Little Pink Houses

It's New Year's Eve, 5:21 AM. I have not been to sleep yet, which isn't unusual, but I had made a little progress lately and was going to bed around 2 AM and rising before noon. I was pretty proud of myself for those couple of weeks I kept that up.
This Christmas was probably the worst one yet. I usually get happy around this time no matter what, but my pain has been getting much worse and I didn't feel like doing shit. We didn't even get the tree up. I worried about all the things I had to do to the point of insanity so I finally just decided not to stress over it. I had some gifts for my daughter and taped up some Christmas cards I'd received and that was about all I could muster. I'm wondering if I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome brought on by my illness and or my medication. Maybe it's not a classic case, but I am most certainly fatigued. Chronically.
The thing I have been doing lately to occupy my mind is fantasizing about having my own apartment for my daughter and me. I have made a separate Amazon Wish List in addition to my default one with things I want for said apartment. I dream about doing whatever I want (which, really, isn't that much) and not be edited by my Mother. I don't care how old you are. If you live with your parent(s), you're 16 all over again. Anyway, my fantasy apartment will be mostly pink. The art on the walls will represent the movies and music I love; Buffalo '66, Fiona Apple, Rick Springfield, Into the Wild. All in really cool frames. And I would love to have a pink sofa just like You Tube's Kandee Johnson. Her whole house is cool, and I love her to death! (another thing I am doing - watching You Tube videos of others people's lives.)
I just can't escape the mindset that if my life is forever going to suck, I should at least be free and surrounded in pink and create my own wacky schedule without criticism. If I were in a situation where I were being cared for, I would suck it up and accept my fate, but that isn't the case. I may as well be on my own (with my daughter) and take my medicine and watch Netflix in peace and play my music loud. These aren't big things in a normal person's life, but to me they are monumental.

Speaking of medicine, I have been getting drug screened at my pain clinic for years. This is no big deal to me as I do not do illegal drugs and I take my medicine as prescribed. Understandably, the facility wants to make sure no one is mixing their meds with bad stuff and also to monitor that they are actually taking their pills and not selling them or something. So after years of this with no problem, about a month ago the clinic called me and said I tested positive for Tramadol. I am not on Tramadol. I was on it years ago and it did absolutely nothing for me so I was put on something else. The protocol for the clinic is to dismiss anyone whose drug screen comes back abnormal. I freaked the fuck out. How did this happen? Who is fucking with me? I swore to my doctor I was not taking Tramadol, just like all the junkies who swear up and down they didn't snort any coke or shoot up any heroin despite the positive test results. I was actually with the Physician's Assistant when I was told and tears came to my eyes. If I were dismissed from this clinic, what other clinic would accept me with a failed drug test in my records? I have a pretty good relationship with this PA, a lovely German woman who unfortunately recently left the practice. She asked my doctor what he could do for me and he said he would give me another chance, thank you God. I think she believed me as this has never happened and she knows my personality. I mean, I don't even drink and I am very anti-drug. This is all so strange to me and I have been doing research and calling pharmacists trying to find out what may have caused this false-positive. I feel like asking to have two urine samples taken next time in case I need to prove my innocence. I am terrified it will happen again. I wanted to tell my doctor I need either a higher dose of my existing medication, or something for breakthrough pain as everything is getting worse, but now may not be the best time.The spasms in my feet are more frequent and more painful than ever. Imagine lying in bed (because after all, that's what I do best) and it feels like your foot or shin is struck by lightning. My leg jumps in the air and I audibly yell out. It only lasts a few seconds but I just about scare the shit out of anyone sitting near me. Then there's the ever-present leg pain. Let me tell you, if I WERE going to do any other drugs, it wouldn't be Tramadol, it'd be marijuana. North Carolina is not a medical marijuana state but I wonder if it would help as I hear it's good for nerve pain. I've never smoked pot. I wouldn't even know how to smoke it. But I sure would try it it were feasible. But with my luck I would get lung cancer or emphysema. In other news, I have had a few trysts with my ex boyfriend from the summer. Turns out that was a bad idea because in my old age I have discovered I cannot separate love and sex. But I must say, having sex, especially good sex, sure does make one forget about being in writhing pain all the time. It's a good thing I have (some) self-control because this new discovery could turn me into a major slut. Besides, it's just too much trouble leaving the damn house.

As Good As It Gets

I spend so much time being frustrated at all the things I can't do, especially with the holidays approaching. I want to go out and see all of the sparkly, pretty things. I want to shop for gifts for my daughter. I want the house to be clean! I think what would make me the most happy right now is if the house were clean and decorated and pretty. I have been fantasizing about a pink Christmas. I have become a professional fantasizer, actually. That comes right after being a professional Netflix watcher. Anyway, we have lived in this town home for a little over a year. The living room, if you could call it that, is still full of boxes. We also have a storage room full of stuff. Ninety-five percent of it is my Mom's junk. We need help with the heavy lifting and there's no one to help. Of course, I could pay someone to help, but I don't exactly have any disposable income being on disability. And that's another frustration. I can't say to myself that this is a temporary situation. I can't tell myself that when I get a job, things will be better. This is it, baby. Unless someone finds a cure, this is my life forever.

I often get flashes of how my life was before. I think about the things I used to be able to do that I can't do anymore. Little dumb things, like washing my car and going to the movies. My life is in my bed. These days, I only go out when I have a medical appointment. I order in food way too much because buying and preparing food is a tremendous task. I'm still a vegetarian but I am eating like crap.

My Mom has had some health problems of her own lately. She may have rheumatoid arthritis or fibromyalgia. She's in pain most of the time and doesn't do anything around the house. Of course, even before this she wasn't exactly Martha Stewart, but I could rely on her for some things. My daughter has never been taught to do anything because I have always waited on her. I am slowly trying to teach her things but I don't want her to be my caretaker. She shouldn't have to take care of me. I just want to take care of myself and my daughter and being robbed of that privilege is almost as painful as the neuropathy.

Crazy

Having the distraction of a boyfriend really took my pain level down. Now that he's gone, the pain level is back up. Dammit! I realized it while it was happening, that I felt better, so at least I will have the memory of it. However, not being in as much pain, or realizing how much pain I am in, is not worth having another boyfriend, at least not the type I seem to attract. I've been reviewing all of my past relationships in my head, from the serious to the fling-only, and I'm questioning the mental state of all of them. I used to question my own sanity, but I need to give myself more credit. When I like the good ones, the non-crazy ones, they don't seem to go for me, though. So, alone I shall be.

Hmmm. My exes. I may be able to get some decent blog entries out of that topic.

My friend George Costanza said it best: "When I like them, they don't like me, when they like me, I don't like them."

Misanthropic Moments

For all my bitching and moaning about wanting someone to love me, to have a boyfriend, it finally happened. For about six weeks. In true 'Leslie Fashion," it moved pretty fast. We were saying "I love you" in the second week. I met his family and I loved them (and adored his sister) and spent several nights a week with him and it was pretty passionate. He helped me get up stairs. He understood my limitations. He was super intelligent, but so depressed that he made me look like Miss Mary Sunshine. I never knew what mood he would be in. He was addicted to playing games (board games, something I didn't even know people did anymore) and distracted himself from his real life problems by playing games all day. I did love him. My pain level went down when we were together and he told me how happy I made him. I decided to approach him about his depression. His response was to break up with me and now he won't even speak to me.

                                                                           

Whenever a love affair ends, my ego is the first part of me to react.  I had fully prepared myself to break up with him if some things didn't change, but instead, I got dumped, and I'm sad about it. I miss him, but I know my ego is suffering more. I was a good girlfriend. We got on well together. I was actually getting out of the house and having some fun for a change. And it's completely unfair that he is shutting me out and won't even explain himself to me. His personality has totally changed. We used to discuss things and now I have been taken out of the loop. And my ego is saying, who is HE to dump ME? This drives me to try to contact him and try to win him back, even though I am not sure I want him anymore. I will stand by him through depression, but to shut me out and stop speaking to me is unacceptable. I deserve better, whether I have neuropathy or not. And to reiterate what I said in my last post, I would rather be alone. I get attached to people so easily. I HATE that about myself. How do I change that?

I need to be successful at something. I need something for me. I have been speaking to an old friend who is an illustrator about a writing project. I need something for myself and to make myself happy.

Into The Wild Again

I want to be the master of my own happiness, but I don't know how. I don't want to need anyone. I don't want anyone have control over how I feel.

Into The Wild's Christopher McCandless thinks he doesn't need anyone, but in the end decides "happiness is only real when shared."  While I don't agree with disappearing without letting your parents know if you're dead or alive, I do agree with his philosophy about needing people. Needing someone is wasted energy. After all, no one really wants you to need them, and it is never something upon which you can fully rely, anyway. Maybe being totally self-reliant is my raison d'etre, but when you need so much medical care, that's a nearly impossible feat. I don't want to need medicine or food or cable TV. I most definitely don't want to need love.

I know what makes my engine tick is out there somewhere. It will be a cause or an art form or something beautiful I can explore. But it's not love.

Poor Poor Pitiful Me

I recently joined a Neuropathy discussion group online and WOW. I am not alone. I never really thought I was really alone, but it's very easy to get wrapped up in your own minutia and garbage and feel like you are the only one on the planet who is suffering. I suppose depression adds to that feeling of loneliness and despair. Everything is magnified. But I am learning that there are thousands of people going through the same thing I am, and in some weird universe, it comforts me. I don't want anyone to suffer, mind you, but it gives me the sense that I don't have some obscure disease and no one knows how to treat it and my suffering is unique and more painful than others'. I want to be like one of those cancer survivors who made themselves better. I want to be proactive. Right now I am just letting it all happen to me. There's no cure for what I have, but surely there are things I can do to feel better. Deja vu - have I said this before? So I am taking baby steps and the first thing I am going to do is swim. The pool in my community just opened up. It's free. I don't relish the idea of trying on bathing suits, but I suppose no woman does, except maybe Kate Upton. My friend Traci  told me to get over it, get a suit and enjoy the summer. I need to get my kid out of the house too because she is not taking classes this summer. Let's see if I follow through. I am also going to try to blog more and hope it gets me motivated to write professionally again. My hands definitely hurt while typing, but I could make excuses the rest of my life and it never be discovered that I have something valuable and important to say to the world. See, this was a positive post. How will the next one be?

Detachment

The thing about always feeling like shit is you don't feel like writing. You don't feel like doing anything. I'm following that instinct.