tinhuviel: (Sick Ren)

Thanks to my wacked-out health, there was an incident last Sunday that landed me in an extended stay hotel until yesterday morning. As documented on my Facebook, I ended up with Blake's cold a couple of weeks ago. Since 2015, I don't just get to have a simple cold and be done with it, no. I end up with secondary infections and my sleep patterns and behaviour are almost always affected. That means I sleepwalk. After the cold began to wane, I developed some sort of viral infection under my tongue. I caved and went to the doctor about that last Friday. He gave me some lidocaine for the pain and told me to ride it out for about a week, at which time, it should be getting better. But it wasn't just that. A knot - infection? lymph gland? who knows? - began growing behind my left ear. I felt generally unwell. The next thing I remember, Janice is driving me to Crossland Suites. She thought I had over-taken some of my medication and, when she couldn't find it in my stuff, was not going to be convinced otherwise. I was so sick and out of it, I was incapable of explaining what I had done with my meds, and had no way to show her that all was in order, because I'd repacked everything a couple of days prior, along with the meds I'd had moved from San Diego to here. It was an effort in poor organisation. The next day, I Uber'd to the closest CVS and had them check my temp at the minute clinic. My throat was on fire, and I felt delusional, and couldn't think straight. I had a fever of 103. I got some aspirin and juice, and went back to the hotel to die. Then I lost my voice for three days.

Fortunately, I began to recover from this nightmare on Thursday.  Friday was the big day of the move, so I had to be at least marginally functional!  When Friday came, my voice was back, my mouth had recovered almost completely, and my throat was only a little scratchy.  I was still weak and underwhelmed, but I was present and accounted for.

It's been slow going like you wouldn't believe with the unpacking process.  I don't have furniture to put things on, and I don't want to put stuff on the floor, in the event Toby decides he wants to mark something, like an asshole, so I'm having to pick and choose what I pull out for right now.  Today, I wanted to smudge the apartment, and set up a little bit of sacred space in the bedroom, but I can't find my supplies and incense.  I've gone through everything and can't find an inkling of Witchery anywhere.  But I did find the prescriptions I'd consolidated!  I called Janice to let her know and, when I see her, I'm gonna show her what I'd done and why it looked so bad, when she went to check on my medicinal intake.  I also apologised for acting so wonky.  I really could not help it, though!

Yesterday, I got a delivery of cheese garlic bread and a Pepsi, which I have been subsisting on for almost 24 hours. About an hour ago, I did something I had not done since 2013: I used a pot and cooked soup on a real stove. To most, I guess this is no big deal but, for me, it's truly a momentous occasion that means several things.  It means that I'm more self-sufficient now that I have been in years.  It means I can begin to eat properly and have more variety in my life as a crap foodie.  It means that I am going to save a huge amount of money on food, because I have so much storage space, a whole damned fridge, and the ability to prepare food rather than depending on prepackaged junk food.  Cooking that soup on a stove top, in my own pot, with my own spoon, means that I am free.  It also means that Gordon Ramsay will have one more vegetarian pseudo-cook to rail at for existing, and daring to darken the sacred doors of a kitchen!

Of course, I could not have gotten to this mini-milestone, had it not been for the kind souls of my Tribe and our extended clan.  Were I able, I would cook up a flipping cauldron of soup and share it with you all, as we party as hard as a pack of introverts could!



tinhuviel: (Here is the news!)
I have not been very chatty lately, at least not enough to put into words what's been going on. The only thing I could deal with was a sentence here and there on Facebook, which is a convenient diversion when you can't talk about anything important. But it's time to come clean about a Thing, so here it is.

Approximately a month ago, I attempted suicide. I couldn't deal with being alone and so very lonely anymore, and watching in my mind's eye Aunt Tudi dieing as I held her hand. Her eyes were so blank and she didn't grasp my fingers in reciprocation at all. She was gone in less than five minutes, but every second of that moment was branded into my mind. Every time I closed my eyes...no, I didn't have to close my eyes...I saw her lying there...dieing. One night, I couldn't take it anymore, hearing her voice and seeing her die, over and over and over. I had only taken three of my Ativan, but on that dark night, the void took my beyond my natural reasoning, and I swallowed 87, the rest of the bottle, all at once. Two days later, I woke up in an urgent care facility that promptly escorted me to Carolina Behavioral Health, a psychiatric hospital. I spent a week and a day there, learning coping skills on how to overcome my loss. I also was placed in drug counseling because of the way I attempted to kill myself. The psychiatric to whom I was assigned surmised that I may be suffering from PTSD, and he explained that some people, especially those who were so attached to the person who passed away, went beyond simple grief and fell into the despereate realm of post traumatic stress and unbelievable depression. He changed all of my meds and prescribed me new ones. I had to see a judge before they would release me from the hospital. But I left feeling much better, with a large list of grief support groups where I could find some solace with those who were going through the same thing I'm enduring. I made some friends there and, thanks to Ambien, I was able to sleep at night and not be in a phantasmic state, reliving Aunt Tudi's last breath over and over and over. I learned how to deal with the guilt of all the things I could have done for Aunt Tudi and all the things I did that I shouldn't have, making her bereft and worrisome. I haven't found a support group yet, but I'm no longer suicidal, although I experience moments of indescibible pain and loss, so all-encompassing that it's almost tangible. My entire body aches from it and I cannot stop the tears that come, pouring from my eyes like a fountain. Never have I cried so often and so hard and unstoppable. Toby tries to comfort me during these incidents, and Smidgen is attached to me almost 24/7, face to face with me, purring in an attempt to stay my grief. So many nights I have fallen asleep hugging my beloved cat as she purrs me into unconsciousness. As always, Chester doesn't give one tiddly bit. He's too old and tired to be bothered with my neurosis, and I really can't blame him. I'm still in recovery and the doctor said I may be in the grieving process for a very long time, considering how close Aunt Tudi and I were. He suggested that I tell people who try to make me get over the whole thing, that everyone grieves differently and that I needed support, not a sermon and not judgement. I've already had to do that with Uncle Michael, and he has changed his tune and simply loves me as I go through this process. I don't want to end up in the hospital again, although they supplied me with amazing food and chocolate milk. It was there that my appetite was jump-started. I gained some weight while I was there, from 202 to 216. I felt like an utter pig, but I didn't care. I've attempted to maintain my appetite and my family doctor suggested that I start a regimen of multi-vitamins and nutrition drinks, just to build my strength back, so I wouldn't be falling all over the place.

When I came home though, all gung-ho to apply what I had learnt, I was told that Aloysius, Aunt Tud's cat, may have been hit by a car and he ran into the woods. I walked into the edge of the forest where Janice said she had found a cat, but was unsure it was Al, and I discovered, to my grief-stricken heart, that it was indeed Al. That took the wind out of my sails, and I found myself isolating once again, lying on the couch in the dark, watching Gordon Ramsay and Law & Order. One night, after not eating all day, I fell backwards hard, and broke Aunt Tudi's happy face table. I also ripped my right great toenail partially out, and had to go to a foot doctor to have it removed. But it was like everything that belonged to Aunt Tudi is either dieing or being destroyed. I'm at a loss for words how distressing this is. But I'm muddling through it, and actually cleaned the house for the first time since August 25th. I also caught up on the laundry and the dishes. I did all this in one day, and felt like I was gonna go mad from all the work I'd done. I'm not a domestic person, and I'm lazy to boot, so this was a monumental achievement. I've marked the weekend as the time I will clean house. I must get organised.

Today I went to my orthopaedist for the first time since 2008. He reviewed my x-rays and examined my knees. Then he told me that, even though it was preferable to wait until the age 50 to have a knee replacement, I could not wait that long with the horror that is my left knee. He's going to schedule me for the surgery as soon as possible next year. This came as such a relief to me, as I have been in horrible pain with my knees for years, wishing I'd get to 50 without screaming myself to death. Right now, Dr. Keith is my very best friend, my ultimate hero.

Since the death of Aunt Tudi, I have been unable to write. This is the primary reason my journal has not been updated for so long. There was so much I wanted to say, but the words eluded me. This frustration only added to my distress. It didn't help when I found out that one of my favourite authors and writing influences had recently passed away. 2011 has been a bitch and only makes me hope that 2012 brings the Alpaca Lips, so I can reunite with Aunt Tudi and Granny, and all the animals that passed away over the years. I know that sounds like I have a death wish, but I assure you; I'm not going to do anything stupid like what I attempted last month. It's not my place to take my own life when it's obvious I'm supposed to remain here. The medical staff all said that I was lucky to be alive, and I took this as a message from the Goddess and God that I'm to remain alive until they say it's time to cross over. To be honest, I really want to hang around to see the end of the world, if that's what is going to happen on 21 December, 2012. And so I linger and cope with this crippling grief the best I can.

I've gotten three holiday cards so far, and I want to thank [livejournal.com profile] popfiend, [livejournal.com profile] beechelfromhell, and [livejournal.com profile] gunslingaaahhh for their generous cards. Unfortunately, I'm unable to reciprocate because I haven't bought one thing for the horribleday season. I'm officially boycotting it this year, and that seems very logical to me, given the circumstances. [livejournal.com profile] gunslingaaahhh's letter in her card made me cry. It's exactly what I needed at that moment. I love you all, all my online friends, my Tribe, my Ka-tet. Thank you for being my friends. Your love passes through all the Internet cables and satellites, comforting me in a way I'm incapable of putting into words. You're one of the reasons I'm glad the Ativan didn't do its job.

I promise I will try to update the Cliffs of Insanity more often. Perhaps forcing myself to write about anything and everything here, even if it's shite, will be therapeutic. One can only hope.
tinhuviel: (Asthma Hound Chihuahua)
Try black and black. I had to go back to the E/R with my ankle this morning. It was hurting more now than it was when I first sprained it, the splint felt like it had been positioned out of whack (probably because of the way I half-slept last night), and the whole area just basically didn't feel right at all.

When the doctor took my splint and ace bandage off, revealed beneath was a huge-ass swollen ankle and foot, and the ankle and heel were so badly bruised, the colouring was dark black. The bruises span from the top of my foot near the ankle, to around the outside of my ankle and foot, and the edge of my heel. Dr. Roy very gently tried to move my foot to and fro to make certain it wasn't any sort of break, and it doesn't seem to be be so, but he commented that this was one of worst sprains he'd ever seen.

So he went and called the orthopaedist I'm supposed to go see on 5 July and discussed my situation. My appointment was rescheduled for 9 a.m. tomorrow. Until then, I'm supposed to keep the splint on and in the correct position as best as I can, and I was prescribed a stronger pain medication, Endocet, to deal with the godawful pain I'm enduring from this sprain. It feels like a Depression-era ex-con is pounding a rusty railroad spike through the bottom of my heel and up through my leg bone.

Right now, though, that's not so much the case. I took some of that Endocet and I'm not feeling much of anything but goofy. So hells to the yeah.
tinhuviel: (Cadmus Wrath)
I'm thinking seriously about shuffling off to bed...at 9 pm...after a 2 hour nap around 3 pm. These meds the doc has me on for migraine and depression have me going the total opposite direction now. I'm no longer waking up in a panic working out mathematical equations. Hell, I'm barely waking up. And trying to put two tangible sentences together is a bloody miracle. They say the side effects will pass after about a week and I've only been on them four days. I'm not complaining about the sleep, but I'd like to not feel like a zombie when I am awake. I keep looking for [livejournal.com profile] dr_p_venkman to come blow my head off. It wouldn't be the first time.

Tomorrow, I am writing if I have to beat myself with garden sticks to do so. Cadmus is getter rather ticked off at me and, to be honest, I can't really blame him.
tinhuviel: (Can't Stop Writing)
Too bad I wasn't awake this morning to enjoy it. I took my jacked-up meds like a good little brain patient last night around 9 PM. Midnight came and I was still wide awake, just working away like a happy little minion, sweeping through the forums like a harpy on a mop (that one was for you, [livejournal.com profile] filmkitty), working on a drawing for [livejournal.com profile] paisleydaze, and rereading what I have so far of The Blood Crown. Y'know, hey lolly lolly just-a doin' my thang. Add to the mix an insane brainstorming chat-session about a viral campaign and Nerf management with [livejournal.com profile] luvthyjoker and Fox, the Clown's Updater over on You Tube, and you have the makings of a long and happy evening.

I was, that is, until right around 3 am, while I was online with [livejournal.com profile] rancid_rainbow discussing the need for a Town Hall Meeting, now that Little Bro has such a large and scattered team helping him out. Well, we were talking about that and music. And that's the last thing I remember until around 5 this morning when Aunt Tudi asked me to get up and give her her insulin shot. I woke up starved to death so I got a wee bowl of grits and couldn't even finish those. Aunt Tudi woke me a few minutes later, telling me to get my hair out of my food. I went and cleaned up, got rid of the grits, and wibbled my way back to the love seat to finish one more thing online before I turned in.

I woke up on the love seat at 2 PM.

So I've had over 9 hours of deep, uninterrupted, dreamless sleep, just at the wrong time of day. I expect I'll be up all night tonight. I'm not taking the meds tonight. I'll just stay awake until around 6 PM tomorrow evening. Then I'll take the meds and maybe I'll fall out at the correct time. What I really think my problem is, is that I'm by nature a night person. All of my creative efforts and thoughts kick my spirit up a notch when the sun goes down. Maybe forcing myself to sleep at night isn't the best idea in the world. I'm gonna try it for a while, but I may instead reverse myself completely and take my meds for a daytime sleep schedule, interrupting it only long enough to perform diurnal duties before crawling back into my coffin.


In other news, I am officially retired from writing The Date Series. I know I've said that before, but this time is different. Yesterday, I deleted my j-Tunes from my i-Tunes playlists and from Son of iGor. If nothing else bespeaks finality, that does to anyone who truly knows me. The tale is in the music. If the music is dispersed, the tale is over. I have achieved Zen Oneness with my Joker. All the Js that were crowding my head merged into one happy, reconciled, shiny new Head Joker who can now reside in the brain pan and give advice on chaos, anarchy, and dealing with difficult people as needed.

There was one other J-fic I was considering writing, and I actually started it. Its working title was "One Pretty Bad Day," and it was to follow a day in the life of J, who has apparently fallen victim to Murphy's Law. Yes, it was a comedy. No, there was no violence or sex involved. I may still do it, I don't know. Right now, the only J-related thing I have the time or sanity to focus on is The Joker Blogs and making sure Little Bro gets to do his thing in the way he wants to do it, with no or close to no distraction or bother. Where my mind is right now, any J-related writing will be in that vein, for the maintenance and furtherance of Little Bro's growing empire. My new Head J, who sits next to Maul on the Council of We'll Kick Your Ass and Laugh while We Do It, will be very useful to my psyche as I keep on keeping on in this capacity. The characters that inhabit my head are my archetypes, whom I tap when the need arises. There's never a dull moment when a Sith Lord and a sociopathic Clown with self-image issues are on the job. There's some other stuff I want to write regarding TJB, but that'll have to wait until later when my thoughts are gathered.


I'd also like to get back into HG World Zombie Drama podcast, but I'll be needing a new mic before I can do that. Mine is knackered. I may as well string a tin can to one of my USB ports. I thought I'd be able to get one this month, but it's not gonna happen 'til September now. I'm hoping I can still be a part of it in some way by then. I had a hella good time doing what I did with 'In the Flesh.'

There's that, and I've gotten the bug to start drawing again, thanks to my interp of one of [livejournal.com profile] paisleydaze's characters. After I finish that, I may try my hand at a new Cadmus picture. It's been years since I drew him, so I'm sure he's changed in subtle ways that will only come out on paper. Heck, for that matter, I may as well draw him and Orphaeus together, since The Blood Crown is as much about the dynamics of their relationship as it is about anything else. Now that I have new artist friends who can give me good advice and beat me about the head with easels if need be, I feel much better about drawing and being able to improve myself.

And, for the first time in quite a long time, I have The Blood Crown open and looking at me from the computer monitor. I feel rejuvenated from my fan fiction vacation, even though that holiday took a right turn at Albuquerque when it should have taken a left. All in all, it was a scream, as opposed to The Vampire Relics being a Shriek. Totally different vibe. And now I'm getting back into the dreadful poetry of Cadmus Pariah and company. Once more into the Abyss...

Better untried than found defective
Better unhinged than unselective
Better messed-up than compromised
Better ignored than not emphasized

August 2017

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