I'm not dead, just really behind on all internets stuff.
Unsure where I last left off, I'll write a better entry later, but here's a list of changes:
- Got engaged in November to Paul
- Had my drugs changed from Fentanyl to Oxycontin to Dihydracodeine, it's a much lesser drug, so I get a lot of pain, but I also get to be able to think again.
- Got put forward for op, had pre-op, waiting on date for operation to come through
- Harvey's growing up, and have started him with a bit, and planning to continue
Heh, little changes. Back later
Monday, 2 March 2009
Wednesday, 12 November 2008
Fiction Scrap: ''The Night Air"
"The night air was fresh, addictive almost. She
took it in with long deep breaths, imagining
that she was drinking the darkness, tasting
the faraway twinkle of the stars. It was a
ritual for her, 3am and here she would be. Sat
on the old metal bench, flaked with rust, the
cold of the metal biting into her flesh through
the cold, cotton pajamas. She sat with her eyes
shut, her head tilted skywards, her body still,
breathing deep regular breaths, gorging
herself on the wind that swept through the
skeletal trees and caressed her skin with an
icy touch.
She would stay at most an hour, whatever the
weather, here she would be, indulging herself
in the cold and the night, drinking the night
air feverently, but never able to sate her
thirst. When she left, she would move languidly
at first, as if awakening from a trance, her
eyes focussing slowly on the grand old house
that was her home, her prison. The house was
faded, worn, crumbling apart on the outside
while the inside desperately clung to life,
just like her. But at 3am every night, she
forgot her pain, her worries and instead she
welcomed the purity of the night, the gaze of
the stars upon her ravaged body.
And every night, she wished the same wish,
that this moment would never end, that she
could stay forever in peace, cradled by the
velvet of the night sky, watched by the ancient
eyes that studded the darkness above.''
took it in with long deep breaths, imagining
that she was drinking the darkness, tasting
the faraway twinkle of the stars. It was a
ritual for her, 3am and here she would be. Sat
on the old metal bench, flaked with rust, the
cold of the metal biting into her flesh through
the cold, cotton pajamas. She sat with her eyes
shut, her head tilted skywards, her body still,
breathing deep regular breaths, gorging
herself on the wind that swept through the
skeletal trees and caressed her skin with an
icy touch.
She would stay at most an hour, whatever the
weather, here she would be, indulging herself
in the cold and the night, drinking the night
air feverently, but never able to sate her
thirst. When she left, she would move languidly
at first, as if awakening from a trance, her
eyes focussing slowly on the grand old house
that was her home, her prison. The house was
faded, worn, crumbling apart on the outside
while the inside desperately clung to life,
just like her. But at 3am every night, she
forgot her pain, her worries and instead she
welcomed the purity of the night, the gaze of
the stars upon her ravaged body.
And every night, she wished the same wish,
that this moment would never end, that she
could stay forever in peace, cradled by the
velvet of the night sky, watched by the ancient
eyes that studded the darkness above.''
The bleak life on fentanyl
It's after 5am in the morning, and I have been wanting to update this, but my time online has been severely limited, by pain and by pain medications, which is ironic, I know. I don't know exactly why I feel the need to update, but maybe just a - ''hey, I'm not dead''.
I have some good news, but given this is predominantly a miserable post, I'm saving my good news for when it is official, as at the moment it is still unofficial. So, giving I can actually get on again soon, that will come. It is very good news, but not in any way associated to medicine or health. That would be too good to be true.
I have date to see surgeon on the 22nd of December. They can't trust my GP, they have to see me again. If they turn me down, I'll get the operation via the prison service, because I think I'll kill him. Hell, the prison service would probably get the operation done quicker. Yet another irony in life.
I'm on increased fentanyl, trying out 75mcg at the moment, it's ok, but not great. Will have it made official this week, then keep trying it. I'm hoping to not have to go to 100mcg, I'll be sleeping beauty by then, if I was beautiful that is of course.
I am so miserable. Words can't really describe. I spend days in bed. I want to get up and do things, and I can't - I'm either crippled by pain, or crippled by painkillers. I haven't seen my horses all week. Normally I see them at least once a week. I want to go tomorrow. But it's 5am, and I haven't slept. HUGE irony, as recently I've done nothing but sleep.
My Dad still worries I might just die, he's told me that - and I think it's some strange way of caring, or showing worry. But being told by someone that they think you might just die - and someone who is medically trained. It's not comforting. I'm not eating at the moment, the weight loss is terrific, but I get force fed at times, then I'm sick as can be. I can't win when it comes to food.
I've also had a massive infection in my mouth, starting with a so-far unidentified tooth, that has spread to the facial nerve (right hand side). I'm on my second course of antibiotics for it, and thankfully it's shifting. But my whole face has been in agony - my right eye, my ear, exploding in white hot pain. And yet more irony - why do my painkillers work on my gall bladder but ignore that? I'm back at the dentist in another week or so to try and find out which tooth went into meltdown. I also caused an ulcer/infection because of scrubbing at my teeth to try and relieve the pain, it worked, for around 10 minutes each time on the first night the pain hit. And it was worth it for 10 minutes. But it did cause another infection, separate from the infection that is deep in a root/nerve. That infection is sorted now, thankfully.
I am lonely, spending most of my life asleep means that no one really talks to me. And still, friend wise, I've no one jumping forward to talk. I know everyone is busy with their own things, but hey, I'm nearly in my 5th year of illness, I'm starting to get selfish about friends. It has improved, marginally with one of my friends, but again, I think I now no longer fit in. I may be at a stage where I just have to face facts and say Ok, I don't have any friends, but that's OK. I mean really - this entire year, I've had no friends be there for me. It's been Paul, and Paul alone. I'm trying to claw back what I once had with people, but time has went by too much for it. I'm too bitter. I forgive, easily, but I don't trust easily. And I feel like I've had trust broken, by having pretty much all my friends forget I'm alive. I don't think I can get by that, I'll always remember that the times I needed friendship - and times when I near enough begged for friendship, my friends weren't there. I suppose I should just be glad that I'm not inclined towards suicide thoughts, and really needed friends to help me, because I'd be long buried by now.
My life moves at a sedate pace, I do nothing. I watch TV - a recent habit, I was never big on TV, but now - unable to use the net much (due to the position I sit with laptop) - NOW I watch TV. I watch crime dramas, cartoons. I read, but the words blur, and I fall asleep, but still I perservere. I'm on a crime kick just now. And I play my DS.
I still have little to no money, I am waiting on a date for my tribunal. I do now have good evidence in my favour, but it's all too much to go into just now. Too complicated, too miserable.
Anyways. I'm not dead. That being a good thing is still debatable. I miss my online friends. I miss fluff, and hate missing out on all the things in fluff, and also the point of not playing thus having no gold to buy the new things. It's a silly thing, but upsets me (yes, I know, I have other things I should be upset about, not fluff). I guess I'll play catch up. My laptop refuses to run Webkinz most of the time now, my webkinz are abandoned. I hate that. I miss them so much. I ''saw'' them at the weekend, briefly on Paul's computer.
But good night, good morning. Good whatever, it doesn't matter anymore. I sleep all the time, and weekdays no one really gives a damn about me, so what I do or don't do have no consequence, which goes for online life too.
After I post this, I'm posting a very short fiction scrap I wrote, I may use it in a real story. But I penned it in my head when standing outside on our porch at 3am while the dog peed. And I think my own thoughts got into it as well. For the purposes of the short scrap, I imagine the ''she'' in it to be suffering from skin cancer, a disease that eats away from the outside in.
Take care
I have some good news, but given this is predominantly a miserable post, I'm saving my good news for when it is official, as at the moment it is still unofficial. So, giving I can actually get on again soon, that will come. It is very good news, but not in any way associated to medicine or health. That would be too good to be true.
I have date to see surgeon on the 22nd of December. They can't trust my GP, they have to see me again. If they turn me down, I'll get the operation via the prison service, because I think I'll kill him. Hell, the prison service would probably get the operation done quicker. Yet another irony in life.
I'm on increased fentanyl, trying out 75mcg at the moment, it's ok, but not great. Will have it made official this week, then keep trying it. I'm hoping to not have to go to 100mcg, I'll be sleeping beauty by then, if I was beautiful that is of course.
I am so miserable. Words can't really describe. I spend days in bed. I want to get up and do things, and I can't - I'm either crippled by pain, or crippled by painkillers. I haven't seen my horses all week. Normally I see them at least once a week. I want to go tomorrow. But it's 5am, and I haven't slept. HUGE irony, as recently I've done nothing but sleep.
My Dad still worries I might just die, he's told me that - and I think it's some strange way of caring, or showing worry. But being told by someone that they think you might just die - and someone who is medically trained. It's not comforting. I'm not eating at the moment, the weight loss is terrific, but I get force fed at times, then I'm sick as can be. I can't win when it comes to food.
I've also had a massive infection in my mouth, starting with a so-far unidentified tooth, that has spread to the facial nerve (right hand side). I'm on my second course of antibiotics for it, and thankfully it's shifting. But my whole face has been in agony - my right eye, my ear, exploding in white hot pain. And yet more irony - why do my painkillers work on my gall bladder but ignore that? I'm back at the dentist in another week or so to try and find out which tooth went into meltdown. I also caused an ulcer/infection because of scrubbing at my teeth to try and relieve the pain, it worked, for around 10 minutes each time on the first night the pain hit. And it was worth it for 10 minutes. But it did cause another infection, separate from the infection that is deep in a root/nerve. That infection is sorted now, thankfully.
I am lonely, spending most of my life asleep means that no one really talks to me. And still, friend wise, I've no one jumping forward to talk. I know everyone is busy with their own things, but hey, I'm nearly in my 5th year of illness, I'm starting to get selfish about friends. It has improved, marginally with one of my friends, but again, I think I now no longer fit in. I may be at a stage where I just have to face facts and say Ok, I don't have any friends, but that's OK. I mean really - this entire year, I've had no friends be there for me. It's been Paul, and Paul alone. I'm trying to claw back what I once had with people, but time has went by too much for it. I'm too bitter. I forgive, easily, but I don't trust easily. And I feel like I've had trust broken, by having pretty much all my friends forget I'm alive. I don't think I can get by that, I'll always remember that the times I needed friendship - and times when I near enough begged for friendship, my friends weren't there. I suppose I should just be glad that I'm not inclined towards suicide thoughts, and really needed friends to help me, because I'd be long buried by now.
My life moves at a sedate pace, I do nothing. I watch TV - a recent habit, I was never big on TV, but now - unable to use the net much (due to the position I sit with laptop) - NOW I watch TV. I watch crime dramas, cartoons. I read, but the words blur, and I fall asleep, but still I perservere. I'm on a crime kick just now. And I play my DS.
I still have little to no money, I am waiting on a date for my tribunal. I do now have good evidence in my favour, but it's all too much to go into just now. Too complicated, too miserable.
Anyways. I'm not dead. That being a good thing is still debatable. I miss my online friends. I miss fluff, and hate missing out on all the things in fluff, and also the point of not playing thus having no gold to buy the new things. It's a silly thing, but upsets me (yes, I know, I have other things I should be upset about, not fluff). I guess I'll play catch up. My laptop refuses to run Webkinz most of the time now, my webkinz are abandoned. I hate that. I miss them so much. I ''saw'' them at the weekend, briefly on Paul's computer.
But good night, good morning. Good whatever, it doesn't matter anymore. I sleep all the time, and weekdays no one really gives a damn about me, so what I do or don't do have no consequence, which goes for online life too.
After I post this, I'm posting a very short fiction scrap I wrote, I may use it in a real story. But I penned it in my head when standing outside on our porch at 3am while the dog peed. And I think my own thoughts got into it as well. For the purposes of the short scrap, I imagine the ''she'' in it to be suffering from skin cancer, a disease that eats away from the outside in.
Take care
Sunday, 19 October 2008
No money, health worse, operation possible, drugs doubled
It's been awhile and I'm not sure where to start, there's been a lot happening and a lot of nothing happening, so I think I'll just do sections of different things, and hope people read it through.
First up, and something I'd rather not discuss because it makes me mad is my benefits. Remember I had a medical way back in July? Well they decided that I failed. I got a copy of the medical, the Doctor wrote down nothing of what I said, the same Doctor who refused to examine me. I won't go into all the details, because I want to sleep tonight and not be sitting angry at the world. As it is - I'm appealing the decision, I lost the first appeal - made by a non-medically trained wanker, having spoken to the guy, the term ''wanker'' isn't an insult, just an observation and almost certainly a factual statement given his attitude, no woman or man would stay him. I now get hardly any money - and it goes to second set of appeals, which can take upto 6 months AND is in Glasgow. It's all nonsense, and as I'm now much iller - it's all things I could do without. I want to die enough *without* this stress, adding this in just makes me despair.
Talking of health, it gives me a nice link to well, talking about my health. My health is poor. There is really no other way to put it. I am very ill at times, to the point that my Dad, in his helpful, caring way has told me that I could drop dead. While I see his point, I do believe there could be better ways to phrase it. I've had my medical doubled - so I'm now on 50mcg of Fentanyl, which works in a so-so way but makes me VERY sleepy. It may get increased again, which I'm not looking forward to. Spend my life comatose. I have had some extremely bad attacks, including one where Paul was desperate for me to go to hospital, he believed my parents would take me (so did I) - he dropped me off, Dad had been drinking so couldn't take me and Mum initially said she would, then wormed out of it. As I'd said she would in previous conversations with Dad. So I never went, and instead lay about the house in agony and wailing in pain. I worry a lot about my health, and perhaps I should be in hospital, but I've gone beyond caring, that night about 2 weeks ago. I wanted to go to hospital, and I didn't get to go. I felt like I was dying. Now, I just don't care.
While I am very negative about my health, there is some good news - my weight is down and my (new) GP is writing to the hospital to put me back on the operation list. I really hope it goes through this time, I could get my life back. I could do things again, I could enjoy a drink, I can plan ahead, save money, buy people things - and generally just live the life of a 20-something, rather than the life of a house-bound invalid that I have just now. So please, if you pray or just send good thoughts, do it about this. I need this operation. If I don't get it - there is a great certainty that I will die from complications of my gall bladder. My gall bladder will eventually rupture, and from that point on survival becomes near impossible. The operation will give me my life back - and will also save my life. And I really don't want to die from my gall bladder, there's too much I want to do. So, in short - I should be getting an operation soon, or at least I'm pinning my hopes on it.
First up, and something I'd rather not discuss because it makes me mad is my benefits. Remember I had a medical way back in July? Well they decided that I failed. I got a copy of the medical, the Doctor wrote down nothing of what I said, the same Doctor who refused to examine me. I won't go into all the details, because I want to sleep tonight and not be sitting angry at the world. As it is - I'm appealing the decision, I lost the first appeal - made by a non-medically trained wanker, having spoken to the guy, the term ''wanker'' isn't an insult, just an observation and almost certainly a factual statement given his attitude, no woman or man would stay him. I now get hardly any money - and it goes to second set of appeals, which can take upto 6 months AND is in Glasgow. It's all nonsense, and as I'm now much iller - it's all things I could do without. I want to die enough *without* this stress, adding this in just makes me despair.
Talking of health, it gives me a nice link to well, talking about my health. My health is poor. There is really no other way to put it. I am very ill at times, to the point that my Dad, in his helpful, caring way has told me that I could drop dead. While I see his point, I do believe there could be better ways to phrase it. I've had my medical doubled - so I'm now on 50mcg of Fentanyl, which works in a so-so way but makes me VERY sleepy. It may get increased again, which I'm not looking forward to. Spend my life comatose. I have had some extremely bad attacks, including one where Paul was desperate for me to go to hospital, he believed my parents would take me (so did I) - he dropped me off, Dad had been drinking so couldn't take me and Mum initially said she would, then wormed out of it. As I'd said she would in previous conversations with Dad. So I never went, and instead lay about the house in agony and wailing in pain. I worry a lot about my health, and perhaps I should be in hospital, but I've gone beyond caring, that night about 2 weeks ago. I wanted to go to hospital, and I didn't get to go. I felt like I was dying. Now, I just don't care.
While I am very negative about my health, there is some good news - my weight is down and my (new) GP is writing to the hospital to put me back on the operation list. I really hope it goes through this time, I could get my life back. I could do things again, I could enjoy a drink, I can plan ahead, save money, buy people things - and generally just live the life of a 20-something, rather than the life of a house-bound invalid that I have just now. So please, if you pray or just send good thoughts, do it about this. I need this operation. If I don't get it - there is a great certainty that I will die from complications of my gall bladder. My gall bladder will eventually rupture, and from that point on survival becomes near impossible. The operation will give me my life back - and will also save my life. And I really don't want to die from my gall bladder, there's too much I want to do. So, in short - I should be getting an operation soon, or at least I'm pinning my hopes on it.
Sunday, 21 September 2008
Pretty Harvey -- followed by misery
This was Harvey around the end of August. He's filled out some - and is looking as flashy as ever. Look at the knee action on him! He really lifts his feet, and he prances everywhere. I'm looking forward to him being a grown-up. And while at the moment I find it hard to get excited about anything, I'm looking forward to his future. We've still got to get him gelded, which I need to book. I just fall behind with everything, out of general lethargy more than anything. But Harvey does make me feel better, I like the way he looks at me. With his big searching blue eyes, he really conveys emotion well. And reminds me so much of Pepi, my shetland pony who had blue eyes and a similar temperament.
Away from Harvey, I just started with him as I wanted to post his picture. Things aren't any different. I don't know. I just don't care anymore. I wish I did. I used to care about a lot of things. I was passionate about things. Now, well - it seems everything goes wrong. Regardless of what I do or don't do. With that in mind, I really don't see the point in trying any more. And I am just fed up. It's been too long, and now it's getting too bad.
I get mad when I speak to people who say ''Oh, I had my gall bladder out, I know how you feel'' - well, no, you don't. Because you've had yours removed. And likely, or at least on average, you've suffered one or two attacks prior to having it removed. At worst, maybe a few months. Me? Come January 2009 I will have been having bad attacks for 5 years. I had attacks prior to that as well, I just didn't recognise them. I start my counting from the point of being hospitalised for near-liver failure, and it has been 5 years since that point, with complications and daily painkillers ever since. I have lost my 20s to this. So no, these people don't know how I feel, nor can they adequetely sympathise. I've got to the point where I grimace upon being told these things, I mean my gall bladder is so fucked it doesn't even show up on the FOOL PROOF scan that shows up problems in gall bladders. My result for that scan was ''patient doesn't have a gall bladder'' - yet here I am, most definitely still in possession of gall bladder.
I have changed a lot in the years that have gone past. And while I have calmed down and became more sensible - grown up, you might say. I have definitely lost a lot - I lack in confidence, in self esteem. I lack in energy, in caring about things. And I have lost all these years where I could have made my life my own. I feel trapped in this limbo where I can't do anything, my life is at the mercy of gall bladder. And I can't make plans for post-operation (if I ever get one) - because what if something goes wrong. Given I believe it will, I daren't make plans for my life once I'm ''fixed'' because I don't believe I ever will be fixed. And thinking ''is this it then?'' well - that would depress anyone.
But I guess I'll go to sleep. It's one of the few constants left. And maybe if I'm lucky, I'll get to a point where I won't wake up. Or wake up when someone is willing to remove my gall bladder, or even better, wake up AFTER it's gone.
Thursday, 18 September 2008
why bother
I wanted to update last night, but suffered an injury to my wrist (caused by Jake, my dog) - and typing was painful. I kept an ice pack on for hours, so typing was also a bit well, wet - and today while my wrist is a bit stiff, and still swollen and obviously bruised - typing doesn't hurt that bad. I get a few twinges, but given it felt like it had been broken last night - today is good.
I slept all day today. I just couldn't wake up at all, patch kept knocking me out. I kept trying to wake up, but kept dropping back to sleep. When I finally did manage to stay awake, I came downstairs just in time for Mum to have mad turn. My Mum gets depressed, but she does nothing about it. She blames everyone else for everything, acts dreadfully towards us, in a really nasty way, then wants everything done for her. She has aches and pains and does nothing for it, at all. She wants to be an invalid, and then gets upset when we won't support her wanting to be an invalid, when she's not and can do things, she just doesn't want to. So after her sitting crying and blaming everyone for everything, she went to bed. At about 6pm. It wasn't worth getting up. Dad said she'd been looking for an excuse all day to go off on one. And I hate her when she's like that. And the problem is, if she ever has a real issue - she cries wolf so often, we'd never know.
So it's been miserable. I'm having multiple attacks per day, so really waking up isn't worthwhile. There's been good things (amazing things, wonderful things) this week. But RL is beating off me over the head, constantly.
Retail therapy has happened as well, my saving is going badly. I bought 5 cheap books and a DS game. I spent more than I wanted to. But fuck it, if I can buy some happiness, I'll buy it. I think I'm just buying escapism - games and books.
Anyways - I am of the opinion that life isn't worthwhile at the moment. I don't know how to fix it. I just want to go into a coma and wake up in a few years.
I slept all day today. I just couldn't wake up at all, patch kept knocking me out. I kept trying to wake up, but kept dropping back to sleep. When I finally did manage to stay awake, I came downstairs just in time for Mum to have mad turn. My Mum gets depressed, but she does nothing about it. She blames everyone else for everything, acts dreadfully towards us, in a really nasty way, then wants everything done for her. She has aches and pains and does nothing for it, at all. She wants to be an invalid, and then gets upset when we won't support her wanting to be an invalid, when she's not and can do things, she just doesn't want to. So after her sitting crying and blaming everyone for everything, she went to bed. At about 6pm. It wasn't worth getting up. Dad said she'd been looking for an excuse all day to go off on one. And I hate her when she's like that. And the problem is, if she ever has a real issue - she cries wolf so often, we'd never know.
So it's been miserable. I'm having multiple attacks per day, so really waking up isn't worthwhile. There's been good things (amazing things, wonderful things) this week. But RL is beating off me over the head, constantly.
Retail therapy has happened as well, my saving is going badly. I bought 5 cheap books and a DS game. I spent more than I wanted to. But fuck it, if I can buy some happiness, I'll buy it. I think I'm just buying escapism - games and books.
Anyways - I am of the opinion that life isn't worthwhile at the moment. I don't know how to fix it. I just want to go into a coma and wake up in a few years.
Monday, 15 September 2008
Seeking friendship
About 4am or so in the morning I had a thought, or more a minor breakdown. I was thinking about friends and friendships and my lack thereof, at least in the sense of a ''real life'' friend in the flesh. Not that I consider online friendships any less so, quite the contray, my online friendships are perhaps the real ones, compared to the false ''real life'' in-the-flesh ones. Certainly - my online friends talk to me more, keep in touch more and generally just care more.
Prior to becoming the forgotton friend, my ''best'' friend was Becca. We'd do lots of things together, and every Thursday night we'd spend together, make some food or just do something. It was most of the time at her house, which I drove to, if not - I'd drive and we'd go somewhere. I didn't mind this - she had the two kids, and it was always easier for me to come to her. And I do prefer making things easier for people when I can. Then I was less able to drive, between my eyesight and general illness and our Thursday nights fell away, as did all other times to see each other. It wasn't even that gradual a process, it just seemed like I became too difficult to be a friend with - too much effort was required, which is perhaps wrong of me to say - but it is how I ended up feeling. I know she is/was busy, but I wouldn't even get a text message, or reply to ones I'd sent. It was a definate feeling of being shunned in the face of new friends with less issues.
I always felt that when friends became ill or whatever that was when friends were meant to be there for them, when times got hard etc. Certainly early in my illness, friends showed some interest, but then it was new, as time wore on, people seemed to get fed up with me being ill. Which fair enough - I'm more than fed up with me being ill too, but complete social isolation just makes matters worse.
So at 4am, I composed a series of text messages to Becca, trying to explain how I felt, while trying not to throw about blame. She's also pregnant - due in October - so I know she's busy, and has her own health issues at the moment. But in that - she's also more able to see what I'm saying. I wrote my message at 4am, then come around 11am - I re-wrote it and sent it. I forget exactly what I said, but it went along the lines of - I was lonely and missed seeing friends, and spending time with friends. That the last time I had been alone with a friend was last autumn when I went to the bingo with her. That I know she's busy and has her own things on, but if she has time/ability - I'd love to be able to see her and have someone to talk to. That I've felt really lonely and down this year - and lack of having friends about has been a huge thing in it - especially with things that have happened - I had Baileigh's death and no support from friends, and I truly felt like just wanting to curl up and die.
I worded it better than it sounds above, but that was a gist of it. I need friends for support, I always have. Of late it's just been my parents and Paul, and I can't be honest with them. There's always got to be a brave face on things, the ''no, it's ok, I'm fine'' - way of life, because I don't want them to worry, mainly because they already do. Not that I want a friend to worry, but I want someone I can just talk to, without the pretences. I can be almost honest with Paul, but he worries so much that I can't be 100% honest to him, because it hurts him.
I was worried about her reply. I always am when I send messages like that, but she replied saying that she's been lonely as well since Lauren (her youngest) went back to nursery and about going out next week to the bingo. I'm hoping it works out and I get to see her, and maybe it can be somewhat regular. Well I realise it won't be, due to baby and things, but I'd like to at least keep in touch, by phone or whatever. Like I exist, and don't go ignored.
She did say in her reply text that she thought I'd been seeing other friends, like Cara etc. I don't know if that was just her feeling guilty - in that she was saying sorry in a strange fashion of - but I thought other friends gave a shit. Now, in the terms of Cara, she has no transport, no mobile phone, and she is a darling. She's online a fair bit and we do talk. But she's also pregnant and 19, me dropping a world of misery on her head, when I've known her since she was 4 - I don't want to do that. I love her, and she's a good friend, but she's not a friend I can be that honest with. I have a ''face'' to uphold with her, to still be in a way the person I was to her when she was little.
But as a breakdown - the last time I saw a friend and spent time with a friend was in July with Becca, who had the kids with her. It was nice and fun, but hard to sit and talk due to kids about. Prior to that Gill came out to see Harvey, and Cara saw Harvey. Harvey by the way - seems to have more people interested in seeing him than me. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have seen Becca either. Before Harvey - I can't remember the last time I saw a friend, was probably Becca around Easter time. Most 'friends' I haven't seen this year. My other ''best'' friend I doubt I'll see until Christmas, if I see her then at all. Maybe I just kept the wrong friends?
And I know all of the above is very much filled with self pity and the like, but it does become so depressing when your world has 3 people in it and 2 buildings. Barring feeling like shit all the time, it ends up that it doesn't seem worth going on. I love the 3 people I have - and of course the people online who do keep me going, but I want to meet people, talk in the flesh, have a laugh. Really, having a laugh would be lovely. Just to sit and laugh with someone. Anyone. I'm not fussy. If I was brave enough, I'd haul someone off the street.
Anyways - tomorrow I might actually be going out. I'm a member of a Writer's Circle, which while it gets me out the house, into a portacabin, and I would call the people there friends, it's not the same type of friendship. All of the members are older - when I say older I mean 50+, with average age being around 65. So I can't be me. I have to be a refined, polite version of me. I can say I'm not well, I can't do details, and I just smile and nod and talk. I know I'm liked there, but sometimes I find it more stressful than enjoyable. I can't even write any more due to the drugs I have to take that turn my brain to mush. But I know they like me going, I'm young, I'm good for the image. I also might get to go back to dog class, where I have acquantances, but no real friends yet. I'm hoping to make friends there, but I haven't quite got that far.
So I guess, I should get myself to sleep. Rather than wallowing in self misery. I will try to do a happy post tomorrow, or at least something more upbeat (it wouldn't be hard based on this and previous).
Prior to becoming the forgotton friend, my ''best'' friend was Becca. We'd do lots of things together, and every Thursday night we'd spend together, make some food or just do something. It was most of the time at her house, which I drove to, if not - I'd drive and we'd go somewhere. I didn't mind this - she had the two kids, and it was always easier for me to come to her. And I do prefer making things easier for people when I can. Then I was less able to drive, between my eyesight and general illness and our Thursday nights fell away, as did all other times to see each other. It wasn't even that gradual a process, it just seemed like I became too difficult to be a friend with - too much effort was required, which is perhaps wrong of me to say - but it is how I ended up feeling. I know she is/was busy, but I wouldn't even get a text message, or reply to ones I'd sent. It was a definate feeling of being shunned in the face of new friends with less issues.
I always felt that when friends became ill or whatever that was when friends were meant to be there for them, when times got hard etc. Certainly early in my illness, friends showed some interest, but then it was new, as time wore on, people seemed to get fed up with me being ill. Which fair enough - I'm more than fed up with me being ill too, but complete social isolation just makes matters worse.
So at 4am, I composed a series of text messages to Becca, trying to explain how I felt, while trying not to throw about blame. She's also pregnant - due in October - so I know she's busy, and has her own health issues at the moment. But in that - she's also more able to see what I'm saying. I wrote my message at 4am, then come around 11am - I re-wrote it and sent it. I forget exactly what I said, but it went along the lines of - I was lonely and missed seeing friends, and spending time with friends. That the last time I had been alone with a friend was last autumn when I went to the bingo with her. That I know she's busy and has her own things on, but if she has time/ability - I'd love to be able to see her and have someone to talk to. That I've felt really lonely and down this year - and lack of having friends about has been a huge thing in it - especially with things that have happened - I had Baileigh's death and no support from friends, and I truly felt like just wanting to curl up and die.
I worded it better than it sounds above, but that was a gist of it. I need friends for support, I always have. Of late it's just been my parents and Paul, and I can't be honest with them. There's always got to be a brave face on things, the ''no, it's ok, I'm fine'' - way of life, because I don't want them to worry, mainly because they already do. Not that I want a friend to worry, but I want someone I can just talk to, without the pretences. I can be almost honest with Paul, but he worries so much that I can't be 100% honest to him, because it hurts him.
I was worried about her reply. I always am when I send messages like that, but she replied saying that she's been lonely as well since Lauren (her youngest) went back to nursery and about going out next week to the bingo. I'm hoping it works out and I get to see her, and maybe it can be somewhat regular. Well I realise it won't be, due to baby and things, but I'd like to at least keep in touch, by phone or whatever. Like I exist, and don't go ignored.
She did say in her reply text that she thought I'd been seeing other friends, like Cara etc. I don't know if that was just her feeling guilty - in that she was saying sorry in a strange fashion of - but I thought other friends gave a shit. Now, in the terms of Cara, she has no transport, no mobile phone, and she is a darling. She's online a fair bit and we do talk. But she's also pregnant and 19, me dropping a world of misery on her head, when I've known her since she was 4 - I don't want to do that. I love her, and she's a good friend, but she's not a friend I can be that honest with. I have a ''face'' to uphold with her, to still be in a way the person I was to her when she was little.
But as a breakdown - the last time I saw a friend and spent time with a friend was in July with Becca, who had the kids with her. It was nice and fun, but hard to sit and talk due to kids about. Prior to that Gill came out to see Harvey, and Cara saw Harvey. Harvey by the way - seems to have more people interested in seeing him than me. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have seen Becca either. Before Harvey - I can't remember the last time I saw a friend, was probably Becca around Easter time. Most 'friends' I haven't seen this year. My other ''best'' friend I doubt I'll see until Christmas, if I see her then at all. Maybe I just kept the wrong friends?
And I know all of the above is very much filled with self pity and the like, but it does become so depressing when your world has 3 people in it and 2 buildings. Barring feeling like shit all the time, it ends up that it doesn't seem worth going on. I love the 3 people I have - and of course the people online who do keep me going, but I want to meet people, talk in the flesh, have a laugh. Really, having a laugh would be lovely. Just to sit and laugh with someone. Anyone. I'm not fussy. If I was brave enough, I'd haul someone off the street.
Anyways - tomorrow I might actually be going out. I'm a member of a Writer's Circle, which while it gets me out the house, into a portacabin, and I would call the people there friends, it's not the same type of friendship. All of the members are older - when I say older I mean 50+, with average age being around 65. So I can't be me. I have to be a refined, polite version of me. I can say I'm not well, I can't do details, and I just smile and nod and talk. I know I'm liked there, but sometimes I find it more stressful than enjoyable. I can't even write any more due to the drugs I have to take that turn my brain to mush. But I know they like me going, I'm young, I'm good for the image. I also might get to go back to dog class, where I have acquantances, but no real friends yet. I'm hoping to make friends there, but I haven't quite got that far.
So I guess, I should get myself to sleep. Rather than wallowing in self misery. I will try to do a happy post tomorrow, or at least something more upbeat (it wouldn't be hard based on this and previous).
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