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Health Rant... Sorry. Um... My B-day is tomorrow. ^_^;;
12 years ago
Copypasta from my reddit /r/offmychest post today. >.=.> Long rant about health problems you probably don't want to read. You've been warned.
October 1st we had $1.94 between us to last 2 weeks. That was on payday after we paid rent. Have you ever been that poor? It's really stressful.
I've been in therapy for four years. I was doing the best I'd done in a long, long time, and then Dad got sick and died. Now I'm right back where I started - crying, miserable, alone, and wishing I didn't exist. I don't care about all this stuff... I just wish I could have my daddy back. Preferably both parents, but I'd settle for one. I hadn't fully mentally accepted Mom dying yet. She's still in a lot of my dreams. I wake up crying after I tell her in my dream that she's dead. That I saw her dead. That I went to her funeral...
If I had no hope of getting better, I would have stabbed myself at 15 like I wanted to and been done with it. I was mildly schizophrenic for almost a decade and no one did anything for me until I was in college and someone said I should see a doctor for depression. Until then... Until it had gotten so bad that on that day I was seeing myself in 3rd person... I had no idea it wasn't normal to hear God physically speaking to you or see demons or hear voices that weren't there or to be sad and scared all the time and so on. I have gotten a lot better.
I know I haven't elaborated on most of my problems to anyone outside of my therapist and my husband. Maybe it will help me if I do. For starters, I hate talking on the phone. I would much rather you email or text me. Because of having stress problems and difficulty being around other people socially as well as my horrible experiences answering phones at my first job, I really hate having to make or answer phone calls. Unless I'm feeling really good, I usually don't answer and make excuses for it later.
My birth mom and I aren't that close (I was adopted at 3), and maybe I shouldn't be telling her problems, but they're the same as some of mine. I've had PTSD realistically since I was 3. When I was adopted. Want to know why I was adopted? What happened? It defined my life. My birth mom's Mom and Dad went on a cruise and left my mother, Melinda, home alone for several days with me. Melinda invited a bunch of strangers over to "party." I watched as they drugged and gang raped her and saw her break someone's nose and throw her then boyfriend across a room and put his head through a wall before passing out in a pool of blood. I sat there alone for what felt like hours until the cops showed up after everyone else had left. The neighbor called them. I sat in stunned silence in a police car thinking my mother was dead on the floor. I went to a foster home and didn't speak for three days other than to quietly ask for "Bob" (my grandfather who adopted me and recently passed away). I never liked cops, black guys, needles, guns, or taking pills after that day. It's not a racist thing, I just can't be alone with black guys because I start thinking of that night and panicking. PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder (what soldiers often have on returning from war), was my first and still largest problem.
I shrugged it off and pushed it back for over a decade until we were moving across the country. I never fit in at school and didn't know why, but I figured I was just a nerd and moved on. Turns out I just was messed up in the head and have a very twisted sense of humor. But when we were preparing to move out here, when I was saying goodbye to all my friends and everything I had ever known, I couldn't just go through the motions anymore. I remember standing there ready to leave my school for the last time and exactly where I was when I felt something in my brain "snap." It was after my best friend said she'd call me every day and never forget me. My brain broke, and my answer was truer than anything I had felt before. I told her, "No you won't. You'll call for a few days, then every other day, then once a week, and in a few months you'll have all but forgotten me." Twelve years of suppressing it all, and in that one statement my world and my brain broke permanently.
After we moved out here, I started hearing voices again. It had happened before, but it was only when Mom was in the hospital and I thought she was dying. I was 14. I remember because the voices told me that she'd be fine and it didn't matter because in 15 years I wouldn't care. They were right. I took it to mean I was going to die in 15 years. When I was 29. Given all my other problems, that might be accurate.
This time the voices were visible. They were demons, angels, ghosts, etc. Once I physically "heard God" tell me that I was supposed to fall in love with one of my friends and started stalking him and telling him every chance I could how we were "supposed to be together" and how much I loved him even though I barely knew him. Even now, as much as I tell myself it's all in my head and I made it up, if I saw him again and he said he wanted me to, I would drop my entire life and go right back there and listen to and follow that "voice" that gave me direction while driving me crazy.
I went through college with multiple personalities that were fractured and broken. They were so different they had their own names and histories and voices. They were aware of each other and I would have physical, loud arguments with myself as my "sides" discussed what to do about things. Broken.
Eventually, when Mom died, my brain just gave up. I couldn't even handle having one personality. I stopped doing anything. I just sat there, staring blankly at the wall. My then boyfriend told me I needed to get professional help or he needed to call an ambulance. I wouldn't eat, sleep, move, and I told him how I could see myself in 3rd person and felt like I was dead and floating above my own body. I could literally "see" myself from above instead of seeing out of my own eyes. It was like a dream where I was floating and watching myself go through the day. That was when I finally agreed to go to therapy. That was what it took for me to see that something was wrong. All I knew was that I was upset and wanted to talk to someone about Mom dying...
Unfortunately, mental problems aren't something you can just "get over." I came to realize the reason the voices were telling me to stab myself at 15 was because I was suicidally, chronically depressed. Even then though, I was smart enough to know I shouldn't kill myself and that I wanted to get better so I could get back to my family and friends in Georgia and have my once-happy not-broken life back. Actually, the only reason I didn't was because my decade of Bible training had told me that if I killed myself, I'd go to hell. Life was already so scary, I figured hell must be unimaginably worse. As it turns out, my daily life is what a lot of people would have called "hell," something I no longer really believe in unless we're already in it.
As I got better mentally and accepted who I was and the problems I had, my brain couldn't handle the change. Instead of being better, it just changed direction. Now instead of being numb to the world and following the orders of the voices in my head, I'm left directionless and scared. I'm terrified all the time and have a chronic stress disorder. I get so terrified around certain PTSD triggers that I can't speak, I shake violently, and I feel like I'm having a heart attack. If I don't get 8 hours of sleep regularly, it stresses me so bad physically that I have heart palpitations and trouble breathing.
My stress problem caused me to lose both the two jobs I have ever had and has prevented me from even being able to think about looking for a job for over a year. I'm currently trying to get my disability application approved, which is hard when I won't go to meet anyone including a lawyer. At both places I worked at I started having severe panic attacks daily that would last for hours at a time. I'd hide in the back of the store unable to talk to anyone, crying until it hurt, and then run away home as soon as I could. I couldn't handle talking on the phone, dealing with customers, or even the slightest amount of criticism. I only made it as long as I did at my two jobs because at the vet I could play with puppies and delivering pizza I could hide in my car alone most of the day.
The reason I've always had a lot of pets is because pets are calming and help keep me from getting upset. I once moved and had a letter from my therapist saying that I needed to move so I could have Timmy and Little Bitt as my "help cats" because they kept me calm. Giving them up for my husband who is allergic to cats was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I gave them to my dad, but now that he's dead, we have to give them away or keep them. I really love my husband for doing his best to tolerate Timmy, even if we have to keep him in a different room. But having two cats would suffocate him, and I'm torn apart to have to get rid of my girl kitty to a stranger.
I am no longer mentally capable of being alone in public. I'm only comfortable going out if I have my husband with me because I feel like he can protect me and knows how to cover up my social ineptitude. I hate talking on phones or anything else that requires dealing with people in person and avoid it all costs. I won't go to the store or get food on my own. The only times I leave my apartment without him are to walk my chihuahua a few feet into the grass and to go to my or my daughter's appointments. I have panic attacks even with him there if I see cops, guns, needles, black guys, knives not meant for cooking, some cooking knives, blood, and many other things or if I hear yelling, particularly if it's aimed at me. After one of my exes yelled at me and walked out, I laid in the floor in a ball crying, drooling, shaking, and muttering incoherently for two hours until he came back and made me get off the floor.
That's just a long-winded explanation of my mental problems. I also have dozens of physical problems. I have arthritis. That's the most recent. The Aleve I was told to take hurts my stomach and only dulls the pain. Sometimes it makes me vomit acid. I hate taking pills and avoid it when I can, but this is a necessary evil. I've been told more than once NOT to take medicines if I can help it because they inevitably cause other problems or make one of my existing problems worse. In this case, it severely irritates my acid reflux that gave me a pre-ulcer at 13.
It hurts to walk, stand, move, not move for a long time, write, draw (my only income anymore is from doing online art commissions), and most anything. When I wake up in the morning or at night, I feel like I'm on fire. My joints burn, ache, and are physically hot and swollen. I'm stiff and often pop or feel and hear my bones grinding when I move. They don't know what caused it, but it could be a lot of things. They were hoping it was Rheumatoid arthritis, but that test came back negative. It still could be, and I'm supposed to go back soon to take the test again. Something like 50% of cases show up negative the first time. Over 20% never show positive even if you have it. It could also be because I have bad, infected gums (thanks Dad) or because I had leukemia when I seven.
Yes, I had leukemia at 7... I was in the hospital for 4 days and then it "miraculously" disappeared. I'm scared every time I get sick that it'll come back. That's a lot worse now that Dad just died of a cancer he supposedly got rid of 8 years ago. I had a fever of 105 for days. I was delusional and said I saw angels and that God told me I would be alright.
That high of a fever starts destroying your body. I most likely have brain damage from it. I know it burnt off a lot of my nerve endings. I have almost no physical sensation in the area of my genitals and am unable to "feel" having an orgasm. It just makes me twitch. I can feel the disconnect in my spinal cord from the spinal tap I had in the hospital. I've gotten sick far more than average since then as well, since my immune system was also likely damaged.
The hole they put in my spine to test for leukemia has hurt ever since. It made my spine bend at a 90 degree angle and made me unable to hold my back straight while doing push-ups. I was made fun of all through school because I couldn't even do one. By high school I had trained enough to build muscles there to compensate, but I still shake violently from the strain on my spine when I attempt to do a push-up and turn red in the face, presumably because it cuts off circulation. I cannot lift my own weight or even 100 pounds. I do well to lift 50 pounds. It doesn't help my pain in walking either.
My birth mom and I are both genetically 1/4 deaf. I have the same hearing she had at my age. I am low-tone deaf on the right side and cannot hear male passengers in my car while driving. That's when it's most notable. It's also a reason I hate talking on the phone. I have to ask people to repeat themselves because I have mental problems and can't hear or understand speech well.
I should be wearing glasses. I used to wear them. I haven't worn them in years, but it's not because I don't need to. I just don't like them because they're annoying, uncomfortable, don't fit right, and are the wrong prescription. I can't afford to get them updated even though we have vision insurance. I have an extra growth of bone behind my right ear that makes it hard to wear glasses. I refuse to wear contacts. My eyes are sensitive and thinking of it gives me the creeps. It reminds me of how I screamed and ran away from Dad when I had to have eye drops as a kid. It burned like hell and I would rather be visually impaired than add that to my stress.
Did you know I cannot wear most shoes? I only ever wear my one pair of boots. Before that, I would only wear high-top tennis shoes. I had to get a note to let me wear them to school out here. I saw a podiatrist who prescribed that I only wear shoes with ankle and arch support such as those because I have bone spurs in my feet and ankles. I have little extra calcium deposits that grow in my feet and stab my muscles making it hurt that much more to walk or stand. I haven't been able to run since junior high, and not just because I have asthma. I had an X-ray that showed they were inside my ankle, in my heel, against my Achilles tendon, and even on the arch of my foot. Eventually I may not be able to walk at all. I was told to do nothing about them until then because the surgery to remove them is literally fileting my foot and grinding them off. I would be in a wheelchair for 6 months.
My Mom was probably killed by her own medicine. They thought she was having a heart attack but then saw she wasn't. Turns out those are the same symptoms as a sulfa allergy. She was taking a sulfate antibiotic for a bladder infection and eating breakfast - likely a diet soda and something with eggs, both high in sulfates. It's a genetic allergy that is unlike other allergies. I found out a year later that I had it when I was given a similar medicine and it put me in the ER. I am allergic to all sulfates and sulfides - some antibiotics, diet drinks, diet foods, eggs, onions, and much more. Fake eggs are even worse, and they once put me into shock.
I have a lot more smaller problems, but I think you get the point. I will never be "okay." I will probably never even be "alright." But at least I can attempt to be without pain and relatively calm. For that, I need to do what I'm doing - lay on the couch alone being still and quiet and away from anything stressful. I don't need more medicines and doctors. I know what's wrong. There is no fixing most of it. I can accept that. But my level of "normal" is not the same as everyone else. I can't keep running around doing stuff to get Dad's estate settled. I need to be still and calm and away from this mess just to maintain my "normal" level of sanity.
I'm going to miss Little Bitt greatly. I wish I could find a friend here to take her. That way I would at least have the comfort that I could see her once in a while. I bought that cat right before Mom had her stroke... She helped me deal with a lot and was my "help cat." If I didn't think it would suffocate my husband, I'd just bring her here with Timmy and hide her from the apartment complex... Did that with my chihuahua for a year at our last apartment. No one ever asked about it...
Anyway, my day has sucked. My birthday is tomorrow, and for the first time in my soon-to-be 25 years, I won't get my usual phone call, visit, card, and dinner with my dad. I won't have any family here. They're all 1000 miles away. I doubt they'll even call or send me cards. They usually don't. This is the worst I've felt since I was suicidal. I am alone far away from my family, and I don't think I'll be getting anything at all for my birthday. We're flat broke from the cost of driving back to Georgia for Dad's funeral there a few weeks ago. I miss my parents, my family. I know I'm going to have the worst birthday ever, and that's including how everyone FORGOT my 16th birthday. I remember reminding my parents. They felt bad and gave me $100. My brother got me some watch off Ebay a few days later. All my friends were on a field trip that day. Tomorrow will undoubtedly be worse. I don't foresee anything being able to break me out of the funk of losing my parents, and I doubt I'll even have a cake because I don't feel like baking one myself. ;-;
I'll just go back to being curled up crying on the couch now. Thanks for listening. -_-;
October 1st we had $1.94 between us to last 2 weeks. That was on payday after we paid rent. Have you ever been that poor? It's really stressful.
I've been in therapy for four years. I was doing the best I'd done in a long, long time, and then Dad got sick and died. Now I'm right back where I started - crying, miserable, alone, and wishing I didn't exist. I don't care about all this stuff... I just wish I could have my daddy back. Preferably both parents, but I'd settle for one. I hadn't fully mentally accepted Mom dying yet. She's still in a lot of my dreams. I wake up crying after I tell her in my dream that she's dead. That I saw her dead. That I went to her funeral...
If I had no hope of getting better, I would have stabbed myself at 15 like I wanted to and been done with it. I was mildly schizophrenic for almost a decade and no one did anything for me until I was in college and someone said I should see a doctor for depression. Until then... Until it had gotten so bad that on that day I was seeing myself in 3rd person... I had no idea it wasn't normal to hear God physically speaking to you or see demons or hear voices that weren't there or to be sad and scared all the time and so on. I have gotten a lot better.
I know I haven't elaborated on most of my problems to anyone outside of my therapist and my husband. Maybe it will help me if I do. For starters, I hate talking on the phone. I would much rather you email or text me. Because of having stress problems and difficulty being around other people socially as well as my horrible experiences answering phones at my first job, I really hate having to make or answer phone calls. Unless I'm feeling really good, I usually don't answer and make excuses for it later.
My birth mom and I aren't that close (I was adopted at 3), and maybe I shouldn't be telling her problems, but they're the same as some of mine. I've had PTSD realistically since I was 3. When I was adopted. Want to know why I was adopted? What happened? It defined my life. My birth mom's Mom and Dad went on a cruise and left my mother, Melinda, home alone for several days with me. Melinda invited a bunch of strangers over to "party." I watched as they drugged and gang raped her and saw her break someone's nose and throw her then boyfriend across a room and put his head through a wall before passing out in a pool of blood. I sat there alone for what felt like hours until the cops showed up after everyone else had left. The neighbor called them. I sat in stunned silence in a police car thinking my mother was dead on the floor. I went to a foster home and didn't speak for three days other than to quietly ask for "Bob" (my grandfather who adopted me and recently passed away). I never liked cops, black guys, needles, guns, or taking pills after that day. It's not a racist thing, I just can't be alone with black guys because I start thinking of that night and panicking. PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder (what soldiers often have on returning from war), was my first and still largest problem.
I shrugged it off and pushed it back for over a decade until we were moving across the country. I never fit in at school and didn't know why, but I figured I was just a nerd and moved on. Turns out I just was messed up in the head and have a very twisted sense of humor. But when we were preparing to move out here, when I was saying goodbye to all my friends and everything I had ever known, I couldn't just go through the motions anymore. I remember standing there ready to leave my school for the last time and exactly where I was when I felt something in my brain "snap." It was after my best friend said she'd call me every day and never forget me. My brain broke, and my answer was truer than anything I had felt before. I told her, "No you won't. You'll call for a few days, then every other day, then once a week, and in a few months you'll have all but forgotten me." Twelve years of suppressing it all, and in that one statement my world and my brain broke permanently.
After we moved out here, I started hearing voices again. It had happened before, but it was only when Mom was in the hospital and I thought she was dying. I was 14. I remember because the voices told me that she'd be fine and it didn't matter because in 15 years I wouldn't care. They were right. I took it to mean I was going to die in 15 years. When I was 29. Given all my other problems, that might be accurate.
This time the voices were visible. They were demons, angels, ghosts, etc. Once I physically "heard God" tell me that I was supposed to fall in love with one of my friends and started stalking him and telling him every chance I could how we were "supposed to be together" and how much I loved him even though I barely knew him. Even now, as much as I tell myself it's all in my head and I made it up, if I saw him again and he said he wanted me to, I would drop my entire life and go right back there and listen to and follow that "voice" that gave me direction while driving me crazy.
I went through college with multiple personalities that were fractured and broken. They were so different they had their own names and histories and voices. They were aware of each other and I would have physical, loud arguments with myself as my "sides" discussed what to do about things. Broken.
Eventually, when Mom died, my brain just gave up. I couldn't even handle having one personality. I stopped doing anything. I just sat there, staring blankly at the wall. My then boyfriend told me I needed to get professional help or he needed to call an ambulance. I wouldn't eat, sleep, move, and I told him how I could see myself in 3rd person and felt like I was dead and floating above my own body. I could literally "see" myself from above instead of seeing out of my own eyes. It was like a dream where I was floating and watching myself go through the day. That was when I finally agreed to go to therapy. That was what it took for me to see that something was wrong. All I knew was that I was upset and wanted to talk to someone about Mom dying...
Unfortunately, mental problems aren't something you can just "get over." I came to realize the reason the voices were telling me to stab myself at 15 was because I was suicidally, chronically depressed. Even then though, I was smart enough to know I shouldn't kill myself and that I wanted to get better so I could get back to my family and friends in Georgia and have my once-happy not-broken life back. Actually, the only reason I didn't was because my decade of Bible training had told me that if I killed myself, I'd go to hell. Life was already so scary, I figured hell must be unimaginably worse. As it turns out, my daily life is what a lot of people would have called "hell," something I no longer really believe in unless we're already in it.
As I got better mentally and accepted who I was and the problems I had, my brain couldn't handle the change. Instead of being better, it just changed direction. Now instead of being numb to the world and following the orders of the voices in my head, I'm left directionless and scared. I'm terrified all the time and have a chronic stress disorder. I get so terrified around certain PTSD triggers that I can't speak, I shake violently, and I feel like I'm having a heart attack. If I don't get 8 hours of sleep regularly, it stresses me so bad physically that I have heart palpitations and trouble breathing.
My stress problem caused me to lose both the two jobs I have ever had and has prevented me from even being able to think about looking for a job for over a year. I'm currently trying to get my disability application approved, which is hard when I won't go to meet anyone including a lawyer. At both places I worked at I started having severe panic attacks daily that would last for hours at a time. I'd hide in the back of the store unable to talk to anyone, crying until it hurt, and then run away home as soon as I could. I couldn't handle talking on the phone, dealing with customers, or even the slightest amount of criticism. I only made it as long as I did at my two jobs because at the vet I could play with puppies and delivering pizza I could hide in my car alone most of the day.
The reason I've always had a lot of pets is because pets are calming and help keep me from getting upset. I once moved and had a letter from my therapist saying that I needed to move so I could have Timmy and Little Bitt as my "help cats" because they kept me calm. Giving them up for my husband who is allergic to cats was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I gave them to my dad, but now that he's dead, we have to give them away or keep them. I really love my husband for doing his best to tolerate Timmy, even if we have to keep him in a different room. But having two cats would suffocate him, and I'm torn apart to have to get rid of my girl kitty to a stranger.
I am no longer mentally capable of being alone in public. I'm only comfortable going out if I have my husband with me because I feel like he can protect me and knows how to cover up my social ineptitude. I hate talking on phones or anything else that requires dealing with people in person and avoid it all costs. I won't go to the store or get food on my own. The only times I leave my apartment without him are to walk my chihuahua a few feet into the grass and to go to my or my daughter's appointments. I have panic attacks even with him there if I see cops, guns, needles, black guys, knives not meant for cooking, some cooking knives, blood, and many other things or if I hear yelling, particularly if it's aimed at me. After one of my exes yelled at me and walked out, I laid in the floor in a ball crying, drooling, shaking, and muttering incoherently for two hours until he came back and made me get off the floor.
That's just a long-winded explanation of my mental problems. I also have dozens of physical problems. I have arthritis. That's the most recent. The Aleve I was told to take hurts my stomach and only dulls the pain. Sometimes it makes me vomit acid. I hate taking pills and avoid it when I can, but this is a necessary evil. I've been told more than once NOT to take medicines if I can help it because they inevitably cause other problems or make one of my existing problems worse. In this case, it severely irritates my acid reflux that gave me a pre-ulcer at 13.
It hurts to walk, stand, move, not move for a long time, write, draw (my only income anymore is from doing online art commissions), and most anything. When I wake up in the morning or at night, I feel like I'm on fire. My joints burn, ache, and are physically hot and swollen. I'm stiff and often pop or feel and hear my bones grinding when I move. They don't know what caused it, but it could be a lot of things. They were hoping it was Rheumatoid arthritis, but that test came back negative. It still could be, and I'm supposed to go back soon to take the test again. Something like 50% of cases show up negative the first time. Over 20% never show positive even if you have it. It could also be because I have bad, infected gums (thanks Dad) or because I had leukemia when I seven.
Yes, I had leukemia at 7... I was in the hospital for 4 days and then it "miraculously" disappeared. I'm scared every time I get sick that it'll come back. That's a lot worse now that Dad just died of a cancer he supposedly got rid of 8 years ago. I had a fever of 105 for days. I was delusional and said I saw angels and that God told me I would be alright.
That high of a fever starts destroying your body. I most likely have brain damage from it. I know it burnt off a lot of my nerve endings. I have almost no physical sensation in the area of my genitals and am unable to "feel" having an orgasm. It just makes me twitch. I can feel the disconnect in my spinal cord from the spinal tap I had in the hospital. I've gotten sick far more than average since then as well, since my immune system was also likely damaged.
The hole they put in my spine to test for leukemia has hurt ever since. It made my spine bend at a 90 degree angle and made me unable to hold my back straight while doing push-ups. I was made fun of all through school because I couldn't even do one. By high school I had trained enough to build muscles there to compensate, but I still shake violently from the strain on my spine when I attempt to do a push-up and turn red in the face, presumably because it cuts off circulation. I cannot lift my own weight or even 100 pounds. I do well to lift 50 pounds. It doesn't help my pain in walking either.
My birth mom and I are both genetically 1/4 deaf. I have the same hearing she had at my age. I am low-tone deaf on the right side and cannot hear male passengers in my car while driving. That's when it's most notable. It's also a reason I hate talking on the phone. I have to ask people to repeat themselves because I have mental problems and can't hear or understand speech well.
I should be wearing glasses. I used to wear them. I haven't worn them in years, but it's not because I don't need to. I just don't like them because they're annoying, uncomfortable, don't fit right, and are the wrong prescription. I can't afford to get them updated even though we have vision insurance. I have an extra growth of bone behind my right ear that makes it hard to wear glasses. I refuse to wear contacts. My eyes are sensitive and thinking of it gives me the creeps. It reminds me of how I screamed and ran away from Dad when I had to have eye drops as a kid. It burned like hell and I would rather be visually impaired than add that to my stress.
Did you know I cannot wear most shoes? I only ever wear my one pair of boots. Before that, I would only wear high-top tennis shoes. I had to get a note to let me wear them to school out here. I saw a podiatrist who prescribed that I only wear shoes with ankle and arch support such as those because I have bone spurs in my feet and ankles. I have little extra calcium deposits that grow in my feet and stab my muscles making it hurt that much more to walk or stand. I haven't been able to run since junior high, and not just because I have asthma. I had an X-ray that showed they were inside my ankle, in my heel, against my Achilles tendon, and even on the arch of my foot. Eventually I may not be able to walk at all. I was told to do nothing about them until then because the surgery to remove them is literally fileting my foot and grinding them off. I would be in a wheelchair for 6 months.
My Mom was probably killed by her own medicine. They thought she was having a heart attack but then saw she wasn't. Turns out those are the same symptoms as a sulfa allergy. She was taking a sulfate antibiotic for a bladder infection and eating breakfast - likely a diet soda and something with eggs, both high in sulfates. It's a genetic allergy that is unlike other allergies. I found out a year later that I had it when I was given a similar medicine and it put me in the ER. I am allergic to all sulfates and sulfides - some antibiotics, diet drinks, diet foods, eggs, onions, and much more. Fake eggs are even worse, and they once put me into shock.
I have a lot more smaller problems, but I think you get the point. I will never be "okay." I will probably never even be "alright." But at least I can attempt to be without pain and relatively calm. For that, I need to do what I'm doing - lay on the couch alone being still and quiet and away from anything stressful. I don't need more medicines and doctors. I know what's wrong. There is no fixing most of it. I can accept that. But my level of "normal" is not the same as everyone else. I can't keep running around doing stuff to get Dad's estate settled. I need to be still and calm and away from this mess just to maintain my "normal" level of sanity.
I'm going to miss Little Bitt greatly. I wish I could find a friend here to take her. That way I would at least have the comfort that I could see her once in a while. I bought that cat right before Mom had her stroke... She helped me deal with a lot and was my "help cat." If I didn't think it would suffocate my husband, I'd just bring her here with Timmy and hide her from the apartment complex... Did that with my chihuahua for a year at our last apartment. No one ever asked about it...
Anyway, my day has sucked. My birthday is tomorrow, and for the first time in my soon-to-be 25 years, I won't get my usual phone call, visit, card, and dinner with my dad. I won't have any family here. They're all 1000 miles away. I doubt they'll even call or send me cards. They usually don't. This is the worst I've felt since I was suicidal. I am alone far away from my family, and I don't think I'll be getting anything at all for my birthday. We're flat broke from the cost of driving back to Georgia for Dad's funeral there a few weeks ago. I miss my parents, my family. I know I'm going to have the worst birthday ever, and that's including how everyone FORGOT my 16th birthday. I remember reminding my parents. They felt bad and gave me $100. My brother got me some watch off Ebay a few days later. All my friends were on a field trip that day. Tomorrow will undoubtedly be worse. I don't foresee anything being able to break me out of the funk of losing my parents, and I doubt I'll even have a cake because I don't feel like baking one myself. ;-;
I'll just go back to being curled up crying on the couch now. Thanks for listening. -_-;
best wishes TonZa