[Journal] Tonight is a bad night

There’s simply nothing to make one feel more alone in the world than knowing that if you publicly ask for help, all the wrong people are going to answer.

Tonight isn’t a good night for me. It’s now almost 3am and that means I’ve been sitting on the very cusp of a full-blown anxiety attack for almost 9 hours. Despite taking all my medication and two beta-blockers (which are supposed to help with the fight/flight response), I’ve not been able to calm down. I’m on the edge of tears over nothing at all. I literally cried because I watched an episode of My Little Pony. I don’t know, really.

I’m in both physical and emotional pain, the latter being the worse of the two tonight. I’ve tried everything that normally helps. Everything. Hell, I’ve tried to go out and do a thing, have a social life and expand my brain a bit. Just shrug off the fear that some kind of horrible doom is impending or that life as I know it will crumble before me. I had a thumping heart and adrenaline rush the whole way there, the whole time I was there and the whole way home. I’m somewhere between proud of myself for achieving what I have so far, and filled with crippling doubt and emotional exhaustion.

Tonight is one of those nights where I wanted desperately to reach out to a friend, but because of the time and the day, nobody I want to talk to about something like this was around. I don’t hold it against any of them. I spoke to manthing, but sometimes you just want to talk to someone who hasn’t heard it all before, and I feel like the ones that were available would hear me, but wouldn’t actually listen.

I’m hesitant to write about personal issues and things involving friends on my blog these days, namely because I know that a few follow it through one way or another. A major fear of mine is that, in revealing how I really feel about things, I’ll face repercussions for it in person. It’s one of the reasons that I’ve deliberately kept this blog entirely anonymous. On that note, I will expect any individual that knows me in person to show me the respect I deserve here and not confront me over my views and feelings. If you respect me as a person and, indeed, as a friend, you will understand that sometimes one simply can’t be upfront and honest in the way we intent. We don’t want to hurt feelings or upset people, but to deny our own reactions and emotions is exactly what put me in this shitty place tonight to begin with.

I have some bad people in my life right now, and it really comes to the fore on a night like tonight when there’s a stark realisation that all my mental health support network no longer exists. Once upon a time, I had a ‘family’, I had close friends, I had people I called brother and sister and I felt safe. I felt like, even though I might come across monsters in the dark, I would always have those people behind me. In the last year, everything changed. People I trusted abused my emotions in the worst possible ways. In unforgivable, selfish, twisted ways when I begged for help and respite. My needs were shunted aside when I needed people most, while they marched up and dumped their life on my doorstep and looked at me expectantly. People I trusted beyond what I probably should have. People that I respected and gave a little bit of myself to. “Keep it safe, please”. Instead, they used it as a front door to my emotions and time. They played on my emotions and my intrinsic need to have people in my life when it was obvious to everyone but me that this was doing more harm than good.

So tonight, when I need someone to turn to, someone to tell me that “you know what, it’s going to be okay. I know you’re afraid now, you’re allowed to be afraid, but it’ll get better and you won’t need the fear tomorrow, so leave it here”, I have a crushing sense of loneliness. Even when manthing is one room over. I need these people in my life again. The friends, the lovers, the family, and I have only empty spaces where my impression of people once stood; their figures having wandered somewhere far from here, leaving only disappointment and child-like pain in their shadows. I find myself on a night like tonight struggling with demons that often feel lager than myself, and instead of people that listen, I have people who hear what they want and talk about themselves. I have people that tell me they understand and, on nights like tonight, I find that more of an insult than a comfort, because they don’t. They can’t feel my heart beating into a cavity the child in me has carved out with scratching nails and wild eyes. They can’t see the way it’s filled with terror from everything – named and nameless – and they don’t understand that the one thing I need tonight is someone who will truly listen and simply say “I am here for you. Please talk to me. Let me listen”.

Instead, I have people that ignore my outright plea for help to substitute it for something else that they find more fitting. Instead of understanding that, ultimately, I need to walk through this on my own, but want someone to wait for me at the other side, they walk next to me and tell me about all the woes and troubles they’re facing and do nothing but load the wagon I’m dragging down an already rocky road. I know if the wheels fall off, they won’t stop to help. They will take my stopping as a queue to simply heap more baggage on. I say this with experience.
Any other night I take that on willingly. Any other night, I grit my teeth as a simple greeting becomes a segue for them spewing their grief on me and expecting me to be a therapist. I’m not, and I likely never will be, by choice. I find my friendships abused time and time again by people mistaking my concern for their welfare for an open invitation to dump their life story on me and then demand I fix it for them. But not tonight.

Tonight I have been afraid of making it known that I need help, because the people that will answer are the ones with an agenda – they’re the ones time and time again that will see my unhappiness and take that as an excuse to ride the misery wagon in what they seem to think is tandem. The problem is that they don’t help me pull, they sit and expect me to do the work, and I’m finding that time and time again, that hurts more than all the fear and heartache in the world – knowing that this person holds their own issues in higher regard than yours but wraps them up in paper and presents them to you as a gift, and expects you to say thank you.

I have some beautiful, wonderful people in my life. I have the people that tell me that I’ve always got someone on my side, I have the ones that DO understand because I know they’ve walked that road before. I have people that respect my boundaries and, while we can commiserate together, they know that everyone has limits, including themselves. Right now, however, is one of those rare times when I feel that none of these people are around. They very well might be, but in one of those silly moments where I want to show them the same consideration they’ve shown me as a friend, I find myself very hesitant to message someone at 3am just to talk. I suppose this is somewhat of a self-dug hole where I find myself placing the needs of others before my own, but friendships are about give and take, not clinging to a drowning man and expecting him to take you back to shore.

Tonight, I am unwell. I have a sickness, a malaise of the mind and heart that is just as real as any other kind of injury or disease. Tonight I am going to crawl into bed, curl up close to manthing and do the same thing I would do for any cold or flu – sleep it off and hope I feel a little better tomorrow.

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Happyy Blogaversary to me!

Firstly, I’d like to announce that According to Abigail has been active for two years as of yesterday 🙂 It’s a pretty spectacular landmark for me, especially considering some mornings I can’t even put my pants on the right way. Thank you to each and every one of you for following or getting involved with my blog over the last 24 months. It means a hell of a lot to me. You guys have been my strength and support on my shitty days and the reason I laugh on my good ones.

I hope that the next 12 months will allow me to bring you more comics, more interesting insults and a lot more Abi.

Speaking of, some of you may be wondering why I’ve been quiet lately. Truth is, I haven’t been well. Today I had to put out an announcement to friends of mine after the issues came to a head.

Consider this a PSA. The reason I ask people to be so god damn careful about sickness around me is this:

At [my last big event], I was given a case of tonsillitis from someone I knew. I was exceedingly unimpressed. It sucked, but wasn’t overly nasty. I considered myself fairly lucky. After a week of shit, I thought I had mostly recovered, but my sinuses played up again. And again. And again. Now a month on, after fighting off the same sinus infection, it’s gotten to the point where I can’t breathe and wake up gasping at night. My sinuses are nothing but blood and mucus. It’s now considered ‘chronic’ by my GP with the rest of my health issues and I’m on some seriously hardcore antibiotics to try and kick it. Continuous round one and two over the next 10 days. If nothing has been resolved by next Thursday, we go in for round three.

This is not fun. This is not a game. My physical health depends on the vigilance of those around me. I go to GREAT pains to avoid bugs, including sacrificing my in-person social life when I’m in a high-risk period. There’s a reason I ask my friends to get the flu shot. There is a reason I ask you to stay the hell away from me when you’re sick and infectious. There is a very good reason I rarely share food or drink with anyone aside from Kieran. It’s not just because I’m a rampant bitch, or at least that’s not the only reason. My immune system sucks. I’m vulnerable to shit that a healthy body would laugh at. If I end up getting the common cold, I’m in bed for a week in complete agony. Getting sick for me involves so much more than just having a cough or a sore throat. It physically pushes my body and immune system to it’s limits. It’s negligence of the most basic rules of being sick that can land me in hospital.

Don’t be that guy/girl, or I WILL slap the everloving shit out of you when I recover.

I still have a hard time wrapping my head around how someone can be aware of the fact that I am a chronic illness kitty, but still so completely mind-numbingly dense to the necessary precautions to take. Hell, not just around me, but when you’re sick with something as virulent as tonsillitis.

So, long story short, I’m not sleeping well, I feel like shit and I’m constantly run down due to the fact that my already stressed body is having to fight this shit off all over again. Because of the physical stress, I’m likewise in a pain flare and having all sorts of fun. Until I start feeling a bit better, I might just lie low a little while longer and love on you all extra hard when I get back ❤

Keep being awesome!

[Journal] Procrastination

Firstly, wow. I am majorly behind in my blogging. The last month and a bit whizzed by me in a bit of a blur. I worked until 2am every night up until my biggest market event and put everything on hold – social life, games, comics – then I worked over the weekend of my big event with the help form some very special people, and then I hit the drop after the event where my body reminded me exactly how hard I had been punishing it. Of course, this is the end of week 2 after the event and I’m only just getting some time to myself. The entire week after was supposed to be my “off week” and just happened to be filled with every appointment known to mankind. By the time I finally had a spare moment to jot down a blog entry or comic, my body turned around and laughed at me.

I’ve more or less spent the last two weeks dealing with the nuclear fallout of pushing myself harder than I should have had to, but without my normal 12 month runup to the event, I had to do 365 days of work in just under 2 months. I was NOT happy. To further my frustration, almost every bit of equipment I needed died in the arse. My PC? $1000 fix. It’s a long story, trust me, but I couldn’t really avoid the cost. The embroidery machine more expensive than my car? Eating projects to the point where it couldn’t be used. My body? Well, we had the food poisoning incident. Hell, even the event itself managed to try and do us over by throwing emergency storm warnings at us and flooding the stall. Once we got back, my car tried to shit out it’s own transmission, I ended up with (thankfully!) a mild case of tonsillitis because some chucklefuck decided to share a drink with the chronically sick girl without using their fucking brain, several hundred dollars in medical bills and general chaos.

The event turnover wasn’t as awesome as I had hoped, but I made some wonderful friends over the weekend, got to spend time with both my big and my little sister, the amazing gentleman that I call my (adoptive) father and that side of my family. When we got home, I crashed pretty hard and it’s been a very hard slog to get the most mundane things done. Today is a very good example of that. I’ve been telling Manthing that I’ll wash the dishes for two days now, but the thought of standing, using the bathroom and moving in general is filthy exhausting, and even if I had some kind of energy, the pain I’m presently in rules most stuff out, too. I’d be in bed rather than writing this blog if there was some hope of me actually getting to sleep.

I’ve spent the better part of the last 3 days watching this amazing guy (if you haven’t seen Vet Ranch, go do it now) and just trying to survive. On the plus side, I found the most recent comic I uploaded in a pile of papers on my desk and also noticed that According to Abigail has officially cracked the 40 comic mark. That’s pretty damned impressive if you ask me. Getting out of bed on a bad day can be hard enough, but this is actually a really cool achievement and one that I’m keen on continuing. My honest to goodness dream is that I’d LOVE to see my comics in print some day. An actual, physical book to hold.

For now, though, I’m content to keep on doing what I’ve been doing. I’ve also noticed that there’s quite a few more followers since my last blog, so here’s a hello and welcome to those of you joining us for the first time. May I say “I’m sorry” in advance for the shameless swearing, creative descriptors and general shenanigans you will find here. For my regulars that I can’t seem to shake, you all get gold stars for putting up with me this long. You guys must be suckers for punishment or something ❤

I'm pretty much exhausted at this point so I'm going to sign off. At the very least, I hope that this post lets you all know that I'm still alive and kicking and hope to bring you more comics in the coming weeks.

Keep being awesome ❤

[Journal] So I ended up in hospital yesterday.

So, last night, at about 1:30am, I ended up in hospital. Easter Sunday, Manthing and I decided we weren’t going to cook. We ordered takeout from our local fast-food place (they deliver, which is awesome). For those of you in Aus, you should be familiar with Red Rooster. For those not, it’s basically a place that deals exclusively in chicken. Sometimes bacon. So, I ordered my usual from there.

About two hours after I had eaten, I started to feel unwell. Very unwell. My stomach was churning, I was shaking, I had a fever sweat and then chills and then a fever sweat, etc. It felt like someone had punched me in the guts. Hung over the toilet for a while, nothing. Went to sit back down? Ohshit. We’re going to throw up. Nothing. I proceeded to have a shower to try and ease the accompanying muscle aches – when I get sick, my fibro chimes in with “I wanna play, too!” and causes hell in a hand basket pain-wise – and I threw up all over the shower floor. I can honestly tell you it was one of the most hilariously disgusting things I’ve witnessed. I was sitting down on the shower floor, threw up suddenly all over myself, the walls and the floor. Interestingly enough, dinner smelled the same coming out as it did going in earlier.

By this point, I had taken anti-nausea medication on two different occasions. 15 minutes after I took them, I threw them both back up. Crawl into bed after washing myself off, feel worse than I have in a long while. Suspect food poisoning. I call the nurse advice line we have here and she runs through the symptoms with me and suggests I head off to hospital to be monitored.

Massively sick, fever, chills, unable to hold anything at all down since 10pm. By this time it was bout 1am. On my way to the car, I threw up in the garden, over the railing and then in the laundry sink. I should have marked them off on a bingo card or something. Rather than going to the usual hospital of mine, we went to the closer one. Biggest mistake ever. Last night, it took 5 hours of me throwing up in the main ER room and being violently sick and very dehydrated before I was seen, I was left in a bed for well over an hour when I got transferred to the Short Stay ward and it took them another hour from when I was seen in the ward to do what I had been asking the entire time – give me an anti-nausea shot and let me go home.

I had politely asked a few times when I was going to be seen and they kept saying I was next in line and that it wasn’t a very busy night at all. While in short stay, I tried to explain to the nurse that, with me being sick, I need to take my painkillers to make this ordeal bearable. My pain was slowly climbing it’s way up to a 9 (I don’t tempt fate by using 10, or I know my body will one-up it) and because I couldn’t hold down fluids, I couldn’t take anything and I was very quickly heading towards utter agony. At this point, I was curled up in the fetal position, clutching my stomach and whimpering. I got the filthy “Oh, so you’re a druggie” looks from the young nurse, while the older ones actually seemed to understand and tried to hurry the process along. There were no blood tests or investigation into whether it was something more serious like salmonella from the chicken.

I’d also like to note that there were still pieces of bloody gauze on the floor beneath my bed, and the remnants of blood ON the bed itself. I’m very much aware that my case was far from urgent to start, and was totally happy to wait a little while the more urgent patients got seen before me. Long story short though, I was very unimpressed with the whole ordeal. We didn’t get to leave until something like 7am. We drove home through some very beautiful fog and I had a hot shower and climbed straight into bed.

I’ve only just woken up and I still feel like shit. I have MASSIVE body pains. I literally feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. I’m more or less taking the next few days to myself to recover and feel less like patient zero before the zombie apocalypse. Manthing has to help me to and from the toilet because I’m so unsteady on my feet. My skin hurts to touch, the feeling of clothing is causing me a great deal of pain, but the cold would cause me more. Suffice to say that I am a little ball of pain and hate right now and it’s taken considerable effort to write this blog post. Since it’s about me and my whacky adventures in being a sick little munchkin, I figure it warranted a post here.

I’m going to sign off here because I have no sodding idea what else to write. Be good ❤

[Journal] A catch up

Once again, I managed to fall behind in my blogging schedule.

The last few weeks have been pretty full on. It was roughly a week after my toe procedure before I could walk again. It’s been almost three weeks now? Honestly, I have no real concept of time. But I’m finally able to wear socks and loose shoes. Thankfully, this means no more cold feet when we have our chilly weather snaps. I’m down to weekly visits to the doc so he can look at the mess that is my big toe, though I no longer require a dressing, and I can confirm that it still hurts like all sodomy. I was clever enough to drop my cane on my toe during the doctor’s visit today. I’m nearly in tears over it, Manthing is trying not to laugh at my misfortune and the poor GP doesn’t know what the dickens is going on.

My new GP decided that we needed to go over a complete and thorough patient history. I’m in two minds about this. On one hand I really appreciate his dedication to the task at hand and to giving me the best care he can. On the other hand, I seriously hate the fact that I had to go through all the other shit about my history, stuff I either was or wasn’t told growing up and the whole mental health side of things. He’s suggesting I see both a psychologist (which I’m undertaking in my own time) and a psychiatrist regarding the antidepressants and stuff that I’m on.

I had to get my dose of Endep lifted due to ongoing anxiety issues, panic attacks, negative thoughts, etc. The sort of shit that seeps into your brain like a leaky pipe. I can deal with everything in due time, but when I’m busy fighting my own brain, not sleeping because I’m afraid of the dark and having major panic attacks over nothing, then no progress gets made.

Speaking of panic attacks, I had an interesting experience this week. Albeit regrettable, it was worth noting that I have a new and identifiable trigger for my panic attacks. To simplify the situation, there was a great disagreement with a group of friends due to one being a selfish prig. The whole situation got out of hand, this person in question couldn’t see past their own nose, they threw around a lot of hurtful names (I may be many things, but I am NOT a bully, especially not to someone that I treated as a sister) and the whole thing boiled down to them acting like a spoiled, selfish little child. We were expected to be mind-readers, fortune tellers and have superhuman empathy because we should simply KNOW when this person was upset, rather than them using their adult skills and… well, you know, telling someone. They refused to accept responsibility for damaging property out of carelessness, I was called names for disbanding the gaming group (because it was THEIR group and how DARE I, despite the fact that I was GM) and any attempts to talk rationally to them ended up in them putting on the water works and involving a friend’s parents. I don’t deal well with conflict situations at the best of times, so when this all blew up on Sunday before our Pathfinder game, you can imagine just how pleased I was.

This week has been pretty shocking for pain levels and I’ve spent far more time out of bed than I should have, so when some ungrateful tit turns around and starts carrying on like a child, and tries to tell me what I can and can’t do, you get the idea. To sub up this person’s attitude over the weekend in regard to other people, “HER panic attacks? Her anxiety? What about MY anxiety? I get anxiety too and none of you care!” Suffice to say if I see this individual again, it’ll be too soon.

On the plus side, I’m feeling a little artsy tonight so hopefully I’ll have some new comics for you all. I’ve got a few old ones to put up still (one in regards to a ‘request’ journal I did a while back) and, as always, still taking inspiration from readers if they want to suggest something in particular, or challenge me.

[Journal] A not so short update.

I’ll be honest with you all. I have actually been avoiding my blog lately because I feel that, in order to post anything else, I owe a update of what’s been happening for me to be so quiet since my last post. To put things bluntly, all hell has broken lose on our end and I feel like I’m clutching at straws trying to deal with it all.

It started with the move from our old place to this one. For a bit of context, Manthing and I now live in a block of 10 town houses. They’re basically built on top of each other and, even though ours is one of two fee-standing ones, I can still hear my neighbours picking their nose at 3am. Anyway. Naturally we organise it all and the weather goes full retard. Torrential rain, flash flooding and weather warnings now bring up memories of moving house for me. The guys we hired worked well enough, though they decided to make snarky remarks at the new house about how tight we were, making them do their job by taking a few light shelves and boxes upstairs.

Manthing made his own snippy comment about how I had a disability and that’s why we hired them, otherwise we’d be doing it ourselves, and the eldest asked what it was. Manthing simply said it was like Arthritis. Of course, the mover couldn’t shut his mouth, so he said that he had Arthritis in his knee and took Prednisone and that fixed him right up, that I should try it. Manthing said I did and not only did it not help, that it made things worse. That shut them up. It really upset me, though, and for two reasons. One, we were paying their wages. The least they could do was keep their asshole opinions to themselves, or hold their tongues until we were out of earshot. Mostly, it was the fact that everyone seems entitled to comment on MY health lately. These guys moved my mobility gear. They shifted my scooter and my wheelchair and asked who it belonged to. They knew it was mine and yet still decided to act like my health was somehow their problem. Like I wasn’t affected enough to pay someone to help us make our lives a little easier. I could go on, but if I get bogged down in this, I won’t get to the rest of the update.

After that fiasco came the Unpackening. Living out of cardboard boxes is not what I’d call fun. It’s like trying to use the bathroom and knowing the toilet paper is in one of sixteen boxes. You really need to pee, but you can’t until you go through and hope to god you find the bog roll in time. Every square inch of the garage was filled by boxes and property. The lounge room, the bedroom, the office. All boxes. There’s standing room for maybe three adults (with no concept of personal space) in my office. Everywhere I look, cardboard boxes are grinning at me and we can’t do a god damn thing about it (see: I’ll get to that bit of the story).

We had been in the new place two nights when a friend came over to visit. He mentioned that it looked like someone had put mud on my car. Turns out some shitbags had not only covered my bonnet in coffee grounds, but either they, or some other assholes, had also broken into my car.  They had gone through the glove box, thrown shit around, tried to take the radio…  Two nights and my car (which had been parked on the street under a street light right near the driveway to our complex) had already been broken into and vandalised. Straight after that, I got an alarm fitted to my car. In the two weeks we’ve been here, it’s been set off three times. One of which was by a very loud truck driving past and another by one of the residents here reversing into me and driving off like the spineless fuck they are.

At this point I’ve got that “I’m done with this shit” feeling. We hadn’t even made it to our first week and already had shit going wrong. I didn’t want to see where we stood by Friday if this was how things were going. That week, we found out that the previous tenants had sanded the walls here rather than washing them. I learned this the hard way. When we moved in, I simply thought my allergies were due to some external force. We had actually picked this place due to the tiles and low-pile carpets being brilliant for my allergies because they didn’t hold onto dust well. In fact, the whole property is pretty damn new and that all worked in our favour. Anyway, I was unpacking and hanging up stuff in the wardrobe. I had changed my mind about where a hanging rack was going and moved some clothing, only to find white all over the raised crinkles in a skirt. I thought WTF. I remember throwing this in the wash. Another dress had the same issue. They had been touching the walls. I touched the wall myself and my hand came away covered in stupidly fine white powder. I touched another wall. The same thing. I went through the house, rubbing my hand on all the walls and found that for 80% of them, it was the same story. We were living in a house filled with micro particles of paint dust. They were in the carpet, on the wall, in my clothing and in the bedding. You couldn’t walk without kicking them up. I tried to vacuum them, but even my HEPA filter couldn’t cope and I had an asthma attack on the stairs. We decide for our own safety, we’re not going to unpack anything else. We’re already going to have to clean a fuckload of stuff once the issue gets fixed.

We report this to the real estate. Two weeks it took them. Two weeks with me crawling up their arse every few days. “Oh, can you send us some photos?” they said almost a week after I reported it. “Oh, we’ll get back to you” the following Monday. By this point, I’m having to take antihistamines every night to just sleep in my own bed. I’m waking up with nose bleeds. I’ve got all the signs of a sinus infection and I’ve got a serious cough. I’m fed up with their inaction. I walk into the office and the woman sees me. Gives me the “Oh fuck you’re actually here” look and proceeds to tell me that she was just about to call us, honest. The landlord has decided he’s “unwilling” to take any action on the issue. The agent looks at us and says there’s nothing she can do. I look at her utterly dumbfounded. I’m almost CERTAIN my rights as a tenant are being shat on here, but I’m not 100%. She says we’ll need to get it done ourselves. We walk out before I hit rage mode.

I spend the next two days calling up the tenancy advice line, fair trading and the works. I find out that not only am I in the right for asking the landlord to clean the house, but it’s is his legal obligation. Inaction on his part is a breach of both the tenancy agreement and our lease in three different places, and that our real estate are utterly spineless.

At this point we have three options.
1. We foot the roughly $400 cleaning bill to get the carpets wet/dry vac’d and shampoo’d and stay quiet, good little tenants.
2. We take the landlord before the tribunal so they can force him to clean the place. That’s going to take weeks at best, and all the while I’m living in what is effectively a toxic environment.
3. We give them a termination notice which states that the landlord has broken the lease in these places so we’re free to break the contract ourselves without having to pay the two thousand dollar fee.

We were advised by another real estate run by a friend’s parents that number three is our best option. If the landlord has already broken lease in the two weeks we’ve been here, imagine what shit will go down over the year we signed up for (which is another no-no on the part of our present real estate!). I have to agree. The complex is filthy. The bins are constantly trashed with rotten food thrown everywhere, nobody seems to care. In the lease we’re entitled to a quiet and clean place to live.  I’ll get to that point in a moment. But yes, three seems like the good option, even if it means we have to move again so soon. The problem is that it’s not quite that simple. You see, if we put in our notice of termination, the landlord HAS to agree to it. If he doesn’t want to clean the property he’s legally obliged to clean, I can’t imagine he’s going to want to have his source of rent leave. Which, by the way is $430 a WEEK. Yeah, that’s about the average house price here these days.

If he doesn’t agree, the matter STILL has to go before the tribunal and then they allocate the 14 day in which we have to leave (all the while still living in this dust nightmare). But guess what. We need somewhere to live lined up in those 14 days. Most places here take a week to process your application and then another week to actually sign you up for the lease, and nobody is going to accept someone still in a legally-binding clusterfuck like this one. So, basically we’re screwed if we do and we’re screwed if we don’t.

In between this mess, I’ve been organising a competition to help raise money for a charity that works for people with depression. Amusingly enough, my depression hit again the night before the event. The day was a complete and utter fuckup. As one discerning gentleman put it, it was a “blender in a brothel”. The woman that was supposed to organise it didn’t, I got flamed for 45 minutes from the organisers of the event we were at because our tiny little costumers group didn’t have fucking tanks and an airship. Where the fuck were we going to get them!? The whole thing was a nightmare. We got rained out by a freak storm, chased out of the mountains by a fire and then came home to more bullshit.

Yesterday after the fiasco I had to call the local police station about the kids next door. I won’t go into specifics, but there have been 4 families moving into the four units at the front, and one next to us. Each house has something like 4-5 children. Yesterday they ALL decided to play in the backyard of the place next to us. Now this isn’t an issue for me. What caused an issue was when they started throwing rocks at our corrugated steel fence, across the driveway at the neighbours house and at their god damn car. I mean, who the fuck does that? Anyway, I was out hanging up washing in the backyard when I heard the rocks being thrown. It was fucking loud. I asked the kids not to do that. Naturally the little fuckers didn’t. At some point they had thrown a ball into my backyard so I took it around to the front door to return it and also speak to the mother. Four doorbells later, she gets her arse out of the garage (where they had loud music blaring) and answers the door. I try to explain to her (because English isn’t her first language) that her little darlings have been little arseholes and are about to smash someone’s window and piss off the neighbours. She denies the whole thing, even when I show her the rocks in the driveway and under the car. The kids, all 7 of them, pile out into the driveway and deny everything. I go back inside, defeated. Not five minutes later the rock throwing starts again with rocks being pelted at the fence and at my back window, as well as the other targets. They also start screaming like blue murder, bring out recorders and blowing them until they screech and generally carrying on like feral animals in a backyard that’s less than 3m from my own. I put in a formal noise complaint but don’t ask the police to show up because they’ll know it’s me and I’m honestly afraid of retribution.

So right now I’m tired, fucking angry and stuck between a rock and a hard place with all of this. I have no idea what we’re going to do and, given that it’s Sunday here, I’m stuck with a day of inactivity where I can’t sort anything out because our agent doesn’t come into work until Tuesday. This isn’t including the fucking horrid pain flare I’ve had through the lot of it.

I need a hug.

[Journal] God damn it

You may have noticed that I have been absent for the last little while. Things are tough on this end.

I had the procedure to repair the damage done to my toe by that arse hat of a doctor. Been keeping off my feet the last few days and in considerable pain. It’s been pouring rain here the last half a week. I’ve had a major pain flare, and then the weather-associated-fuckery to boot, and then the angry toe on top of all of that. I’m a misery burrito right now. Three layers of clothing and then a fluffy bath robe over the top of all of that. I am an angry pinata full of swear words and hatred for everyone and everything. Like assholes who manage to take up two parking spots in something the size of a Prius. When one of those parking spots is a disabled one. The spot I need to use on days like today. If people insist on parking like abortions, I may just have to start keeping a chalk marker in my bag and covering their windows in veiny phallus drawings.

Anyway, I’ve had ideas for comics but just no ability to really hold a pen steady. I’ve also got work for a client that needs to be done, but the same issue. Can’t hold an engraving tool when your hands are wonky as fuck. It would appear that the horribly drowsy side effects of the… Lyrica. That one. I knew it had something to do with music. The Lyrica is evening out. But now I’m also being weaned off the Cymbalta and today is my first day without so I’m wonky in the brain department, having shooting nerve pain, random dizzy spells and want to throw up on people purely out of spite.

if I can get my body to sort it’s shit out, I’ll be back in the swing of things soon. I need to make a few posts, catch up on my reading and nominate some awesome people for an award I was given (which I haven’t forgotten about!).

Anyway, this is as much as I can brain right now.

– Abi

Pootickets

On a scale of 1 to 10, today is pretty much on par with accidentally pushing too hard on a fart and soiling yourself in a crowded  elevator.  Had a really bad depressive incident last night that saw me up at 3am going hell-for-leather on the stationary bike to try and work out the anger and the frustration, but it caught up with me in the morning and I woke to incredible pain in my lower bits and pieces. Bath, painkillers, back to bed. Woken up again at midday with the same issue. Can’t move without assistance, on Endone for pain (which is barely helping) and generally feeling miserable.

I’m stuck between trying to sleep this off (which probably won’t happen until I hit the down from the painkillers and don’t have a choice) or sitting here and trying to talk to anyone who will respond on Skype so I have some kind of distraction at the very least.

What’s green and eats nuts?

~ Syphilis

Trash and Treasure

Today is a very emotionally complicated day.

In fact, this entire weekend has had it’s own lot of ups and downs.

Pro: I got to spend time with friends.

Negative: I spent the entire weekend in high levels of pain.

Pro: We played Pathfinder and it made a decent distraction.

Negative: It made me realise how much I rely on these distractions to get through daily life, and how I never play a character with my illnesses.

Pro: I made awesome food and I should be proud of it.

Negative: I missed my adoptive dad’s surprise birthday party and hated myself for it.

Pro: Did I mention we played Pathfinder?

 

I’m making a marked point to leave this post with more pro points than cons, but it’s bloody difficult. My memory is at the worst it’s ever been. I’m forgetting names, places, details and where I parked my car. It’s starting to get scary. I’m less and less mobile. I need more painkillers and begin and end every day with a steaming hot bath to ease the pain enough so I can sleep, or get a small amount of shit done. I honest to god feel like I’m starting to lose parts of my self to this illness.

On the plus side, today I was sold as chattel to a bandit camp as an entertainer. I Inara’d the shit out of it, demanded a bath, to be unshackled and put on a performance of a lifetime. I actually earned 12gp out of a bandit camp (rolled a 37 on my perform check) and hit the soft spot of a poet-gone-rogue so to speak and, with the rest of my party, we killed the Stag lord (their leader) and I single handedly shot dead seven people from a guard tower with zero detection, and the NPC was utterly smitten – and a little afraid of me – and joined our party. We formed a kingdom, and I went to bed in utter misery because I had not only a fucked up pain flare, but a massive spike of depression when I realised just how much different the life of my character was to my own.

Right now I feel seven kinds of awful. Emotionally I feel fairly crushed. I’ve hit a new physical low. Mentally I feel like I’m drying to dig through a brick wall with a dull spoon. Everything is more or less really shit. Hell, I’ve got three or four comics to upload for you all, but I can’t sum up the effort to do it. Just the overwhelming feeling of being utterly useless seems to be overshadowing everything else I do right now.

I suppose the plus side is that I’m seeing my psych tomorrow. I’ll at least be able to talk through some of this shit with her, but the shit side is that we effectively can’t really do anything about it. We tweak medications, my chemical levels flail wildly, I still have pain flares, I still forget things, I still feel like shit. I guess that’s one of the biggest reasons I decided to make this blog so, on nights like tonight when I really don’t feel like talking to anyone (not even manthing about this shit, though I know he’ll read it anyway) I can still find some way to get it all off my chest. There just seems something harmless about writing it down. Like I somehow take the sting out of the feelings when I translate it into words. I don’t know. At least this way I don’t have to look people in the eye or deal with them hovering around me and asking if I’m okay.