[journal] Disabiliherpes?

So today I’m coining a word.

Disabiliherpes – the instantly contagious germs someone with a disability has, transferable by hugging, shaking hands, looking at, talking to or acknowledging said person. Any kind of contact at all will result in a lifelong condition characterised by being an obnoxious twat.

Obviously, this is a little tongue-in-cheek, but if you can’t have a giggle…

Today wasn’t actually that bad. I went out, I did a social thing and I bought some girly stuff. Made some observations. Now I’m home, not moving a thing and eating good food 🙂

This is just a quickie to get me back into the swing of things. Between now and my last entry, mental health and physical issues have caused me to more or less be stuck in bed or away from the PC. Promising more regular updates and comics soon, as well as some really awesome news!

❤ Abi

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[Journal] Chronic Illness and the feeling of being left behind

So often we’re forced to use words like “I can’t” or “not today” when talking to people about social invitations or events outside our own house. Tonight is one such time for me, as manthing and I had planned to go into the city together to meet up with some friends. I was trying to be cautiously optimistic about it all, but as the day progressed, I realised that going out tonight wasn’t an option. Rather than keep him home through no fault of his own, Manthing decided to go without me.

I feel pretty awful – not just physically, but emotionally. I feel like I’ve been left behind and let down and forgotten about. Not by him, though. I feel like my own body has decided that I’m not allowed to go out, have fun and have a normal social life, and there are very few things harder than trying to battle against yourself. You can’t just hop up and jump into a new body when this one isn’t working properly, and it’s incredibly easy to take that feeling of being abandoned and turn that into self-pity, and eventually into depression.

So what do you do? You’re stuck at home, everyone else is out having a fantastic time, and all you have is pain and Netflix to keep you company. I’m struggling tonight to not fall into the pity party pit- and it can be bloody hard – but here’s some thing that might make it a little easier:

  1. Look after yourself.
    In the immortal words of Donna from Parks and Rec, “Treat ‘yo self” . Do something good for you. If that means eating a block of chocolate while in your pajamas, watching reruns of your favourite show, do it. This is about you making you feel good.

    But you know what? Sometimes you just can’t get past feeling shitty and miserable, and that’s okay. You do NOT have to be Superman or Wonderwoman. I give you complete and total permission to cry about how unfair it is, how much it all fucking sucks and how much you hate your body. Because we all have those moments, and sometimes we need an emotional release from feeling cooped up as much as we do a physical one. Hug that pillow, scream into that blanket or (snerk!) write that blog post! Let the world know you’re unhappy and that you’re over it, and make sure you give yourself a hug afterwards. You are loved.

  1. Talk to someone.
    If you’re stuck at home, there’s nothing more alienating than sitting in a quiet room by yourself. The next best thing thanks to the internet is to talk to people online. Go bug someone on Skype, prod a friend on Facebook or talk to a mate on KIK. If you’re after new friends, go and find a chat room that matches your interest, hit up the roleplaying boards on Gaia Online, or hell, go and check out some of the topics at r/CasualConversation .

    The worst thing you can do is to isolate yourself. At the very least, you’ll be catching up with someone you know. At best, you make a new friend.Sometimes it can be a little hard to talk to people when you’re in a crappy mood, but try and persevere. The best part of being online is that you can be entirely anonymous – if you don’t feel like sharing your present situation, you don’t have to. This may not be helpful for everyone, but I know it’s helped me on a few nights where I’d much rather just say I’m fine, than explaining how crap I feel.

  2. Plan for the future.
    This one is hard, even for me. You have to remember that, just because you can’t go out this time, it doesn’t mean “never”. Even though it feels pretty damn close, you’re disheartened and miserable, there’s always tomorrow. And if tomorrow is still shit, there’s next week. If next week is crap, the week after. Rinse repeat. It’s so very easy to go “I give up”, throw your hands up and become an angry pain sausage and sit in the corner, but that won’t fix the situation. What you’ll eventually find is that your mood right now is shit, and rightly so, but it will pass. You may wake up tomorrow feeling a little better for a sleep, and want to try and catch up with that friend or see that movie. You also may not, but that’s where we try again on the next tomorrow.

    Being a chronic kitty often means we feel left out and DO get left out of social events because we simply can’t keep up with others, or because it’s not an accessible thing, or because we simply fall out of social groups because we don’t have the energy for gossip. It can hurt, but it’s important that we do things within our means, too, and this means planning that lunch date, or going to see that movie or going over a friends, but do it within your capacity. Only you know what you are capable of, and you are awesome.

I don’t know if I feel better by writing this right now, but I know I’ll feel better tomorrow. I’m going to spend tonight playing some video games and watching a series and, if I feel particularly sassy, I’m going to get some ice cream. But most importantly, I’m going to give myself the time I need to feel better and I’m going to look after my body while doing it. As crap as I feel now, I know tomorrow would have been ten times worse than today if I had pushed myself to go out tonight. At least this way I know I’m taking the time to treat my body right, and when Manthing gets home, he’ll have lots of new stories to tell me about 🙂

I would love to know what other people do for ‘self care’ on nights like this. What’s your “go to” pick-me-up? Either leave a comment below or use the new “got a question?” page to leave me an anonymous answer!

❤ Abigail

 

[Journal] I can’t think of a title today

This weekend I finally got out of the house. I ended up completely butts exhausted from it all, but I’ve been fighting the same sinus crap and hoping that the antibiotics are working (only to wake up this morning with a nasty sore throat) and I decided to get out and have some fun. I was lucky enough to see some old friends there and got to have a catch-up, but I also ran into someone from my days in reenactment.

I was quite taken aback at our brief exchange. We’ve known each other as acquaintances for almost 6 years now and I make no secret of my disability nor my mobility aids, so to have someone with such a bullshit attitude about it all really irritated in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Bearing in mind, by this point I was on my way to exit the event. I was limping quite heavily and leaning on the cane a lot and thinking about nothing but getting home to bed.

Tool: “Why on earth do you have a cane?”
Me: (flatly) “Because I’m a cripple.”
Tool: “I call bullshit!”
Me: “… I’m sorry, what?”
Tool: “Since when?! I’ve never seen you with a cane before.”
Me: “Since always. I’ve had it with me at every camp* and event I’ve been to.”
Tool: “Well, I’ve never seen it before.”

*Every medieval camp I’ve been to, I’ve needed my cane by the time the evening kicks around. I don’t make a fuss of it. It’s just an extension of myself these days.

Their tone of voice was very accusatory and disbelieving, like I had suddenly grown a third arm just to spite them. I wasn’t expecting anything like that, especially from someone who has known me in the past. I think the bit that confounded me was the fact that I make no secret of needing my cane, nor do I make a secret of being sick. It almost seemed like their reaction seemed to say “Well, I wasn’t informed, so you’re not validated in being ill”. It’s probably an overreaction on my part, but something about what was said triggered instant rage on my part. I don’t know whether it was the fact that he was just an insensitive prick, the assumption that I’m faking sick for shits and/or giggles and attention or something I haven’t quite put my finger on yet, but I’ve spent the last two days brewing about it in my quiet moments.

I feel that, in instances like this, it should be entirely legal to pimp hand the shit out of the stupid.

The perception of illness also brings me to another point that’s been on my mind a lot this morning: Short term/new pain versus old/chronic pain.

Over the years I’ve seen a few friends of mine have accidents, break bones and generally get hit with the nastier side of life when it comes to pain. What always has me curious is how people react to it, especially on social mediums like Facebook. Now, this has nothing to do with the ‘attention’ raised from an issue, but more the general reactions over time. This can also apply to any long term or chronic issue, be it pain, depression and mental health or general malaise.

First and foremost here is that pain sucks. It really, really does, regardless of who’s experiencing it and for how long. But what I always find interesting is that, if you take an otherwise healthy person and they end up in pain (whether it’s short or long term), people kick up a stink. there’s a massive furor about how unfair it is and how they’re thinking of the person. There’s messages that they should stay strong and that it will pass and everything will be okay. There is generally some kind of outpouring of well-wishes, regardless of how big or small.

If we skip forward a few years and that one person is still in pain of one kind or another, the universal reaction is that it’s become old-hat. They still have the few usual friends offering support, but the uproar and discontent at the situation has died to a dull roar. It’s no longer a matter for outrage at the injustice, but becomes something that ‘just is’. The person going through the issue doesn’t suffer any less, but their suffering becomes commonplace. It’s something you expect. It’s something that you can’t change, so what was once this vociferous show of solidarity becomes a “well, you know we’re here” from the back seat.

Suddenly getting up and facing the reality of the situation, day after day, gets hard. You know what to expect. You know what’s coming and what you’re going to face. You just don’t have the crowd cheering you on from the seats, just the memory of the support you had when you first got sick.

Go and hug a chronic kitty. It doesn’t matter if they’ve been dealing with shit a week or eighteen years. Give them a gentle hug and let them know you’re thinking of them. It doesn’t matter if their illness is mental or physical or emotional. It doesn’t matter whether you can see it or not. Go and give them a hug. Write them a letter. Send them a message. Let them know they have their own personal army cheering for them on the hardest days ❤

Selective exposure and when helping isn’t really helping

This is an issue I’ve wanted to write about for a while now, but due to circumstances on my end I’ve been unable to either find the time to do it, been in no headspace to write about it or haven’t physically been capable of doing it. I’m hoping that taking the time out tonight to sit down and get this out of my head will mean my brain will stop charging through at a million miles an hour.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve been party to a handful of events that got me thinking. Some were good and some were bad, but they all ended up at the same two destinations in my head – the idea of selective exposure, and when helping isn’t really helping.

Most of the time when people see me, it’s usually within certain parameters. Somewhere between the “I’m feeling great” end of the scale and “I’m not feeling awesome” end. Anything beyond that and I usually rule out any form of social contact for a number of reasons. Have you ever tried to sit through a conversation and remain polite and chatty while someone’s trying to rip your toenail off? How about trying to have genuine interest in what someone says while you’re exhausted enough to actually fall over out of your chair? There’s only so far I can fulfill my social obligations on a day when I’m in above-average pain, my fatigue is playing up, or any other number of fuckery my body likes to pull.

What this basically means is that when YOU see me having a bad day, that may not necessarily be the same as MY bad day. That’s not to invalidate anything I’m feeling at the time, but my sliding scale for social activity stops at “Fucking ow”, but my whole scale goes all the way past that up to “Oh God Why?”

The bit that really frustrates me about this issue is that so many people seemed to assume that what I felt stopped at what they saw. Like, when they didn’t see me using the cane or with a visible limp, clearly I was in no pain at all, and when I did have the cane, I was still obviously okay because I was still up and talking.

I’ve had to explain to several people, some friends, some family and some other random people on the street that, when you see me out and about, when we come over for games or when I go out to get lunch, it’s a very controlled thing. I MUST be within point X and Y in order to function as a semi-competent human being and any deviation from that usually means I’m suck at home and in bed, in a world of pain. What you see is NOT what you get with me, but that doesn’t seem to stop some people thinking I’m leading them on or I’m some kind of liar.

That’s the problem with these invisible illnesses. They’re kind of just that. You don’t see them. You see reactions from them. You see the implications of them running amok in people’s bodies, but it’s not like we turn purple or grow horns. You basically have to take our word for it and actually believe us when we say we’re not well.

And now on to my next point. When helping isn’t really helping.

One of the things I’ve been struggling with over the last few months – longer, in fact. Just about as long as I’ve been sick, to be honest – is the idea of wanting to help. For the most part I try to be gracious about the whole thing and thank people where I can for stepping in. However, there are other times when people overstep boundaries in eagerness to help the cripple or, assist the female or even lend a hand to the friend.

First and foremost, there are two different kinds of help I want to identify, and there aren’t always defined boundaries between the two.

The first is helping because they need help. This is usually the case easiest identified by the audible “Can I have some help, please”. All sarcasm aside, it’s fairly easy to see when someone’s struggling with something and you want to step in and lend a hand. It could be a case of them needing help getting up the stairs, or opening a jar, or changing a light globe, remembering a birthday or even recalling what they walked into the kitchen for. There’s usually some kind of body language on the part of the helpee and an acknowledgement of some kind on the part of the helper.

The second kind is a little different. This involves helping because you THINK they need help. This one can be done for different reasons. Sometimes because the helper wants some kind of feeling of gratification for “doing what is right”, sometimes it’s because they think that the person they’re helping is a lot less capable than they really are and sometimes it’s genuinely out of desire to assist another human being.

Now, the problem with the second kind of help is that it’s not always called for. I had an incident with a friend the other day (which we talked through and we’re back to normal again) but it made me think about the other times where I’ve had similar situations and what all my experiences combined have taught me. People have assumed I have needed help and have gone out of their way to do this, without actually asking me if I needed the help first.

Unfortunately this division can be really hard to navigate for some people and toes end up getting stepped on.

One of the issues I find most frustrating is that we’re taught straight off the bat to assist those less able than us. In my situation I can be either more or less able in a lot of areas on any given day, so I’ve found people wanting to go out of their way to make life ‘easy’ for me without taking into account my choice on the matter, while other people that obviously require some help are left to fend for themselves. One thing that a lot of people seem to forget, though, is that (for all my cripple-ness) I’m a highly independent individual and take fierce pride in my ability to self-manage. The beautiful humour in that being that, on my bad days, I need help to dress, shower, use the bathroom, etc.

What this means, however, is that I usually don’t want help until I directly ask for it. I’m no stranger to asking for help, even if I can be a little sheepish about it at times, but when you’re stuck in body that takes a toss at a dart board to decide what you can and can’t do on any given day, you treasure those things that you can still do on your own, without help of any kind. You’re fierce about those things. You don’t want help pushed upon you because someone else thinks you need to be helped. You want to do it yourself because you’ll be damned if you can’t wash your own hair, or dress yourself today, or even go for a walk.

When someone comes along and helps you out with things they think you need help with, it crosses a line where they start robbing you of that independence. Suddenly, you’re no longer strong and capable in that area because someone else has just come along and done it for you. You’ve had the rug pulled out from underneath you and yet we’re still taught that we should say thank you because this other person only had our best in mind.

The problem is that when you live a life where independence is such a flippant and fleeting thing, rather than being preemptive help, sometimes you’re robbing that person of part of their identity. Part of who they are. That last part of the strong, capable person they were before they got sick, and that’s where things go wrong. That’s where frustrations break and feelings get hurt and it’s incredibly hard to explain a concept like this to someone who’s never known dependence on another individual. It’s hard to explain how something so well-meaning can have such a vastly opposite effect on an individual’s life. Sometimes helping really isn’t helping at all.

Far be it from me to discourage assistance when required, perhaps first ask if your person would like help with what they’re doing. If it’s not a routine you’re used to or they haven’t asked themselves, perhaps ask them if they want assistance before you jump ahead, and don’t be offended if they say no. It’s not said to reject the support you offer at all, but instead is perhaps their way of maintaining some form of normalcy over an otherwise abnormal life. Furthermore, it’s always far easier to ask first than to have a negative reaction to your good deed.

[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] Friends and chronic illness

To start, I’d like to clarify that this isn’t me seeking attention or looking for sympathy. This is me trying to make sense out of a series of situations I’ve been in recently and to work out where I stand in it all. This also isn’t directed at any one specific person, but is a collection of memories from past and present friendships, written at a very emotional point tonight.

I’ve written in the past about how maintaining friendships is a challenge when one is chronically ill. Regardless of what you’ve been afflicted with, it makes an impact on your life that few people can understand. I’ve written about how a careless word here or there can really bring someone’s world down around them. I’ve also written about how lonely it can get when one is cooped up at home all day, every day.

This post is more than that. To me, this is an attempt to make sense of everything I’ve been through with past and present friends to date.

Right now it’s almost 11pm. I’m sitting in bed with my laptop and I’ve just had a good 20 minute sob to Manthing about how unfair it is that people just don’t ‘get it’. I’ve had 7 days of above-average pain. It’s worn me down in places I’m not usually aware of. I’m beyond exhausted. Because of how run down I am, I’m in more pain than the last few days, anyway. I won’t lie. This is hard. This is really, really hard.

I used to tell people that I was very lucky because my support network for hard times like these were a select few friends I could call upon, whenever. Some online, some a few suburbs away. In fact, before myself and Manthing were a ‘thing’, there was one night when I had hit my first 9 on the pain scale. It was 3am and he had work the next day, but I could still ring him up and he talked to me on the phone for about an hour until my painkillers had kicked in and I could sleep.

In the last few years, this has changed. I find myself here on a night like tonight with almost no support network whatsoever. People have gone their own ways, life has changed, things have come up. One friend decided it was okay to treat his friends like shit. Another got a girlfriend and suddenly didn’t have time anymore. Another couldn’t understand that being sick wasn’t like being in bed with the flu. Another still decided to tell me that my illness was THEIR problem. One by one, all the people I felt I could approach at that 3am mark drifted away and left me here on my own little island of Fuck, where I find myself tonight.

I guess this entry is a bit of lamenting the fact that I feel so alone right now. Once upon a time, if a friend caught wind that I wasn’t doing so well, I’d have an SMS within minutes. I’d get a check-in every now and then. “Just thinking of you. Hope you’re okay.” I’d get a message online or they’d even just show up out of the blue. Once, I had someone even deliver a care package because I had spent the week in bed. You know who you are, and you should know I genuinely cried, even through I didn’t say anything out of pride when it happened. It’s the little things that turn a fucking awful situation into a not so bad one. It’s knowing that someone has your back that can sometimes give you the strength to get through the day. Right now, thanks to the pain and the depression, I feel like I could vanish for a month at a time and nobody would even know I was gone.

For what it’s worth, I always did what I could. I like to see myself as ‘that friend’. The one that would always check in. If you were having a shitty day, I’d send you an awful joke or a picture. If you were stuck in bed, I made digital get well cards. Driving an hour out of my way to help a friend out even though I wasn’t in the best state wasn’t something I thought twice about. I just did it because they needed me there. I’m the one that left the messages. “If you ever need an ear or someone to talk to, I’m here.” Maybe I wasn’t that person to everyone. Maybe I wasn’t that person to anyone. But god help me, I tried. I genuinely tried to be the best friend I could be.

As I got more and more sick, sometimes I’d miss a beat. Sometimes there’d be a week where I was stuck in bed and didn’t know you were upset. I tried to catch up and still check in. I really did. With more than a few people, I tried to organise times when I was well enough to meet up, but they were always busy. Things don’t often work the way we plan, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t genuinely put an effort in.

Right now, I feel empty. I feel like, for everything that I’ve been through, I only have Manthing with me. I feel so alienated from other people that it physically aches in my chest. People I used to be really close to. I think at one point I had half a dozen people and I felt so very special because of it. I think about all the 3am nights we used to spend out getting slushies and I cry. Things aren’t that way anymore. I think about the skype calls we had where we’d see who could burp the loudest and it hurts.  You got a girlfriend and I vanished off the face of the earth to you.  I remember the times we used to make running jokes and confuse everyone else in the room. You don’t even answer my messages now.

I think about how, once, I felt like I had people who were involved in my life enough that, when I needed someone to vent to, they understood I wasn’t looking for attention. I just needed someone that understood what I was going through. I know I’m not the easiest person to be friends with. I really do understand that. I’m a lot of work. I ask things of people, I can’t always go out or catch up and sometimes I hurt people because of it. But seriously, do you think that it hurts any less for me? I’m the token cripple friends. I’m the one people make allowances for. I’m the one that forgets and needs assistance during games. I’m the one that makes the group walk slower. But I’m still human.

Yes, I do still have friends, and people I talk to occasionally, but it’s not easy. Imagine how it feels to not be able to talk about some things because they just don’t understand – or, in same cases, just don’t give a shit. Imagine someone walking away mid-conversation when you’re trying to explain why you were so sick yesterday. I’m the one that has to make the allowances for other people. I have to watch my words so other people aren’t accidentally offended because they can’t deal with their own stresses. I have to curb my own humour because, god forbid, someone might be offended by a joke I make about myself. I have to constantly remind people that, for me to go out somewhere requires some planning. I can’t just get an invite half an hour before X starts. I often don’t have money with over $200 of medication per month. I am a difficult person to be friends with, but I’d like to think that I’m no less worthy of friendship for it.

I’m genuinely afraid of making new friends, even thought I’ve tried. Try to imagine what it feels like to be immediately judged as being ‘too hard’ or ‘too much work’ the moment you mention chronic illness. On top of dealing with all my other physical issues, I then have this exhausting charade of social interaction, and it wears me out.

I won’t lie. I have very little patience for those that can’t accept me as I am, but I’m desperate. I want friends and I’ll take what I can get.

I do still have people that genuinely give a shit about me, and I them. People that don’t care if I’m in my pijamas when they show up. People that are happy to change plans to a night in when I can’t move. People that don’t hate me for something I have no control over. I hope that, one day, they read this part and understand. But those are far and few between, and with some, we barely even talk anymore.

I don’t even know if I’ve made much sense with this post. Manthing actually pushed me to blog about it and, in it’s own way, it’s been a bit cathartic. That little voice of anxiety in my head warns me that I might offend or upset a past or present friend reading this, but then the little logical Abi in the front of my head says “Let them be.” I guess if someone’s offended by this, it’s because they feel that there’s an ounce of truth in my writing. Let them fix it. If someone feels a prickle with one of the things I wrote, it’ll be because they relate to something in there. It’s never my intention to offend with these things, but people are stupid. If there’s an issue, do something about it.

After a solid half hour of writing, I’m thoroughly exhausted and no less miserable, but I’ll leave it here for tonight.

[Photo] Earning my spoons

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(Caption because it may not be clear: Spoon reads “Earned my spoon”)

A while ago my mother got me this little pendant off Etsy. If I could remember who made it, I’d link them. It normally hangs in my kitchen below the clock,  or on one of the handles here so I always look at it.

Today is moving day. After over a month of complete bullshit, we’re finally moving out of this toxic house and into somewhere better. Rather than packing the necklace in my bag to get lost in the abyss, I thought it was rather appropriate that I wear it today. I’m fifteen kinds of exhausted, my feet feel ready to fall off and my body is trying to brew a migraine, but I feel genuinely humbled by the friends that have turned out to help us today.

After all the crap, good things do happen 🙂

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[Comic] How to be friends with someone who has a chronic illness

[Comic] How to be friends with someone who has a chronic illness

This has been something that’s been on my mind lately. Quite often, because my illness is something that’s been around quite some time, more often than not I tend to feel that people overlook it and the effect it has on my life. Sometimes it’s big things, other times it’s little things, but I decided to make a comic about a few of the more important subjects that crossed my mind