And Just Like That, I’m 20 Years Old Again



I can’t keep having surgery… soon my insurance is gonna get pissed off.

I found a small cyst in my left wrist.  It’s hard, hurts, scared me, decided to see the doctor about it.  It’s just a little ganglion cyst, no big deal.  Common, run of the mill, no big deal.  While I was thinking about that tiny thing, I was all, “Oh, hey, maybe I should touch my scar and see how my parotidectomy is doing.”

So, yeah… it’s back.  They can do that, don’t you know.  Come back.  Sometimes I feel like it’s all in my head and it’s not really back.  I lose it sometimes, because it’s not that big.  Not like last time.  But no.  It’s really there.  I mean, it’s conceivable that it could be scar tissue…

I made an appointment down in Charlottesville for the 10th.  Why Charlottesville?  Why go 2 hours away for something that’s relatively common?  The last time I had one of these fucking things, my doctor was incredible.  He spent extra time to make sure that I was able to smile, again.  He knows my file, how long it had been in me the first time, my special circumstances and all that.  That’s why I’m going back.

But I think up till I made that appointment I was in a little bit of denial.  Even tho I had read all sorts of papers and medical journals about the recurrence rate of these things and how sometimes people wanna punt you to an oncologist and give you radiation, in a detached way, this wasn’t actually happening.  When I got off the phone, I started crying.  I called M because he went through this with me the first time and how scared I was.  I just needed to talk to a friend.

And as I was driving home, I started to think about it again, and I started crying again.  Like, giant fucking sobs and shoulders heaving, and all that shit.  I am goddamn terrified.  I’ve had surgery a couple times at this point, I know the drill.  I remember what happened last time.  Its not like I’m scared of the unknown, here.  I know.  I remember.

Why am I so scared?

After the surgery at my follow up appointment I asked the doc what would happen if it came back and he said that we’d deal with it.  Well, here we are.  11 years later.  And I have to deal with it.

Life - General

I’m 31 and I’m Going to Prom Tomorrow

So.  Tomorrow is raveprom.  Every single time I’ve gone to prom, there has been stupid childish drama, but that’s normal when you’re 14, 15, 16, 17.

Yes, I have a date.  Which is pretty nice.  I’ve been crushing on him for a while, now, and he knows, and I’d like to believe he likes me, too.  We work together so there’s no need to force anything to happen.  I invited him, he said he’d like to go.  He’s come to some other parties/karaokes with me in the past.  But anxiety demands that I doubt his intent or interests.  Lol.

The sign up says it’s semi-formal.  SEMI FORMAL.  That means my black skirt, a black tank, and a black shrug.  I like black.  But I need a haircut/dye job and eyebrow wax, too.  Hopefuly my hair genius can see me tomorrow.  Otherwise I’ll just wash it and cover it up.  Or dye it myself…

So, yeah, I’m pretty excited.  It’s gonna be awesome and I’ll get to hang out with some of the new friends I’ve made this year, so far.  ❤  Watch the instagram and twitter for pics.


I Am So Over Food


Misha.  Demonstrating eating.

As a concept, I am over food.  This new stomach takes me from peaceful to starving in absolutely no time.  I’ll be sitting here, perfectly content in life one minute, and the next I’m all “If someone doesn’t feed me RIGHT THIS MINUTE I’m going to throw down”.  And this all happens anywhere from 2 to 4 hours after I last ate, which granted, wasn’t very much, but I physically cannot eat that much to begin with!  I get shaky, I feel sick, I hurt like its going out of style, and when I do get some food?  5 bites, tops.  Do you know how incredibly frustrating that is!?

AHHH!!!!  I am over it.  I am OVER all of it.  I am over not eating what I want, and not eating enough at all, and the vitamins, and the medicines, and the lack of energy, and the crappy way these shakes taste, and the same handful of shit that I know I can eat, and I want fucking pizza, and I miss sleeping (which is probably indicative of a vitamin deficiency somewhere), and I just… I’ve hit a goddamn wall, today.

I need a good cry.  Logically, I know I won’t end up with esophageal cancer, and my stomach bile issues are probably all over, and any number of other great benefits… but I don’t want to adult/handle life today, and you can’t fucking make me.

Life - General

1,025,109.8 Words


Me, when I found out.  Same kind of stunned/betrayed reaction that Dean had to Cas when he found out he was working with Crowley

There are 1,025,109.8 words, by estimation, in the English language.  And yet I don’t have the word for how I’m feeling.  It’s not jealousy.  It’s not disappointment… not really.  It’s not sadness or anger, both of which are too basic a description for what I feel about this new bit of news.

M is getting remarried.

To the woman we broke up over.

Heartbroken doesn’t work.  I don’t miss our relationship in the slightest.  Stunned, definitely.  When he told me I went quiet and stumbled to continue the conversation… which he couched in a text as, “We need to talk about the Fall”.  Not, “I have some Earth shattering news to tell you which will make you feel super weird and uncomfortable and inadequate all at once”.

I mean, what do you even say to that?  Certainly not congratulations; I’m not happy for them.  I mean, in truth, they deserve each other.  I’m not gonna smear her on the internet (she takes better care of my girls than their father, sometimes), but trust me, they deserve each other.

Inadequate.  That’s a good word.  I wrote earlier about missing love.  I’ve opened myself up to a relationship as best one can when they’re stuck at home in the 21st century during the age of online dating.

Inadequate.  With a mix of anger, sadness, disappointment, and fear.

Yeah, fear is in there.  Fear that he’s going to go off and have this lovely life with his lovely… whatever.  Fear that I’m being cosmically punished for having the balls to get out of a toxic relationship and become my own person.  Fear that while he’s getting everything he’s ever wanted in life (job, kids, wife, home…) that I’m the one losing; with my crap car, being constantly broke, stuck in a job I only barely condescend to care about, when I want to travel to a different country doing anything else, with someone I love and can share everything with.


Oh yeah, I also like the show Awkward.

Don’t get me wrong… my current life is hands and feet better than I was two years ago; being constantly harassed by this same person who is now ridiculously happy in their world.  But basically I went from rock bottom to climbing out of the canyon during a rainstorm at night, and now I’m blindly wandering around trying to find shelter.

I’m good at metaphors.  I’m not good at feeling like I’m losing something, even if there is no competition.  I’m not good at handling unfair scenarios.  And I’m not good at sitting alone with my thoughts at night… they’re toxic.  Good thing Supernatural is gonna be on in a few.  It’ll take my mind off of my self pity fear fest.

Life - General

On Fic and Online Dating

Whenever I start reading Destiel fic, or Cockles fic, or any kind of romantic story whatsoever, I start to feel lonely.  I start to feel like I’m missing a very integral part of my life.  I read the words on the screen about kissing, touching. gentle gestures that indicate love; so much more than just carnal sex.  I miss those things.

Don’t get me wrong; I can get laid.  If it were just a need to fuck someone, I can take care of that pretty quickly.  What I miss are hugs, cuddles, small little things that make me feel safe enough to trust someone.

And I fucking hate it.

I’ve already written ad nauseum about how I can’t trust people and yet wish I could.  About how every now and then I get this ridiculous urge to embrace love and sappy shit.  And how I really really fucking hate feeling vulnerable.

I love reading Supernatural based fic.  But every time I do I end up feeling jealous of their relationships.

I’m not in a place to be in any kind of romantic situation, right now.  For one, I’m recovering from major damn surgery.  For two, my body is currently undergoing a shrinking fit.  I’m not usually self conscious, but I don’t want someone to watch me go through this transformation.  I don’t want someone worrying about me.  I have parents for that.

Online dating is a cesspool of doubt and douches.  I say that with all of the love in my heart for my friends who have found love via online dating.  I even have a friend who met his wife on OKCupid.  Awesome for them!  For me, it’s useless.

For instance.  This one dude messaged me and seemed kinda nice.  I started talking to him but then went to bed.  Dude actually told me off because I didn’t respond within a certain timeframe.  I told him off for being rude.  A few weeks later he writes me again all, “What’s up?” as if nothing ever happened.  I told him off again, and he apologized.  But now he keeps writing as though we’re awesome buddies.  What the everlasting fuck?  I hate people.

If I really felt like spending an hour and a half crafting a new profile, I could try eHarmony or one of the other big names, but it’s just so much effort to recreate one.


I guess that means I’m not really serious about the whole thing.  *shrug*  Maybe I’ll just go back to my fic and pinning away for the day when I can curl up in someone’s nook and fall asleep.


Home Sweet Home

Me, with my liquid pain killer.  Not really, tho, it tastes like ass and everything hurts when I take it.

I’m home from the hospital, and home from my intermediary stay at my parent’s house.  I love them so much, but I couldn’t relax and I couldn’t sleep.

Still can’t really sleep, though.  I cat nap through the day because I get exhausted.  Sleep is a battle between my subconscious wanting to get comfy and my medical need to stay the fuck off of my drain bottle.  I can’t sleep on my back, and sleeping on my side that doesn’t have the drain hurts for some unknown reason.

I wish I looked this good.

This last round of surgery was shit.  And not just because I basically had to strong arm the doctor into getting off his ass and fucking doing it.

I said earlier that I wasn’t nervous about it because I genuinely wasn’t!  I’ve had good surgery and bad surgery.  The first one made me scared of hospitals for a while.  The second one was perfect in every single way.  And this one started great, it really did.  I went in with stuff, my folks came, they hit me with some great shit before taking me upstairs into the surgery room and i can’t remember stuff.  But then I woke up with a shitton of pain.  That didn’t go away.  And continued to not go away.

The nurses wanted me to get up and walk, but it was impossible because I was crying in pain.  And this latest round of “hospital opiate use crackdown” shit (I know the new VA guidelines are for ER use, but people are shit) made the nurses ridiculously hesitant to give me medications.  I remember getting fentanyl in the recovery room because I was crying.  But you don’t give someone fentanyl one hour and then assume that tylenol and advil are gonna cut it the next.

You and my parents, Sam.

The next day when I saw the doctor and complained he was all, “Well, we’re giving you dilaudid every 8 hours!  You’re on three pain medications!” (He was including the tylenol and advil as tho that was anything to brag about.)  So I tearfully said to knock off the tylenol and advil and give me something stronger, that can actually last 8 hours IV (which dilaudid can’t).  He said fine, I could have it every 6 hours.  But didn’t tell me that.  He let the nurses tell me later on, after he was already gone.  Did I mention that they were always late with the medicine?  Yeah, I had to keep reminding them.

I kept crying.

At some point in the afternoon he approved a pain button, which made life SO MUCH easier.  It let me start to get up and move.  I did a bunch more walking around at 3am than when I wasn’t fucking crying.

The next morning I was told that the button was going away, because it was time to start putting food in my mangled, destroyed, broken stomach.  I started pressing it as much as humanly possible because I didn’t know how the pain would be managed without it.  I was pressing it, on average, every 2 hours.  Being dragged out of sleep from pain.

Me, being dragged out of sleep.

After it was removed, and everything was checked for leaking, they gave me something called Hycet.  It’s liquid and just a tiny bit stronger than vicodin.  It tastes horrible.  It’s also 7% alcohol and no one warned me.  I downed it in one gulp and spent the next hour wishing for death.  All other medications were given iv.  I was told that I could have a dilaudid if I really needed it in 6 hours.  I mean, fuck, the physical tablet medication says to take it every 4 hours.  But whatever.  They were still giving me the hycet and advil shit.  I was still dying of pain.  In the end I started to refuse the hycet all together because just when I’d be ok-ish again, that shit would burn my body with the fire of a million stars.

Finally I was told I could go home on the 3rd day.  This time the doctor didn’t even come visit.  He had his other doctor come.  Who prescribed me dilaudid.

I’ve had a few more interactions with the hycet, and talked to my normal doctor, and he’s giving me something else.  I can pick it up tonight at the pharmacy.  My drain is getting taken out on Monday, so at least then life can start to get back to normal.

In other news I’m binging Psych, playing Fallout 4, wishing I could eat popcorn, and generally feeling like death.  ❤

Life - General

I Have Nothing Witty to Write For a Title


CASTIEL: I’m afraid I might kill myself.

So, a friend posted about how Frozen is about Depression from Cracked. And I read it, and it had some salient points. And at the end it linked to the Hyperbole and a Half post titled Depression Part 2. And I started reading it, but then figured I needed to go back to Depression Part 1 because it’s been forever and I don’t exactly remember how we got to part 2. And I started reading it, and I got this, just, feeling of terror overwhelm me and I clicked it away in the middle of Alie yelling at herself to quit being sad.

About 70% of my anxiety is the sheer terror that I will feel depressed again.  20% is about running out of Ativan.  Only about 10% is ACTUAL random triggers and shit. And I fucking HATE it when someone’s all, “Well, what do you have to be depressed about?” Dude, get away from me.

Anyway, last year was for all intents and purposes, I had a good year. Except for that quick few weeks after DCcon. I hit a low that took me by fucking surprise. I was all, “YAY IM SO HAPPY OMG I LOVE EVERYONE SO MUCH THIS IS GREAT” to “hey wouldn’t it be cool if i just kinda quit. everything. in life.” in a week. But I knew that wasn’t right. I knew that the high from the con should have lasted WAY longer than that. And I probably could have saved myself some hurtin if I’d bumped up my shrink appt to earlier, but as it was, I knew it was coming up soon so I just waited.  I was mostly just hoping that I would “Miraculously Get Better”™.

But now, every time she mentions bringing my meds back down a skowtch, I am gripped with panic. I don’t wanna do that again. PLUS I know that my current dose isn’t what its gonna be 3, 5, 10 years from now. It’ll go up because inevitably, I’m gonna feel that way again. It’s gonna happen. Science. And I didn’t experience physical pain or anything. A few crying spells here and there, but mostly I was just afraid of what I knew I could do to myself.

And I know, in the clarity of NOT being sick, that I don’t wanna hurt myself. I’m good, I’m cool, don’t worry about me. But I was a few days away from starting to side eye all the shit in my room.  I was maybe two weeks from seriously considering giving it all a good look.  And there was no way I was gonna last 6+ months without any help.  And that grips me with complete, mind numbing, hide under my covers terror.

Today, I’m fine.  I’ve been doing well since beginning of August, right around when GISHWHES was in full swing.  I’ve broken up with a guy, dealt with a shitton of stress, sick babies and fuckwits at work, and I’m still good.  The biggest thing to take out of this is that I know my own brain.  I know my signs, and I know when to ask for help.  Fuck, even before my doctor’s appointment, I posted on FB that I was feeling myself falling into crisis and was keeping myself accountable by asking others to watch out for me.

Don’t try to win that battle by yourself.  Always get help.  If you hate the way you feel, why would you doom yourself to feel it day in and day out instead of asking for help?

Always keep fighting because you are not alone.