doctor for the first few days after the fall, but just kept whimpering like a hurt animal.  She said she couldn’t go to the doctor because my dad wouldn’t take her.  She hadn’t told my dad she needed to go, and he can’t exactly force her to go.  (He knew she needed to, but I don’t think he wanted to try to convince her.)  So, I told him that she needed to go, and I told her that I told him that she needed to go.   She went to the ER last week and found out that her ribs were cracked.  The doctor at the ER couldn’t give her any extra pain medicine (because she’s on one with an opiate antagonist in it), so he gave her Flexeril.

My mom doesn’t do so well on Flexeril.  Every time she takes one, she ends up sleeping through days and wondering around in a stupor.  She gets whiny and she gets more clumsy.  And this leads to her falling more often and to her making claims that we either don’t love her or don’t take care of her or don’t pay attention to her.

Case in point, she fell last night.  She had already fallen about 12 hours earlier and managed, with some help, to get up on her own.  (Keep in mind, when she broke the ribs last week, she got herself off the floor with absolutely no help.)  Last night, though, she wasted her energy holding on to a door frame during the fall, so she was too tired to try to get up when she finally completed the fall.  We had to call the ambulance.  Even though she was fine, other than that she was in a drugged out state and a little sore, she decided she had to go to the emergency room.  There was nothing wrong, but she needed to have tests run to prove that to her.

When my father and I were going to call the ambulance, she first accused us of not taking care of her and not loving her.  This was after I’d managed to hear her call (over Mims’ “Like This”), run to her, then run to my dad’s room and gotten him up, and we’d both spent about 30-45 minutes trying to help her get up.  My dad had tried to basically pick her up, even though she weighs about 100 pounds or so more than him.  I’d moved pieces of furniture toward her that I thought would help her get up easier.  My father was out of breath and worn out.  I was about to pass out or vomit or both.  But because we headed toward the phone to call someone else to help her, which she had asked us to do a minute earlier, she determined that we didn’t care enough for her.

When the paramedics got here, she enjoyed slinging some barbs at our expense.  My dad drove to the hospital at 3:30 or so in the morning, even though he has trouble seeing at night, so that he would be with her at the ER.  (I stayed here, as I usually do.)  When she got home, she had my dad fix her 2 breakfast burritos.  A couple of hours later, she woke me up with an order for a bagel and cream cheese.  And at about 1 pm, she asked me to fix her 2 small frozen chicken biscuits, her 32 oz. cup of water, and hot chocolate.  That wouldn’t be such a big deal if we had a decent microwave, but since the biscuits took about 5-6 minutes to cook, as did the hot chocolate, and I didn’t feel like I could waste the energy sitting down and standing up, I ended up standing up during the 12 minutes it took to do this.  A while after she had eaten that and had gotten up for a minute, I ended up having to move her back onto her couch.  And she was still in the “my family is awful to me” mood, which made it that much harder.  (Somehow, the moodier she is, the less cooperative she is.)  She even said it a few times, which I wanted to scream at her over.

I get that she is in pain, but she is stuck in this bubble.  She thinks that no one takes care of her, which is ridiculous.  We do everything that she asks for and she still gets pissed off at us.  And she’s doing more of her “I’m worse than you are” comparisons again.  She’d stopped for a few days, but she’s back at it.  If I tell her that I’m going to faint, I don’t exactly want her to try to one-up my statement.  I want her to say that I should go sit down or take a break or something that I would think a mother would suggest to their daughter when their daughter said something like that.  And, this may sound petty, she always seems to fall more (and have to go to the ER) when I have an appointment with a doctor or someone that I need to see.  She may not plan it, but it almost always happens that way.

So I’m frustrated.  And I’m sitting here with a splitting headache, and I know that I can’t take anything for it because my mom might need me and my dad is getting in his much-needed rest.  So I’m going to try to avoid talking to anyone on the internet until I get a little bit of sleep because, until then, I am going to be bitchy.

Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.

janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)

Even though people on “the interwebz” know some of the most personal things about me, most folks don’t know very much else about me. In fact, there are a lot of things that I do NOT talk about on here that people might like to know. So, I’m going to try to post more often and post about the different things that people probably don’t know about me.

Let’s see…where to begin?

I don’t know that my family remembers my first words. I know I don’t remember ever liking to talk. Talking for me was always something that was extremely difficult. I’m extremely quiet. If you don’t believe me, I recommend checking my youtube videos. That voice you can barely hear is the voice that people in life have gotten extremely frustrated over. People have accused me, at times, of trying to be inaudible, but it generally isn’t something that I am trying to do. With the exception of whispering, I don’t generally try to go unheard–it just happens. Speaking is something that I don’t ever remember being good at. Singing, on the other hand, was always something that I felt more secure in.

My mom taught me the first song that I ever sang, “Tomorrow” from Annie. I would eventually learn every song from the musical, which I obsessively watched a video of as a child because of my love for the music and my fascination with one of the few redheads I ever really saw on television or in movies. (When you grow up in a group that only makes up 1-2% of the entire global population, you search for someone who looks like you that you can truly respect or admire.) I would move on from just singing along to Annie to learning all of the songs of Whitney Houston, Michael Jackson, Tracy Chapman, Janet Jackson, and Paula Abdul. I accidentally stumbled upon the “Like a Prayer” video on MTV, a channel which I wasn’t allowed to watch by myself until I was a teenager, and became fascinated by the song and the video. I remember watching that video before quickly flipping my television onto BET, which I was allowed to watch anytime and go to sleep to when I was small.

I absorbed music like sponges absorb water. It was something I needed to survive. It was something that was necessary for me to understand humanity. It was never a thing where I just randomly listened to music that was popular or had a good beat or anything. It was something where I needed to find music that was interesting or inspiring or just left me feeling like I needed more of it. I listened to lyrics and tried to understand them, even if I didn’t completely understand some of the lyrics until I was much older. Music was communication for me.

Even though it was communication, it wasn’t a very open form of communication for me. There were the occasional times when I would perform “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” for one of my preschool teachers, but usually the only people who heard me sing were my parents. I didn’t sing around most of my relatives. I didn’t usually sing at school in elementary school. Part of it was that I was extremely shy. The other part was my ever-present self-esteem issues crap. It didn’t help that when I sang for one of my friends in third grade that she told me that I had a “weak voice” and that I shouldn’t sing. It also didn’t help when I would volunteer to sing for assemblies and would get skipped in favor of some of my other friends. The answer was generally, “That’s okay, we already have [insert the name of one or two of my friends during that time] so you don’t have to.” It felt like a confirmation of that inner voice that said I was awful at everything. It made me feel like I was somehow “less than” other folks. Actually, it just reinforced that already-present feeling.

When I was in middle school and high school, I was in choir. It surprised everyone but me. My parents figured I would pick band, since I’d done well on the band’s music aptitude test. I wasn’t interested in band as much I was interested in singing. I needed to sing. I needed to learn to feel good about singing.

In sixth grade, the middle school choir had about 79 people total. Our director was on her first year at the school, and she just wasn’t going to have a choir that was so itty bitty. After the ensemble I was in got a Superior (a “1″) at State Competition and earned a medal, she used us a lot to recruit new members for the choir. We performed at the orientation for incoming sixth graders. We were also the group she used at a concert at a local health food store. When the 30 or so eighth graders moved on to high school, the choir didn’t lose any memebers. It didn’t stay at around the same number. It more than doubled. By eighth grade, around half of the school’s 650 students were in choir. (The other half were in band, with a few seventh and eighth graders participating in both.) Partly because of our excellence in recruiting, our teacher decided we needed to have special choir trip for the eighth grade (plus a few select seventh graders), so we ended up going to Chicago, instead of the normal trip to Atlanta. Actually, I ended up going on both trips that year. (My mom was the treasurer during the last 2 years, and had to do the trip planning, checking in of the choirs, and prep work, so I got to do all the activities.) So, choir in middle school was, for the most part, something I enjoyed.

If I hadn’t been so competitive and wanted to earn every single medal possible, it would have probably been a lot more fun. I always wanted a medal. I think earning medals was a way for me to prove to myself (and other people) that I was more than just the girl who you could depend on for the answers in class. I felt validated when I would get medals. I felt validated when I got into choirs like All-City choir. It felt like all those bad things that I had always heard from people or that I had thought about myself weren’t true. The only time that I ever really craved attention and real approval was when I was performing. I wanted to have something that people respected me for, because I always believed (and still do) that there was something fundamentally wrong or broken about me.

The competitiveness continued into high school, but it wasn’t as easy to get medals or go on trips or do the stuff that was so überfun because the directors in high school weren’t apt to take hundreds of kids to competitions or trips. The only trip I remember was a trip to Decatur, where we (oddly) stayed the night between Alabama Honor Choir rehearsals. (It was odd because Decatur is literally 40-50 minutes from my house. It was also odd because the trip was one I’d done in middle school and not had to stay the night.) The only competition I remember participating in during high school was District/State Solo/Ensemble Festival in tenth grade. It was memorable because I broke down after receiving news that I had gotten a 3 on my solo, while every other soloist from my school had gotten a 1. Even people (from other schools) who were utterly tone deaf were given at least a 2. I was given a 3 and one of the reasons listed was that I mispronounced 1 word (virgine) in the song “Ave Verum Corpus” and that mispronunciation was so horrible (a jih [like jib] instead of gee) that it knocked me down quite a bit. The two other people in the room with me, my voice teacher and my choir director, were floored by the other flaw he found in my performance: he said I was repeatedly off-key. According to them, I missed 1 note in the two songs I did. (The other song was “Art is Calling for Me” and he’d heard it the week before by a college student, who’d apparently done a magnificent job.) I was crying when I got the results, and was comforted by many of the choir students from my school, including one who I didn’t even think liked me. She said that she had been standing outside (they all had) and had heard me sing and that the judge was an idiot. This was something that people told me repeatedly that day, which (if I remember correctly) was the same day as my 16th birthday party. The next week other people, including ones who had never heard me sing, told me that the judge was an idiot. So, though I was utterly devastated by the result of that one competition, I did receive a little bit of a confidence boost from my friends. That made it easier on me when my tape failed to play Mariah Carey’s “Can’t Take That Away” in my eleventh grade English class and I ended up having to sing it a capella with no rehearsal. It is one of the only times I ever remember performing for an audience with my glasses on (I would always taken them off so that I didn’t get nervous) and being able to see the entire room. It was also one of the only times I ever felt completely safe performing.

When I quit high school and started going into my deeply depressive spells on a more frequent basis, I pretty much quit singing. I didn’t have the spark that singing needed in me anymore. So, I quit. And when I tried to sing along to a song on the radio a few years later, it felt like my voice had shrivled up on me. It felt like a voice that I had been using for years decided to quit working after I quit using it. I started giving myself voice lessons again and trying to strengthen my voice. It isn’t as strong as it once was, but it is a lot stronger than it was between 2004 and 2007. I now know that I don’t ever want to lose it, so I always try to remember to sing when I can. Just a little singing seems to keep it strong enough to stick around.

Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.

janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)
posted by [personal profile] janersm at 05:15am on 13/01/2012 under , , ,

The neurologist never called back this week, so I’ve been sitting here with an ever-intensifying headache and no clue what the hell is going on.  And any time that I bring up that my head hurts or my neck hurts or that I’m worried about the results, I end up having my mom find some way to demonstrate that her pain is so much worse.  She sometimes gets into this tendency of making everything a competition.  If I talk about having some specific kind of pain, she can tell me about her experience with that particular pain (or a different type) and how it was so much harder on her.

I told her that I’d been having more problems with getting fatigued by barely doing anything and I brought up that some of this muscle fatigue had been going on for years (because it has, but I’d never really told her about some of it), and do you know her responses?  First, there was the comment that somehow she was hurting really bad (not worse than usual, though), which was followed by the comment that some of the fatigue I had was a result of my not enjoying doing certain tasks and must be because she never pushed me hard enough to do those tasks.  She basically just took something that was about me and shifted it into something that was about her and about my being lazy.

Speak of the devil! She just woke up.  And it wasn’t one of those June Cleaver-style good, sweet, wholesome greetings.  No, it was her typical greeting, which is her breakfast order.  I’m a damn waitress.   When I was a little bit snippy about getting it right away, because I was (1) I was in a lot of pain and (2) I was agitated (meaning, crying) after reading a post on an LJ community about my icon promotion technique, she got more rude about it.  She insists that it was simply a request, but if I hadn’t agreed to do it, then I know that I would have been bitched out for hours on end and I would have had to go through the whole “no one loves me” whining spree that she loves to dole out whenever anyone doesn’t acquiesce to one of her demands.

Can I please have one day in my life that doesn’t end up sucking?  Can I have a mother that actually takes into consideration that I’m tired?  Can I be able to do things that I like without having to feel bad or angry or sad or upset about it?  Because if I don’t have a good day (or even an okay one) soon, I worry that I’ll just completely give up on things.

Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.

janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)
posted by [personal profile] janersm at 01:21am on 07/01/2012 under , ,

My head hurts. Actually, the back of my neck and the very top part of my back is the part of my body that really hurts. I was hoping that by now I might have a full-fledged answer for why I was hurting. I was hoping that maybe the test results would be in, and the neurologist would know for sure what the hell is going on with my head, neck, and back.

I had the appointment last week to find out the results, which turned out to be a dud because the doctor had the hospital emergency that he had to deal with. He was supposed to call that evening. He didn’t. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and didn’t call the rest of last week. I even waited until halfway through this week, just in case he was out or backed up because of the holidays. But a couple of days ago, I got tired of waiting and made the call.

I got a call back this afternoon. It was his nurse. Apparently, he was looking at my chart, but hadn’t gotten my EEG results back until late this week. I thought that was strange because of the appointment from last week being scheduled and me being told that my results were in that day. The nurse today couldn’t tell me what the results were, even though they finally had them. I wasn’t really worried about the results until I talked to my mom.

My mom was able to trigger my inner health-related panic attack voice. She said that if the nurse couldn’t tell me the results, then she must not have been able to read the EEG. She then said that that would be due to the EEG being abnormal in some way, so I started getting nervous. I don’t think she meant to trigger that anxiety, but I have this tendency to think the worst when she makes that kind of suggestion (because she is generally right about it) and I was sitting at home by myself in a bit of a panic. (My parents left for the grocery store right after I got the call.)

When they got back, I mentioned how nervous I was. At this time, my mom said it was probably no big deal and that she didn’t mean to scare me. I don’t know that my mom understands just how much this kind of thing worries me. I’ve talked about it in therapy multiple times before, and my therapist has told me to tell my mom not to make the comments because of the heightened anxiety it causes, but I don’t feel that it is fair to make my mom stop saying random things because I have an inability to deal with the comments rationally. It isn’t like my mom is trying to upset me or hurt me or anything. If anything, I think she may be trying to prepare me.

So, now I am going to try to forget about the whole panic-related stuff and have a relatively relaxed weekend. I bet that won’t happen, though. The neurologist is supposed to definitely call by Tuesday, so I hope that that does happen. I’m not holding my breath on it, though.

Oh, and, in a somewhat related note, my mom made a list on the first of all of the things that the neurologist (or, in one case, a different neurologist that used to treat my headaches) has diagnosed me with. I was kind of surprised at the length of the list. After she made the list, which is below, she told me why she made it. Apparently, the next time that my aunt starts in on how horrible of a person she thinks I am, my mom wants some sort of proof that my life is a bit more difficult than my aunt seems to realize. I mean, my mom and Nana have both tried to convey the physical and mental stuff I deal with, along with the stuff I have to do and (sometimes) choose to do, even though I have very little energy and always feel like crap or hurt. I think it’s basically her version of a wake up call.

The List

  • Migraines (actually, 3 neurologists dx’d this)
  • Chronic Daily Headache (2 neurologists dx’d this, including 2 of the three that dx’d the migraines)
  • Dystonia
  • Essential Tremors
  • Myoclonus
  • Vertigo
  • Tarsal Tunnel Syndrome
  • Degenerative Arthritis of the Lower Spine
  • Absent reflexes in parts of my legs

I think that is everything, but I might have forgotten something. Anyway, my mom seemed shocked at the length of the list, even though I’d told her about each of the things when the doctors would tell me what I was “suffering” from. And some of the things, i.e. the tremors and the myoclonus, are things that I was told I had quite a while ago. I think the tremors were diagnosed in middle school; while the myoclonus was diagnosed a couple of years ago, even though it had been going on since I was a very, very small child.

So, now I wait to find out if that list is going to be edited…

Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.

janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)

I am in an epic battle with my sinuses.  (10 points to Gryffindor for the proper use of epic, please?)  They’re not only filled with gross mucus crap (sorry for the visual), but when I get that stuff out I start getting not only the dried blood, but lots of not-so-dried blood, too.  (Again, sorry.) I don’t know why they have suddenly decided to intensify the crappy feeling, but they have.  It may be that I’ve been without my Flonase for around a month now, which I could probably remedy by calling my family doctor (or my allergist or my ENT doctor), but I haven’t done that and I’m not sure if I want to do that.  Well, I would like to have my sinuses not feel like crap, but I’m not sure if fixing that feeling is worth the anxiety of calling any of the doctors.

I still do not know the results from EEG and MRI.  I do need to make that call today.  I was going to call yesterday, but I am pretty sure that the neurologist wasn’t there yesterday and I was asleep for most of the last twenty-four hours.  (I took 2 Flexerils at 4 AM yesterday, then took 2 more at about noon yesterday, and doing that kept me asleep most of the day and night.)  I would probably be asleep right now, but my iPod had reached the red section of the charged bar, so I needed to recharge it so I could listen to music instead of having bad dreams.

It’s pretty damn cold today, which shouldn’t be surprising since it is winter, but it is kind of shocking to the system since I was running around in shorts and short-sleeved shirts last week.  Right now it is 21°F (or -6.1°C) outside (unless you’re in some parts of Madison County where it is 9°F or -12.8°C), so I had to change from my warm weather clothes to my cold weather stuff. I wish that I wore socks right about now because that would keep my feet a bit warmer, but I don’t, so no socks for me.

Oh, I had a weird dream yesterday. It was one of the few bad dreams that I think that I’ve gotten while doing the listening-to-music-the-whole-time-I’m-sleeping thing. I’m not exactly sure how it started, but apparently, different parts of my family actually had money in the dream. My parents and I were living in this huge house in an affluent neighborhood, and the house was right across the street from Deb, Nana’s first cousin who was raised by Mama and Papa (Nana’s parents) after her mom died. Apparently, in the dream, Deb’s husband was involved with an organized crime organization, which would never happen because he is way too nice and too good of a person to be involved in a crime enterprise. Deb had apparently found out and gotten him to turn someone in, and when the group found out, they made him choose between his life and hers, so he basically ordered a hit on her. She was killed in the house my family lived in, which I apparently witnessed, but couldn’t remember because I had some weird form of amnesia. Anytime anyone would bring up her name or what happened, I would start crying or saying that it didn’t happen. It was very, very, very strange.

I had planned on making icons everyday during 2012 for my icon/graphic community, but I haven’t made any so far.  So, I need to make some today.  I was planning on doing some Colin Morgan on the 1st, Kate Bosworth on the 2nd, but I don’t remember who I planned on featuring today.  I guess I could make the first two and do some others today, as well.

Ugh, I need to not pay attention to Rand Paul making his dad sound like this über-cool guy.  I don’t like or trust either of them, don’t get the appeal of either of them, and don’t want either of them involved in decisions of the government.

Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.

janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)

Last week I finally went to the neurologist for the worsening ice-pick-through-the-brain headaches.  I didn’t actually see him, but I did see his nurse practitioner.  She had an appointment for an MRI and another EEG set up for me, and she suggested Botox for the neck pain that comes with the headaches.  I don’t feel very safe with that idea, because though I know the Botox shots are supposed to be safe, I don’t particularly like the thought of having some part of an extremely dangerous poison injected into me.

Anyway, I had the MRI on Saturday and the EEG is scheduled for tomorrow.  I won’t find the results out until December 28, aka three days after “Christmas”–I’m not acknowledging that Christmas is even happening this year.  With the disappointment of last year and the implosion of my extended family, which apparently occurred because of what was said by me on here in 2002 and was wiped off the site and the internet entirely by the epic fail/major scamming of INI Hosting, I am not acknowledging that Christmas will even be happening this year.  I mean, I was miserable last year because we got snowed in and then this whole family-falling-apart-over-the-words-of-a-severely-depressed-eighteen-year-old-version-of-me has me hesitant to acknowledge that my favorite holiday is even going to happen this year.  It’s not like it even matters if I celebrate it or not.

Okay, I’ve gotten distracted on stuff that gets me all teary, and I hadn’t even gotten to the very best part of the medical news.  I’ve apparently lost about 50 pounds this year.  My secret, you ask?  Let’s see, eat at least 7 Cadbury Dairy Milk bars, 2 boxes of Crackerfuls, and 1 bag of bagels with regular whipped cream cheese per week & drink 1-2 Caffeine Free Cokes (2 liter variety, of course) per week, plus the occasional binge of chips, chocolate frosting, and various other unhealthy crap.  Oh, and have dinner that consists every night of the Stouffers, Walmart, and Marie Callender’s varieties of throw-in-the-oven-for-a-quick-meal-for-the-family.  And, last but not least, no exercising.  In fact, spend almost every waking minute of your life on the computer.  Yes, this is the way to lose 50 pounds quickly.  No wonder I always gained weight on diets.  I’m the opposite of normal.

Actually, I know that the junk food binge is not a good thing to do, but I’m still not ready to contact the gastroenterologist over this.  I mean, I’ve told him for years that regular food makes me sick.  But I just don’t think he’d believe that I would lose some mass amount of weight after eating unhealthy food the majority of the time.  I know that if I were a doctor, I would have a hard time believing it.

Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.


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