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yukinoomoni I was talking to LJ just now (thank you, BTW), and I made a decision that I feel is important to expand upon, when considering my issues concerning my health. Everything else, I'll just stick a pin in them for later.
On New Year's Eve morning, after hours of trying to help me, Terry took me to the ER. I started to decline the night before (we got there at 0230), and I'm going to describe how bad it was for us. This could mean slight triggering material, so I would like everyone to read with the following triggers in mind: suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts, going into shock, ER and hospital conditions.
I'd been struggling with a severe flare-up, one that was worsened with the pressure point blocks I received the same day; we were hoping it would cease the flare-up. It didn't take, and I was in increased pain for two days after. I started tanking at around the morning of the 30th, and by 2100, I was done. I gave up. I just laid there, my eyes closed, feeling nothing but the pain and praying to fall asleep, or pass out, or die, anything. I was overcome with horrific hot flashes, so strong that Terry could feel my skin giving off the heat. He tried to cool me off, to help me sleep, but it failed. And he cried... a lot. After I fought him as best as I could, I surrendered to going to the ER, and kept praying I would pass out or die. I waited two-three hours to see a doctor (10/10 pain, slurred speak, no mobility, crying, disassociating). Two hours after that, I was given an anti-nauseant and pain medicine. It took the edge off, but before, again, I was awful, and made Terry cry. We stayed for one more round of pain meds, and the edge was finally softened enough to bring me home.
I still felt like shit, but... I've stopped showing it. Instead, I keep it inside, except when alone, because I am sick and tired of making him cry, or being cruel to him because I'm in pain he cannot fix, and it's not his fault. It's like I see myself being cruel, and I hate it, but it still comes out. So, for the past week, I've said nothing about the pain I'm in. And you know what? It's better. It's way better. He doesn't stress so much, doesn't hover, doesn't act like my servant or slave... things are happy between us, right now, because he doesn't know why I can't eat much, anymore, or why I've been isolating myself, all of it. I don't want him to ever know. Because I want him to see me, and not see IV bags and blood vials and me looking ready to die...
It's something I'm doing with everyone else, too, pretty much. Clearly, my cover is now blown with this post, but the people I'm sparing won't ever see this, and I'm glad they won't. Like I said before: what right do I have to pile my problems on others, especially people younger than me? None. So I've stopped. I can't do it anymore. I'm so tired of hurting everyone with my pain, when it's MY pain. I need to grow up and move on, or it'll be letting it kill me. And yet again, I'd rather be dead than keep mooching and leeching off of people I love, especially Terry. I don't want our marriage to end thanks to my health problems. It's better to lie.
I'm sorry. I just don't know how to say this. I just want people to be happy. I regret being so open in the past, hell, even right now, and yes, this makes me a hypocrite. But at the same time, after this post, if I make any related posts, I promise, they will be private. Or maybe I'll just go back to pen and ink.
Tl;dr: the pain isn't going away; I need to grow up and accept it, and I'm not gonna force people I love to deal with it, anymore. Starting right after I post this post.
On New Year's Eve morning, after hours of trying to help me, Terry took me to the ER. I started to decline the night before (we got there at 0230), and I'm going to describe how bad it was for us. This could mean slight triggering material, so I would like everyone to read with the following triggers in mind: suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts, going into shock, ER and hospital conditions.
I'd been struggling with a severe flare-up, one that was worsened with the pressure point blocks I received the same day; we were hoping it would cease the flare-up. It didn't take, and I was in increased pain for two days after. I started tanking at around the morning of the 30th, and by 2100, I was done. I gave up. I just laid there, my eyes closed, feeling nothing but the pain and praying to fall asleep, or pass out, or die, anything. I was overcome with horrific hot flashes, so strong that Terry could feel my skin giving off the heat. He tried to cool me off, to help me sleep, but it failed. And he cried... a lot. After I fought him as best as I could, I surrendered to going to the ER, and kept praying I would pass out or die. I waited two-three hours to see a doctor (10/10 pain, slurred speak, no mobility, crying, disassociating). Two hours after that, I was given an anti-nauseant and pain medicine. It took the edge off, but before, again, I was awful, and made Terry cry. We stayed for one more round of pain meds, and the edge was finally softened enough to bring me home.
I still felt like shit, but... I've stopped showing it. Instead, I keep it inside, except when alone, because I am sick and tired of making him cry, or being cruel to him because I'm in pain he cannot fix, and it's not his fault. It's like I see myself being cruel, and I hate it, but it still comes out. So, for the past week, I've said nothing about the pain I'm in. And you know what? It's better. It's way better. He doesn't stress so much, doesn't hover, doesn't act like my servant or slave... things are happy between us, right now, because he doesn't know why I can't eat much, anymore, or why I've been isolating myself, all of it. I don't want him to ever know. Because I want him to see me, and not see IV bags and blood vials and me looking ready to die...
It's something I'm doing with everyone else, too, pretty much. Clearly, my cover is now blown with this post, but the people I'm sparing won't ever see this, and I'm glad they won't. Like I said before: what right do I have to pile my problems on others, especially people younger than me? None. So I've stopped. I can't do it anymore. I'm so tired of hurting everyone with my pain, when it's MY pain. I need to grow up and move on, or it'll be letting it kill me. And yet again, I'd rather be dead than keep mooching and leeching off of people I love, especially Terry. I don't want our marriage to end thanks to my health problems. It's better to lie.
I'm sorry. I just don't know how to say this. I just want people to be happy. I regret being so open in the past, hell, even right now, and yes, this makes me a hypocrite. But at the same time, after this post, if I make any related posts, I promise, they will be private. Or maybe I'll just go back to pen and ink.
Tl;dr: the pain isn't going away; I need to grow up and accept it, and I'm not gonna force people I love to deal with it, anymore. Starting right after I post this post.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-01-07 02:45 am (UTC)I've somehow managed to make this about me when it should be about you, and I hate myself for that. But I'm not going to hide how much this upsets me. I know you deserve better than lies.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-01-07 03:08 am (UTC)I don't presume to know how things have been with you, because I will first to admit that I have dropped all the balls when it comes to maintaining proper contact with you, and I'm ashamed of that. I don't like being so up my own cunt that I don't even see that I'm not the most important person in the world, and that others need help and love and care, too. And least of all do I want to be told what's wrong, but ignore it for sake of my own problems.
That's what I'm afraid of. And that's why I'm so certain that it's not good to talk about what's wrong with me. Because not saying anything makes people feel better. They don't have to have one extra worry on their back. I joke that I named myself The Burden, because that's how I am to people, but it's... not a joke. I chose that name on purpose. I knew what it mean when I did. Because that's how it feels.
I've said nothing about my pain today, and Terry has been so happy. He hasn't had to worry about me, or ask me my pain level, or do things for me. He can just enjoy his weekend without being a slave to his wife. Why isn't that good? Why isn't that okay? I'm here, talking about my problems, like I said I never would, and burdening you still, when I vowed to stop that, too. I'm so lousy that I can't even do that right.
I don't know what a friend is, Flamy! I don't! I don't know how to be one! I didn't know ages mattered so much, because I know I would never do that, and yet somehow people think I would, and do, and I want to die, because I never want you to think I would ever do that to you, but people say I do. And I know it's better to trust the word of a whistle blower over the one being accused. I have never, ever done that to any kid or teenager, ever. I barely did while a teenager myself, and I barely had a choice in most of it. I would kill myself, first. I will kill myself if the people I care about feel that way, feel I've done that to them, made them feel wrong. I don't want that.
I just want to make people happy. I'll never be able to accept my own, so why bother talking about it? Even this comment makes no sense, goes in tangents and circles... my grief is garbage, nonsense. It only hurts. I'm tired of hurting people. I can't do it anymore. But it's all I do. You, Nicky, Joyce, Terry... people I knew irl, people I lost online before getting to meet them... people who were my friends but whose lives improved once they'd cut me out, to the point of having their own fucking fandom.
I'm 34 and I've achieved only misery. I have no legacy, except the people who left before I could make them as crazy as me.
Why did he say no. Why won't he let me go to a ward? Why won't he accept that it's the only way? Why doesn't he want that time to himself, while I'm fixed, and return a better person?
I know you don't know. I don't expect anyone to, because even I don't know. All I know is, in my lifetime, sooner or later I end up alone, and it's my own damned fault.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-01-07 03:31 am (UTC)Fuck, I don't care what you have to tell yourself. I don't care what you think about it. I just want you to do what makes you happy, and for you to be healthy. Please tell me you'll do your best, please tell me you'll stay safe, please tell me you'll hold on. Please tell me you'll get help, real help, even if you have a psychiatrist visit you at home if that's what Terry wants, because it sounds to me more like he doesn't want to be without you.
If there is one thing I have learned in my short, yet impossibly long time on this planet, is that you can't stop asking for help. If you stop, the need for help doesn't go away. It just drags things out, making them tenser and tenser until they snap. And then they'll ask you, why didn't you prevent this, why didn't you say something? Because no one wants to see you hurt. So please, keep trying, keep asking. Please.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-01-07 09:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2019-01-07 09:29 pm (UTC)