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.

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.

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).

Wishing for something to make me happy

Oneday soon, I'm sure I will get a break. In the past week, or so, the following has happened:

• I have had a badly infected foot, toe and tendon, involving a trip to casualty, a week of no walking and two courses of antibiotics. My foot still has slight swelling and pain along the tendon, but *fingers crossed* it is now completely on the mend.
• My Nana's dog, Shona died. She was a 13 year old Yorkshire Terrier. My Nana found her dead in the kitchen returning from a trip to town with my cousin. Shona died most likely from a heart attack, but as we have a small family, even the animals form a large role. She was part of my life for 13 years, so, it is upsetting to lose her.
• I have suffered daily gall bladder attacks, with a number of extreme attacks. In all honesty, hospital should have been considered. But I didn't. Instead, I took drugs, I suffered and I slept.

Mentally I am perhaps as bad as I've been. I'm unsure if it is my drugs - which can have depression as a side-effect, or if it simply something that was inevitable. Come January 2009, I will have been sick for five years. Over this time, my life has eroded away. I cling to what I have, and that in itself is not much. I have my family and I have Paul and I have my animals. And that is it.

Friendship wise - I have friends, but for those in real life - I don't rank very high. I'm sure they care, or at least believe they care, but their actions say different. It is harsh to say such things, as with all my friendships - I was always the one who travelled to them. I cannot drive safely now, so I never see anyone. Now, I realise my friends have their own lives - but one of my ''best'' friends, I haven't seen since last Christmas - and that was only to exchange presents. My other ''best'' friend, I have seen perhaps 5 or 6 times this year, and that is only out of guilt, I believe.

But I get off course, although those are things which upset me. I have been totally morbid of late. I believe that I will die due to this illness. Perhaps it was the insistence of my consultant who told me outright I would die (professional behaviour? hmm), or just continual pain, plus drugs and a life that is going nowhere is making me feel this way. Some days, I honestly would rather be dead. I'm at a point where I don't want to keep going. I want to stop, I'm fed up, I want to be pain-free - I want to be drug-free. I can't remember what either of those are like. It seems like a surreal dream to have a life where I'm not popping pills or feeling stabbing pains in my body.

I don't worry about dying, I don't care anymore. Which is honest. I do care about what my death would do to those around me. I worry that Paul would kill himself. He's said he would, in a semi-joking fashion, but his sister's death sent him to suicide. I am as much his life, as he is mine, I don't know how he would want to go - that's not me being big headed, but if he died, I'd want to die too. I don't think my parents would cope well either. My Dad is my best friend, and I, his. I don't want to die, don't get me wrong. I have so many dreams and desires and wishes, but I'm so fed up. I wouldn't actively seek death, but the way I feel, I wouldn't fight against it.

Argh, I shouldn't write blog updates while I'm sore. It's just a bad idea. I have pains wracking all down my right side, with stabbing pains going straight across my gall bladder. I have taken all the painkillers I safely can. I could take more, but I worry about overdosing. While I would not turn away death, as I said above, I don't want to lead to my own. I just want to not suffer. And I don't think that is a big thing to ask. I'm fed up of suffering, I'm fed up sitting here thinking like this.

To sound completely corny - I would like to be happy, but being happy while being in pain is really difficult. I can't brush it off now, I find it harder to hide as well. I used to be able to hide being in pain, now I burst into tears. While also being unable to walk. Every attack cripples my back, and I walk like an old woman, while my breath hitches and my nose runs. It isn't my best look. I hate being who I am just now.

I hate that my sole topic of conversation of late is my health, is of pain and is of drugs. No wonder people don't talk to me, I'm not cheery and I know the last thing people seem to want to hear about is health. But I don't talk about it in real life, or I try not to, online I've been trying to stop as well, well, except here, because I don't want to even start thinking about what others must feel about me constantly going on about me. It must seem like I only care about my own health etc, but I don't. I just need to let it out, and being unable to walk to the top of a mountain to scream, I need to talk, I just have no one to talk to it about.

I also hate feeling so sorry for myself. I hate weakness and self pity - and that is what I have became - someone who is weak and filled with self pity. I really wish things were different, but before I deteriorate further - I'm going to call it a night.

today was a bad day healthwise

To quote my Dad I was ''in a very bad way earlier''.

It started up the field, I'd felt pretty rotten all day, and had slept for most of the day until getting ready to go up the field (I got some nice pictures of Harvey, but won't be posting them today). It was after I'd taken Harvey for a tiny walk that I was starting to feel really bad, as in having to do breathing exercises to try to maintain composure bad. Dad rushed us home, and hell, REALLY rushed us home. So I could go be sick, and well other things that are too much information, then I passed out on my bed.

Not long after, Paul turned up - as he does on Wednesday nights, and I was so out of it. The attack had taken everything out of me, and I just lay sleeping in his arms between accidently nudging him out of the bed (it's a single and I have a big bum!). After dinner I felt rotten again, went to the loo and felt a bit better then came back through to the bedroom and promptly fell asleep again. He left at about 8pm, leaving me sleeping and I got up at 10pm to have some tea.

I still feel really rough, so tired. All I want to do is sleep, sleep forever. I get the distinct feeling that I'm nearing another should be hospitalised point, I get this bad every few months, and every few months I tell myself I'll go in if it gets worse. I'm not sure how much longer I can keep kidding myself. It gets to the point where I genuinely begin to think, I could die followed by - well, at least it won't be painful. Knowing my luck, I'd die screaming in agony - so I really shouldn't think these things.

Anyways, I'd only came on to check eBay, as I'm bidding on webkinz which I can ill afford. I also want to buy books, despite having hundreds unread. Basically I want to comfort shop, which when you can't afford it - gets dangerous. However, I'm off to look at Amazon.co.uk and maybe I'll order something. Before I fall asleep, which is becoming very close, as even writing this, my eyes are shutting.

''Holiday'' and Party and not being able to cope

It feels like I've been offline for an eternity, and between being ill and just being scatterbrained, I can't get my shit together. Even just to blog. How bad is that? I have all the hours in the day, and still, it's 23.28pm and I'm just trying to blog - 2 days after coming back from my time away. I swear, when I'm fixed and actually able to work, I won't know how to time manage. And damn, I used to be quite good at it. I may have looked like a blue-arsed fly, but inside, I was kinda organised!

Anyways - enough of the babbling. Well, enough of the nonsensical babbling. I've been away on ''holiday'' then at a weekend party (which was amazing, as usual!). The holiday was with my Nana, and we went to a hotel in Forfar. I feel bad that we didn't get much done throughout the week, but I now realise that trying to holiday with a grandmother while absolutely buggered on drugs just isn't a good time to holiday. I knew this before I went, the reason I went is because she's 87 - and really, at that age, you can't keep putting things off. And I would never want to be in the position where I put things off for so long that she died waiting. Unfortunately it meant it wasn't the best holiday, and I didn't really enjoy it - which I felt guilty about.

In all honesty, the holiday was hell on Earth. Not because I was with my Nana, while she is er, unique, I do enjoy time with her, although she can get irritating. But I was sick, I was tired, I was stressed, and I was losing the plot - quite seriously. I've never had a real mental breakdown, but I think I came close last week. I was randomly bursting into tears, I told my Nana it was my gall bladder, but it wasn't. Yes, I was sore, but I was tired and I was exhausted, and I couldn't cope. I would be sitting having tea with her, and I'd be fighting back having a mental collapse. I've never felt like that in my life, and I felt so guilty - that me being like that was ruining her holiday. It happened daily, I just couldn't cope. We went shopping in Dundee, in the shopping mall, I had to hang up on my Mum on the phone because I was about to become a wreck, I was fighting back tears talking to my Nana, trying not to show her because I didn't want her to worry, while trying to do things like count Webkinz in my head or sing nursery rhymes mentally or biting my lip or my tongue to try and take my mind off things. And this was a *holiday*. On the way back from that shopping trip, I got lost, and I had to really fight back having a panic attack, because I was lost, and I couldn't see the road signs. I shouldn't have been on the road at all, but explaining that to my Nana was impossible. Later that same night, I was lying in bed, silently sobbing, with a towel and a lil kinz, and stroking this damn teddy and texting Paul complaining it wasn't big enough to cuddle. The next day I bought myself two soft toy kittens, because world be damned, I might be 26 and buying teddies, but I was buying sanity.

So yeah, that was my holiday. I still feel riddled with guilt over the fact I couldn't make it a real holiday for her, but I can't stop being ill. And clearly, I just can't cope - drugs, illness etc - I'd like to think I could cope, but I can't. And that in itself was one of the hardest things to swallow, I'm not keen on being weak, and that was hugely weak. Needless to say, while I missed her after we came back, I was glad it was over. I was rundown, stressed and just wanted to sleep for days - but I couldn't, as it was the castle weekend, and I really wanted to go.

So Paul and I went, and as usual, it was good fun. I hated the fact I was so tired that I couldn't get involved in as much as I'd like. Although I went to bed earlyish on the Friday night, we didn't actually sleep till much, much later. Thus, we didn't get up until mid-afternoon Saturday. Saturday night however, I couldn't keep going, and before midnight I was in my bed. I had a sore foot, a sore gall bladder and I was back to the tearful state, I was better off in bed, reading my book and just relaxing. So I did. Paul stayed out till half 2, by which point I'd long since fell asleep on top of my book with the light on. I slept till around 2pm Sunday, proving that I needed the sleep.

On the matters of sleep - I slept till 2pm on Monday, and today despite being up at 9am for the Doctor - and being in bed early the night before, I was asleep again by 10am, and woke up at 3pm, and I'm still so tired. And stupidly, the Doctor today asked me if I was coping and I said yes. I don't know who I am trying to kid. I look like shit. Anyways, on that note, and feeling sorry for myself and wishing I was able to be different to how I am, I'm going to put myself to bed.