YAY CHRISTMAS! (not)

Christmas, and the entire holiday season from Thanksgiving to New Year’s, has always been hard. Always has been, probably always will. There’s a lot of reasons for that but those aren’t the focus of this post.

The focus of this post is “people who aren’t willing to accept that certain things are triggering and that the triggered person knows their body/mind and what they need to be safe.” On Christmas Day. Yeeeeah.

[trigger warnings for: references to fundamentalist Christianity, references to abuse, PTSD attacks and triggers, insensitivity to needs, whatever the term is for “non-mentally-ill-‘splaining,” and general ass haberdashery.]

So, this started out with being given “a gift” of a rolled up set of papers entitled [dun dun duuuunnh] “The True Meaning of Christmas.” oh, lovely, do I really have to do this? I was totally wary given just the title, but I knew that if I didn’t get it over with I would be plagued with nerves and general “what if” scenarios. So I read it. And holy shit, do I wish I didn’t.

The diatribe includes such gems as “for most people, this would have been a bad year, but because I have Jesus…” [unwritten “if you don’t have Jesus of course your year will suck,” plus “if you have Jesus and your year sucked, UR DOIN IT RONG!”], blaming his wife for their divorce, “I cannot imagine how people can make it through this life not knowing Jesus, or having a rock to cling to when the storms come their way,” and a list of “ways to change the world” including [but not limited to]:

  • ringing bells for the Salvation Army [yeah, I’d rather not give gifts or my time to a discriminatory and homophobic “charity”]
  • making a deal with the local gas station to fix tires for “needy people” for free
  • providing a week of childcare to a single mother looking for a job
  • “take blind people to the grocery store to help them find stuff and shop”

… and so on. All with the underlying, unsaid implication that if you don’t do these things, you’re not changing the world or being awesome or being a ~true Christian~ [this would be hard, since I’m not a Christian…], with judgment dripping from every word.

And given how … generally drippy this thing was with condescension and ick, I got pretty badly triggered. Apparently that’s how I spend Christmas now, trying to reign in my PTSD attacks. lovely.

Anyway, so I made a post to Facebook saying that
“oh yes, peachy, just what this Pagan who comes from an abusive “Christian” fundamentalist household wanted for Giftmas: a proselytizing letting saying that things have been donated to the gospel mission in my name.”

cue freakout. someone I’ve been having trouble calling “a friend” for a while posted the following:

“Eh, move on. You’ve got bigger shit in your life to deal with.”
and
“They’re going to keep on pulling this bullshit with you until you either A.) cut them out of your life permly. Or B.) turn the other cheek and realize people won’t change and go on your merry way.
Bullies love when you bitch about them.”

apparently me posting a vent about a serious trigger in my space is “bitching” and something that this person will AUTOMATICALLY know about… since they’re not my “friend” there anyway.

Me: seriously, C?

how the hell do you think you have the right to tell ME, the one impacted, how *I* should be reacting? This is my facebook, a place where I can fucking rant, and I get told off for being hurt over something that ruined a lot of things in my life? yeah.

peachy.

C: Those things could be helping somebody indirectly. You have every right to rant, but I sometimes worry that some of your health problems are from you worrying a lot about what those folks do.. You have your health, your schooling, your future, your life to worry about. Screw the rest of ’em. I care about you enough to not want to see you go deeper because of someone else’s dickhead move.

Me: I think I, and my doctors, will be the judge of whether or not “worrying a lot about what those folks do” has a negative impact on my health, be it physical or mental.

and this is not just “worrying about those folks,” this was something sent TO ME that triggered MY PTSD, that brought up MY PAST, specifically because of references to the Christian fundamentalist entity.

yeah, so apparently she’s just doing it for “my health,” not taking into account that I really do know my own body and mind, and that sometimes venting really is the best immediate thing to do, and that she [as an outsider] really has no cause to be telling me how to think, feel, or act.

This just ruined my day. Ruined. I don’t know what to do, or where to go from here, because this was someone I thought was a friend. Thought, past tense. Now I just need to relax [hello, Doctor Who Christmas Special!] and calm down. If only I could have some vodka while on the vicodin. If only.

oiiiii

there are certain words in the English language that should never ever EVER be put in the same sentence.

Words like “needles” or “scalpels” and “girlie bits.”

Because honestly, fucking ouch.

Two things

…that are totally unrelated. First, Harry Reid addressed Dr. Tiller’s murder — and finally, someone in power called it what it really was: an act of terrorism. There are two really good discussions on the matter here at ontd_political and here at ontd_feminism, both on LJ.

Second, either my allergies are doing things they’ve never done before [brave new world? I fucking hope not], or I’m dying.

To be more specific, it’s extremely hard to breathe, my inhaler [asthmatic here] isn’t doing much, and I’m whistling when I breathe. And no, before you ask, it’s not the air going by the perforation in my septum, since I’m kinda not breathing through my nose. Soooo… dunno what’s going on but I’m more than a tad worried. The other factors are only creeping me out more, as it potentially means a pulmonary embolism, though that could just be my I’M DYING sense kicking in.
—————-
Now playing: VNV Nation – Illusion
via FoxyTunes

Oh, look — a blog post; wherein I “come out” about things

It’s been some time since I’ve felt the energy to make a post here.  I’d say I’m sorry for being missing all this time, but — it’s been entirely out of my control, so I’m not really anxious to take the blame for medical reasons.

I’m also writing this with a [most likely] broken elbow, so… there may be typos and stuff you normally wouldn’t see here.  Such is life, apparently.  also, a protip: if your hand’s turning purple, your splint is WAY way too tight.

Life has been interesting.  I’m in between therapists right now because my previous, awesome one finished his internship and is leaving [v. sad] and I’m waiting to make an appointment with my new one.  This, of course, would have to happen right as things blow up, medically, mentally, and emotionally.  There’s something going on with my personal life that I’m having a very hard time coming to grips with — and I’m not comfortable posting about it until I talk to a couple very specific people first.

I’ve been dealing, on and off, with back pain for a long, long time.  Like, thirteen-fourteen years “a long time.”  At the beginning of the month, however, it got severely worse, to the point where I could barely make myself breakfast [when said breakfast consisted of toasting a bun and slicing some cheese up].  My doctor, however, told me that I didn’t need imaging, that the dowager’s hump I have is “just fat!”, and that I just need to [here it comes, folks!] LOSE WEIGHT AND EXERCISE.  Right, because I can totally run or lift weights or use the elliptical if I can’t stand, y’know?

Two visits to the emergency room, one myelogram, and some unusual meds later, I find out what’s going on.  No herniated discs [thank fuck for that, I’m not exactly excited over the prospect of spine surgery right now], BUT: I have degeneration in both of my sacroiliac joints [where your spine connects to your pelvis AKA rather fucking important] as well as what amounts to an extra joint in my lumbar spine.  And yes, both of them are extremely painful.

What this means to me?  I have no “hope” of ever “losing the weight by being active” again.  It’s taken a long, long time for me to admit it, but here it is: I am disabled.  I’m not in that “able with issues” group any longer, I’m fully in that “yep, I’m fucked!” stage.  And while this, again, is only my view and take on it, it’s … shocking.  Even though I had a niggling feeling for so, so very long that there was Something Wrong with me, I’d not only refused to admit it, but I wouldn’t have accepted it if a doctor told me, flat-out, that my spine was fucked.

I guess that’s the danger of a slow, slow crawl from “fully able and active” [I did gymnastics, soccer, flag football, and seven very successful years of softball when younger] to “disabled.”  It’s harder to accept, because you can’t see the changes.  You’re too close to the problem, something like “not seeing the forest for the trees.”  And while I can’t say that a car accident would’ve been preferable [oh hell no], I still wonder how my thought processes would have wandered if it had been something sudden.

And here is where I gripe, yet again, over the state of health care in this country.  Because I look “just fine!” other than the terrible, terrible sin of daring to be fat, nobody believes me when I say that I have spine, hip, and other problems that preclude things like, oh, I dunno… walking across the [very large] college campus in one go.  The looks I got last week while doing a visit for ~daring~ to sit down and rest after walking some distance were … extremely hurtful.  The alternative, of course, would have been to keep walking and collapse in a fit of pain-induced vomiting fifteen steps later.  I’m not joking, it’s really really fucking painful and there comes a time during the day when I have to sit/lay down and rest or I will be making a trip to the ER.

And sadly, a number of the people giving me the nastygram looks were people with other disabilities.  Canes, wheelchairs, walkers… whatever.  And — at this point in time, I take my cane with me almost everywhere.  It’s not worth the risk of not having it when needed anymore, so it’s not like people can’t tell I’m having problems.  It’s an “invisible disability,” but I’m not without visual cues that shit’s fucked in Kaieville.

Well, now that I’ve rambled for some time, gonna try to get back on track.

The thing is, it’s not easy for me to accept this.  And I know that certain of my ~medical care team~ will do everything they can to shame me and bully me into thinking that I did this by *omg* being fat.

Except — lumbarization is not something you can control.  You can’t sit there and say, “hey, spine, don’t fully fuse at the sacrum/lumbar intersection!” — it’s automated, and you can’t fuck it up by doing… whatever.  And the degeneration?  Yeah, family history there.  Hips?  Injuries and sciatica… blah blah blah.

I’m not really looking forward to my next appointment.  And while yeah, I could technically switch doctors, that’s not as easy as it sounds.  Because, you see, Medicaid is a jackass and limited me to one PCP, one controlled substances provider, one pharmacy, and one hospital [for non-emergency purposes].  And so all referrals need to go through my PCP… which… means I can’t vet or change doctors without him approving it.

Can you see it?  “Yeah, doc, I want to stop seeing you and check out other doctors because you’re not doing what I need you to do; can you give me a referral?”  In a perfect world, this wouldn’t be an issue.  Hell, in a fucking perfect world, I wouldn’t be needing to switch doctors.  But, in this fucked-up system and fucked-up world, you take what you get.

And besides, how do you successfully change a doctor’s worldview from “your fat olololol CALORIES IN CALORIES OUT” to “yeah, being thin isn’t the end-all-be-all, just focus on being healthy for now”?  Especially if he thinks that your spinal problems will go away if you just… oh, forget it all.

I’m having a rough time, honestly.  I’m withdrawing into myself again, because I can’t get outside often, and when I do, it’s either to the doctor’s office, the pharmacy, or the grocery store.  That’s it.  I haven’t been “out” for fun in… since my birthday, actually.  Two and a half months.

It’s hard being alone.

And it’s even harder when none of your providers can accept that shit needs to happen BEFORE you’ll be able to ~lose weight~, especially if you can’t be “active” at all.

That’s gonna be a helluva appointment.

And with that, I bid you adieu for today.  I hope to post more often, but — I won’t guarantee anything.  Just keep checking back as you can.