So I went with my friend Shellie to one of her classes last night. And I have to admit, being in the classroom, seeing the work, listening to a teacher, watching speeches... it made me miss what I used to have, and makes me wish my story turned out differently. It's not like I miss the homework and the work involved. I miss the atmosphere and feeling like you're doing something interesting and worthwhile.

So many people think we go on disability because we're lazy and don't want to work, and they don't realize how agonizing it is to lose things like going to school or getting to work. They don't think about how hurtful their comments like that are because we DO want to work, we DO want to have careers, we DO want to finish school.

I had so many dreams and aspirations. First and foremost, I was going to go into the FBI and work in the behavioral side of it. The profiling. And I was damn good at it too. I also wanted to help counsel people who had been in situations like mine. I wanted to reach out to abused children and show them there were people who wanted to help. And finally I wanted to be an author.

The only dream I have left is the last one. I've let the other ones go because it's just not possible. And I still mourn that sometimes.

And it kills me sometimes how people debate my options with me. Because it's not like I haven't sat there and thought of all the possibilities. I get to the point I just sit and nod rather than tell them the cold, hard truth of it. I know they want better for me. I want better for me.

But reality is truly a bitch.

The time for silence?

I've thought long and hard, and I think I'm just going to say outright what has been bothering me.

When I lived in Utah, there was a lot of things going on that should have been reported to child services. There was a lot of abuse, a lot of things to deal with, and I became suicidal at one point because of it. I truly think the worst abuse, though, was the sexual abuse.

In the end I had 2 different people doing it to me. A boy across the street, and a girl down the street who lived in my friends' old house. Annie would use a lot of manipulation to get me to go what she wanted. She would take me down into the basement, and want to kiss, wanted me to use my hands to touch her, she touched me. The only thing I had to use against her was I would threaten to leave. That saved me a few times, until I finally said, firmly, NO MORE.

That's when she started attacking me in any way she could. She told my father I buried her dog. Only me. It was actually her that wanted to do it. And I will admit my part in it. I didn't realize the dog could be hurt. It never occurred to me. And I was the one who dug the dog back up. She also told him I purposely ran over her dog with my bike (which wasn't what happened. We were riding our bikes and the dog ran underneath it. You know how dogs and cats sometimes run underneath your feet? It was like that. And I was horrified and immediately jumped off my bike to make sure it was okay).

Devon on the other hand had a lot more control over me. He didn't care if I threatened to leave. It didn't really matter to him. He forced me to french kiss him (and because of that I freak out if tongue is used at all near my mouth), he would grab my hand and force it down his pants.

Why am I telling you all these details, you ask? Because I feel like if I don't you won't believe me.

I got this flash a couple nights ago that I finally had this long talk with my father that needs to take place if we want to fix our relationship, and in it, he told me he didn't believe me about Devon. He never had. And he never will.

I had actually gotten into trouble when the whole Devon thing came out. So I never bothered to tell him about Annie. Because he didn't believe me then, why would he believe me now? But I've come to realize.... if he doesn't believe me, then I CAN'T have a relationship with him. I can't let someone into my world if they don't believe something that has scarred me so badly.

Asher could tell you how many times I've freaked out on him, how many times I've gotten upset when he's done something even slightly similar to how Devon did (not forcing me, but things like taking my hand and leading my sexually, or trying to use tongue in kissing). But would that even matter to my father?

Why am I still this little girl that is so yearning of his acceptance and so afraid of his rejection? I don't want to be like this! I don't want to lay there on the couch crying for hours because I realize he doesn't believe me and probably never will.

I want to just not care.

Pissed off

Apparently I'm an idiot and shallow for choosing to go down on some of my meds to aid with the weight loss instead of staying on, being fat, and having less pain.

What to do?

I had another mental breakdown, and now I'm kind of on the fence of what to do. I have 2 major choices with this one, and it could change my life forever. But because of that it kind of has me in this place of being scared.

1. I could talk about what caused it, and start the steps towards what could be the final days of a major relationship in my life (no, not with Asher).

or

2. I keep my mouth shut and and just deal with all of the questions and doubts on my own.

So far I've been doing #2, obviously, but I really don't know how long I can let the questions go. And I hate being so vague about it, but I know that if I say exactly what it's about, I have no choice but to move forward. I'm torn between wanting to save the relationship and wanting to know the truth. :-/

In other news, I think I'm going to have them fiddle with my meds to try and find a combination that is both helpful and not causing more weight gain. I'm up to 180 lbs and I'm just at my wits end. I'm also fiddling with weight watchers.

So I'll take back my Lyrica and Cymbalta to where it was at before the clinic, and then after a little, watch to see if the weight changes, then start going back up on Cymbalta. That way I'll know which med is doing it. Here's to hoping I survive it!

Getting away

So I went up to Michigan for the weekend to see my friend Ash. This was my first time actually doing the drive all by myself. It's 3 hours from here. And I actually handled it rather well. The drive back was harder on my body, but I survived and thank god for Tylenol!

It was mainly a big handout session. Our mutual friend Kelly came over the first night to hang out and it was great to see her again. It's been around 3 years!

Ash, Kelly, and me

Then the second day, I did something I wasn't sure I'd ever do! I got a tattoo! I was really worried about the pain aspect, and whether it would heal alright with all of my health issues. I will say that the pain was definitely a 9 out of 10 when he was actually tattooing me. But I was able to get through it, and I absolutely love the tattoo. It was exactly what I wanted and he did a great job.

All in all, I had a great time, and it was nice meeting some of her best friends. We're going to try and plan a Cedar Point trip with everyone. They'll drive down and we'll drive up and I think it will be a blast!

New beginnings

So we got a new cat. We've been talking for a long time about getting a longer haired cat, one that is extremely cuddly and loves to just sit on your lap. So I had been looking around and Asher was going to the different shelters, and he found one he just fell in love with. A little black medium haired kitten that was 5 months old. We named her Daisy. She was following him around the shelter, giving him loves, and she is such a cuddle kitten. She loves just laying in your lap all day, and is so easy going.

The other cats are kind of upset, but they are starting to get used to it. They started out constantly hissing at her, and now they are sniffing at her, and playing around her.

I loves her.

Remember

May we always remember what happened on 9/11/01.

All about the alcohol

It's interesting to me just how important social drinking is in our society. I don't think we notice it that much until we have a big reason not to.

Bachelorette party? Drink!
Wedding? Drink!
Labor day? Drink!
4th of July? Drink!
Christmas! Egg nog, drink!

I'm sure I could go on and on. And it's not like I'm really complaining about it. I just find it interesting. I, of course, have to sit by the sidelines for it. You can't drink with the types of medications I'm on. It's dangerous. And add on my heart problems, drinking isn't good for POTS.

And it does feel like I'm a little left out. I'm in my mid-20's, and this is something I supposed to be experiencing during college. And then I got sick. What's funny is that I don't even really like the taste of alcohol. It's more that because it has been yanked from me, I feel a bit of a loss.

For those of you who can't drink either, I totally recommend Martinelli's sparkling cider. It tastes great, and it feels like you get to party with people without having to hurt your body. I am addicted to that stuff!

A little look inside the crack

Sometimes I feel like I'm trapped. Trapped in a body that is shutting itself down slowly. Trapped while the outside world takes its toll and I'm helpless to stop it. As pain patients, we're supposed to be brave, to take things as well as we can, and just try to enjoy life. And I do that, most of the time, but you can't always feel that way can you? You can't always keep a brave face on. There are times where all you can do is sit there and try not to cry.

And yes, I'm okay. I'm not having another breakdown, I'm just in pain and it's weighing down on me.

10 years

And now it officially is 10 years. And you know, I'm okay. I'm handling it well, and I am glad that I had 10 more years to be here. Yeah, those 10 years haven't been amazing, but there have been amazing moments, and amazing people. Had I died 10 years ago, I never would have finished high school, never would have gone to college, never would have met my fiance, would never get married, never have children, never have been able to save my cats.

To be fair, I also never would have gotten sick, never would have watched my relationship with my father deteriorate, never would have been disabled, never would have been cheated on, never would have been dumped because I was sick, and never would have had to deal with bad friends: lying to me, feeling like my feelings are a joke, treating me like I was their bitch, being used, and so on.

But in the end, the good far outweigh the bad.