Letting Go

There is a new kitten in this house. Like Nymph she was born in April. Unlike Nymph I found her on Ebay. Literally! Her name is not Kashi, she ignored me when I tried, as that name is very unique. I think however it is wise she didn’t choose Kashi. Between Soda and Cereal stealing words from things such as faeries and Sanskrit I would have the most accidental brand name theme. Sylvani tried to answer to Sprite, however she was convinced to try another name. Sylvani, like Sprites and Nymphs are also faeries.

She has adapted well to the household, arriving in a manner that had us both stressed out. Then with about twelve hours of home time she endured a party. It was a fantastic party actually, and I had more fun with hoardes of people in my house than I thought I would. My friends oohed and awed over Meat cake, each one was impressed with the delicious gluten free cake, and yet after it was over I found myself sad. It felt unaccountable so I sat and thought. This was naptime, so I also slept a bit. It was a dreamless sleep.

I realized watching Sylvani peak out at my guests, too shy and still overwhelmed to say hello, reminded me of Nymph when people came over. Nymph would have been this same age but hardly would she have been this size. It became clear to me with in hours of having Sylvani here that Nymph was sick the minute she came into my home. My fears that Sprite gave her the illness faded, though now that is a risk. You see Nymph was abnormally small, so small in fact that I was worried for her. Sylvani is on the small side for her age too, but is almost as big as Sprite. She is far lighter, Sprite is softer.

Nymph purred but her purr was strange. My little purr factories are very good at their jobs, producing purrs nearly twenty four hours a day. Her first hour here, Sylvani purred and napped with me. Nymph did too. Nymph seemed to purr backwards in a way, it is hard to explain but I am left to think that she had other things wrong with her. She was so tiny, so fragile. She was a cat made out of faery dust and love. Too fragile to last in reality.

Sylvani is solid. I have no fears for her future as plagued me constantly with Nymph before I even knew she was ill. I have some residual fears because of the loss of Ny but Sylvani does normal cat things. She knows how to play. Sprite has not had to teach her how. She knows how to jump, though she can’t quite make the food counter. She likes to headbutt my ankles and stretch up to touch me. Her beautiful eyes are bright and shiny and she is curious.

Nymph wasn’t all that curious. Sprite literally taught her to pounce and play. Sylvani is creating her own methods of play with the existing toys. Did you know a laserpointer needs no human? She has been flinging it and pouncing it. She found the truest method of dot defeat.

I talked with M about this for a while, and he said nothing much but did comfort me. There were no words of wisdom needed beyond, “You were afraid to love Sprite, you were afraid to Love Ny, but you don’t seem to hold any fears for Sylvani.” My fear for Sprite was that I would be homeless and could not feed her. This came to pass, though not at all in the expected manner. My fear for Nymph came to pass. It seems my subconscious does a very good job of creating reasonable fears.

I could not see Nymph as an adult cat. Sylvani being nearly identical to Sprite with the exception of the angular nature of her eyes may help but I can see them together in a fear years, Sylvani coming with me as a service animal. I could see Nymph as one but her passivity worried me too at times for a service animal is not always passive with their person, at least with my method of training. Service animals are a balance between proactive and passive.

I find myself no longer so worried that I had failed Nymph in some invisible way that only I was aware of. I find myself mourning her still but not as much. Sylvani is healthy. She is not so small that I worry about her dying because of the surgery to have her spayed or nuetered. She’s a girl so whichever applies. In fact she has managed to kick Sprite out of the sunny spot, without so much as a hiss.

Sylvani and Sprite are most likely related with in a generation. Either Sylvani is Sprite’s Niece or Sprite’s mother lived a long time while producing offspring. This is based on more than their looks. Sprite spent a time in the same Shelter that I found Sylvani on. Via Ebay yet still a shelter. Sprite was found in a similar fashion by said shelter. Both cats were adopted just after being put on the short list for euthanasia. They have similar dispositions so far, though Sprite has shown far more meanness in her life time. That cruelty to people was survival. She was the least likely to find a home, Sylvani’s issue with homes was age discrimination. Too old and too young at the same time.

So I am taking a breath, and I am letting go. I cannot hold on to Nymph out of regrets and sorrows that do not belong. She got what she came for here, and she gave me something I needed too. It was the same thing. Love. Nymph reminded me to love myself. It isn’t the inspirational cat with a disability story, for there was no point of her being ill and suffering that was inspiring. It was simply the soft way she walked through life. She didn’t let her pain stop her from being the gentle soul she was. Knowing how much she hurt all the time makes me sad but, I hear that is true about people when they realize I was literally born in pain. It makes them sad.

I have another post about my mother that will come out soon but for now I am going to watch the cats ruin the rest of the marshmallows. They started this during my nap last night, but apparently Marshmallows are delicious to both of them. Sprite has a history with them, but she prefers the minis. Sylvani adores the big ones. She has flung them, turned them into pillows, and her face when she first bit into one was priceless. I was there for the first taste. It took her a while to decide that the flavor was great! It’s time to turn on some lights and open the curtains and have a day. A day of cat play!

Little Flickers of the Candle

I mean for this to be a short post though often that is my intention and I have yet to muster one of those. I am listening to Sprite who is so soft and I am in that just woke up from my nap space still. I am making morbid associations that I can normally shunt away, I find it a bit fascinating. These are the little flickers of the mind’s candle. They are the sudden illuminations that can lead to a gasping breath as the ideas start to coalesce or clot together.

I am wondering if Sprite, who doesn’t actually like the traditional pet bed but who at the vet’s office when Nymph’s time came climbed in first, then settled down and waited with the little one actually understood that the bed was for Ny’s comfort? She has had them offered at various vets, and shunned them each time. She has her own of a sorts, it’s a lot more cloud like, a dark color, coated in catnip and she has yet to touch it. Though she was staring at it in her basket with this great look of melancholy. That or the cleaning of the basket and the addition of padding instead of a blanket is no longer “right” because it now holds no scent of the little paws and bright eyes she and I love.

There are now no hidden corners in which she can rest and inhale the warm scents, if now a bit musty, of Nymph. There are now no spaces or places in which to hide, really. Those were either changed, destroyed, or moved. This was necessary so that she can be healthy and whomever comes to live with us too. Yet I see the flickers of sorrow in her at this. Her pain is great. Not that mine isn’t but I feel hers is greater. She has never been this sad to be away from other cats.

Not Thor, whom she had wrapped around her tail and was her loyal male slave like creature. Not a lover, but instead the fetcher of toys and the kneeling footman awaiting instruction with the flick of her tail. She didn’t like his companion Mid-Knight much at all but was sorry he fell ill, Mid-Knight seemed to resent her more than she didn’t care too much about him. It was all her playfulness and rejuvinating his once quiet friend. This darned female had gotten Thor up to running up trees, despite being declawed. I always worried about Thor being allowed outside with his defenses gone, but he was not my cat. I could barely keep her in once we discovered her allergy there.

William Shakespurr, whose perfect owner is now dead as Craigslist displayed while I was companion hunting, he was not mourned for even an hour. The atmosphere was celebratory for both of us. His blundering forcefulness while endearing left us both with literal wounds and literal scars. My nearly dying at the hands of this cat was just too much to bear.

No, it was Nymph who wooed and won us. In fact I was unaware how much her presence had changed me. My doctor’s visit today helped showcase some of that. As she commented on the change and just how much cleaner things were, despite the layers of cat clothes which had been left to dry overnight on every available surface, I told her why there was so much cleaning. In fact the only real thing that needed a good scrub in general was my carpet but it looks so much nicer that it IS worth commenting on. Cat vomit stains are gone. I am doubly sold now on a carpet cleaner for myself. Yes, when I told her she was very sad. Then she looked a bit worried, and told me why she was worried

Nymph had been medicinally good for me. My blood pressure went back to normal, I had quite a long year of moderately high blood pressure. Normal for most people is high for me. I wasn’t as pale and pasty, though I am pasty again it isn’t the loss of Nymph but again, uterine dynamighting. She saw both Sprite and myself “blossom”. We became ourselves, as if the missing piece was found. That’s how it had felt with Nymphy too. That little sadness that is there is a ghost of the flickers of her candle. It’s her shadows, her scent. The ghost isn’t something Sprite or myself wanted gone either. Nymph smelled like chocolate to me. Sprite smells like sugar cookies (gluten free of course).

Thor smelled like grass. Mid-Knight’s scent was very gross, though that may have been the impending illness there waiting to be noticed. William Shakespurr smelled like pee, because he would roll in the litterbox after peeing. Very disgusting cat that one. Yet when I would lay with Sprite and Nymph on me I would smell them both and it was better than eating a chocolate chip cookie (dark chocolate chunks).

So as I wake up, via writing, I am left with the rest of the thoughts of her visit. She doesn’t think I am any more depressed than I was a few months ago. Grieving? Yes. Depressed? No. I am always a bit depressed but I didn’t lose any ability to the depression except that one hour a few months ago, before Nymph, when I had to choose to get out of bed because laying there was just being depressive and I didn’t let me. I’ve felt consistently good. Most of the time I am happy. I am death obsessed but, that’s par for the course given my life. My doctor says so. The amount of death I have dealt with outweighs most average US Citizen’s experiences. I think those studies (she could cite them, it was funny) are a bit focused on middle class white people but I could be wrong.

My exhaustion is definately a side effect of the gouts of blood. My blood tests show I actually have been cycling. My uterus is trying to WORK. My ovaries too. Damn them. She was relieved I refused birth control, and having had an anaphalactic response to Yazmin, I plan to continue to do so. That won’t stop this kind of bleeding as my blood is blood not a mix of fleshy bits that pass for blood to the unaware mind and eye. The color is wrong, there is no fade in or fade out as my body tries to get “things done”. I don’t have Cushings Disease, as was a concern for a long time. Yay, no need for Brain Surgery.

The thing is, she also is worried that my current doctor is ignoring the issue. She recommended I sue and move to … California! The fact that my best medical option is moving out of state irks me to a degree. She doesn’t think a hysterectomy is the right answer for me, sure it will fix the bleeding issue but it doesn’t tell us why I am bleeding, is invasive, potentially deadly especially in my case, and could screw me up if I don’t have an answer. It could be cancer but she still thinks, as I have said myself, that it isn’t likely. Not because I don’t have a higher risk or symptoms but because there are less deadly scary things that could be wrong. My hypothesis about Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome causing tears is the most likely. In that case, I have no clue what the treatment will be but I have guesses.

It was good to affirm what I already knew. I am fine, in fact I am hardly a flickering candle most of the time and feeling this weak is very annoying. I am not sure I am able to sue at this moment because of lawyers fees etc but I do like that she has some similar ideas on California’s climate. SHe specified LA, which is my aimed at city. I have a fantastic doctor.

I also started the process for a cat interview with Sprite, so maybe by Monday there will be another cat living here. The cat is a bit older than Ny, but then I thought Ny was too young. I am not going to age discriminate against cats at all. I just hope this set up works out. If not, then the cat’s previous owner/mother will regain property of said feline and that will be that. We’ll just try again. Sprite’s gotten down to sulking most hours because she is lonely and sad. I think another cat around to at least fight with a bit will do her wonders.

Up and Down and Up and Down

Today I talked with my doctor, and she agrees I don’t need a therapist. She asked if I want one and I told her no, because a good therapist is too hard to find. So it is agreed, having made it through the Junely mess I am okay. If this changes I will reconsider my choice to stop therapist hunting. It seems my ability to step back and look at why I am feeling things defeats the purpose of a therapist. My constant questioning the universe is also healthy. I really like my doctor.

It’s time for the annual blood work and well… while talking I dislocated my jaw. Which hurts each time and leaves me hearing pain, which I mentioned after Sprite fixed it. I still can’t quite get it myself which is very annoying. I cannot feel how to work the bone back in, which made my doctor suspect it’s not a bone issue so much as the soft tissues are damaged. I have been holding my jaw up, and talking less and less. She noticed that my jaw doesn’t move much when I speak either, which has always been there to a degree, but it’s more noticeable now. I can talk around the “broken” sensation because the immobility of my jaw is common. I adapted and barely noticed it.

The adaptation springs from singing, you do not move your lips and jaws to make note variations, and I sing to speak but work to cadence this song to match normal patterns. So I can still talk. It’s not as loud but it’s clear and most people understand me. My friends who are hard of hearing cannot hear me as well however. That bothers me as those are the friends I speak to the most often. We’re adapting as we go, we humans. That’s the point of life I think.

I feel really good right now. I have had less emotional distress since my pain meds were upped, and my doctor agrees that this is probably related. The rain makes me dizzy still and yet I can go outside when raining to open the gate I just book it back inside after. It started raining once I went out to get her in. Normally my carer would but M the Carer is out sick. She came in and was obviously ill. It’s an allergic reaction to latex. I know she’ll be fine but she has to get treatment first. She didn’t want to go in to the ER until I promised her today was just a cleaning day anyway, where we were opening boxes and with the weather I wasn’t too into that idea. I also swore I would call her if I needed her. I added in I would try to not of course. Yes I will call her if I need her, it wasn’t empty words.

She’s been with me for three weeks, which is usually the time when things start happening and I start to have fomentation of doubts with carers. Still? Nothing. I still have no niggling doubts, the cats still trust her, the cleaning is still happening when the mops aren’t molding and sold out, and the cooking is still there. She made sure I still had food even though we cooked yesterday. I really feel safe.

Feeling safe is another up feeling, I feel safe for the first time in a long time. Not mostly secure but out and out safe. I close my door, pop the lock, and I can go to sleep. I still have dreams sometimes that are disturbing but that is my normal. I no longer have to run to mother or other in order to free myself from them. It’s been ages since I last needed to call someone out of fear of the night/sleep.

The last dream I had that scared me was only scary while I was asleep and was a rare dream where I wasn’t aware I was dreaming. I was trying to get to M by bestest friend evar, and he was up stairs. I had to find him, because there was trouble coming and if I didn’t he could be eaten by outer-space. I figure this dream has to do with my having gone out that day and been frustrated by accessibility issues, wanted to talk to him about it and he was unavailable for a few days straight. I often dream about him being out of reach when he is unable to talk for more than two days, and I dream about having to go upstairs and being stuck because of my need for the buttwheels. In each dream however, my chair is not the cause of the problems but the stairs are sentient and out to get me.

So between this and that and the other things are medically okay. We’re checking all my hormone levels because I had a period, aka RED ALERT. The thing was my period did the backwards blood thing again. For those who don’t know a period should get darker and more brown as it goes along. Mine starts out brown and turns bright red. This one also lasted for four weeks. However, instead of needing bed rest, being in horrible pain and screaming the entire time I was awake I was fine. More pain yes but not to the level that I couldn’t function. Normally my cramps feel like my spine is being ripped out, this time? Just crushed and that’s due to the location of my injury so that much pain is considered minimal. This is a red flag, again with the menses puns I know I know bad Kat. So we’re following the trail.

I am still thinking on my jaw, and how much I hate CT scans. However if there is treatment that could make it where I can talk without epic pain again, I want it. I am after all a blabbermouth. I cannot keep secrets, I cannot keep my mouth shut, and now I have to hold it shut? It’s just a little cliche. I can see this in Tim Burton animation style, some sort of morality tale about talking but there’s no real point to it. Plus the sensation is my jaw is lopsided. It is just weird. I don’t use that word much even about my body, normally I can figure it out before I even mention it to a doctor but nope. Totally weird.

Another up is Nymph. She is getting taller but not wider, she will be a very long cat. Her heritage is showing now, she is a minimum of 1/3 siamese. Her markings show this anyway, but her bone structure does, as does her miaow. It’s not a mew, it’s a squeak. She also has some Rex so her fur is curly but not visibly so, just to feel it. That adds in some very tall back legs. She literally stands an inch taller at her butt than her shoulders. Her ears and tail are much larger than the rest of her, and they are getting bigger. I am not sure if she will grow into them but she’s very adorable. She has figured out how to climb into my lap without claws, but this only works when I can sit a certain way.

Nymph has also figured out how to turn on and off my Windows Media Player with my keyboard. I have been watching Andromeda and several times now, including during my doctor’s visit, she has gotten her paws on my keyboard and pushed the play button. This requires some finesse as the play button is not located near the rest of the keys and each time she does this she has to get on my desk. At first I thought it was dumb luck but no, we had a play war for a few seconds. She hit play I reached over and hit pause. She hit play. I think she is smart enough to become a service cat, and she also is proving to be loyal enough. In the first year of life however she has to figure out what parts of a human are connected to the mind.

She figured out my hands are part of me but is working on the feet and a change of clothes throws her off. The rain makes me sleepy and the storm is getting a bit heavier so I am going to curl up in bed with the cats a bit early. I just wanted to post an update because I literally had nothing to say for a while.

Oh and for those of you who I owe lines? Working on it.

Not All Expectations Are Positive. (Trigger Warning)

Nymph taught me something. I didn’t really know the words for the lesson but she taught me something special. I have always tried to fulfill expectations, and not everything expected of me is positive. The expectations started out as parental, then became my own. I spent years expecting myself to fail because I was unworthy of success.

The expectation for a kitten in a new house are as follows.

1. Existing cats will fight with the new one, no matter the age. The cats will fight for dominance. Kittens cause less of this but there will be yowling and fighting.

2. The kitten, like a new puppy, will spend the next two months crying for it’s mommy.

3. Kittens make messes, your new cat will probably poop on your bed, the floor, and miss the box a few times.

4. Kittens need constant attention.

5. Kittens will bite, tear, and claw.

Nymph has not met most of these expectations and the one she does, is not in the expected manner.

Truths about Nymph.

1. From her first moment in the door, she has been loving and gentle. She has not fought with Sprite except in the manner of play fighting. She has only cried out in pain when she is hurt because she ran into a wall or fell off of the couch and is hanging upside down and needs heroic rescuing. This has occured twice now, but she has mastered getting into the window.

2. Nymph does meow a lot, but her meow is musical and very sweet. She sounds a bit Siamese but without the added tones that I find unpleasant. She has the prettiest meow I have ever heard! Not once has she cried out of loneliness while I have been around. She has a few times called for me or Sprite, when disoriented or lost behind … the couch! She usually calls for us first thing when she wakes from sleep. If I speak she is quiet coming to sit on the floor by my chair. Sometimes she tries to get up here. She is quiet all night long.

3. The first day I had her I was holding her and she had to pee. I could feel her poor bladder stretched out. So i carried her to the litterbox, set her in and waited. She went, and hopped out. I did have Sprite teach her to cover her crap, because it hides the smell. She now over does that and will put it as low as she can. She has not once made a mess. She did vomit from eating too quickly a few days ago, but, that is different than the expected mess, and she has learned her limitations now. (She also REALLY likes Salmon).

4. I need more attention than Nymph it seems! Sprite has helped Nymph to get enough play, and I do play with this darling girl but she is okay if I ignore her. She does check in with me, and did about five minutes ago. She makes sure I am still around when she thinks I am too quiet, and I see more of her when I lay down. The chair is imposing and contributes, but each day she shows she is independent. She will play with the toys by herself, or she will play catch with Sprite. Catch is literal. Sprite flings a toy with her mouth, and Nymph returns it after pouncing it.

5. Nymph likes to claw things, but she prefers her scratching post and toys. She has scratched me once, though it was purely accidental. She is also teething so she wants to chew things to make her mouth feel better. She’s apparently swallowing the baby teeth that are falling out and has at times skipped the dry food even if this makes her hungrier for a day (I feed her extra wet food, because I am such a darned softy for this kitten) and every so often will go after my hands. She wants to nurse my pinkies. Still, all I have to do is say No, ouch. She has learned this means to stop and always feels bad. I get extra cuddling from her after.

This shows me two things. One thing I knew already, Sprite isn’t the only super amazing genuis cat ever born, and the other something I should have known and have at least figured out. Expectations are set before us, but not all of them are worthy of us.

People expect me to disappear when in public because of my disability. Today I punched someone, the third since my chair became a part of my life. Every time I go out people act like idiots and their expectation is that I enjoy inane questions, sometimes verbal and physical abuse, and I will just take it. Each time I have punched someone, I have found myself confused at the glee that others show. I do not expect glee at an act of physical violence. I often come to the conclusion that this reaction is because I did the unexpected and also I did something that these people desired for themselves.

Today a woman decided to poke me. I was waiting in line at Costco, my carer was in the restroom. She had been doing the potty dance, so I told her she should go because I could manage the transaction, my things were already unloaded. I asked her to stop nicely, I always try to be nice first. I am working on skipping the nice but I don’t think I can. She didn’t. I asked nicely twice, and snarled it. Upon being snarled at she put her face in mine. I held my breath incase she had eaten a cucumber and I punched her as hard as I could. I can punch hard but it hurts me too. My shoulder is aching and for two days my right arm will be of less use.

I never really know what to expect once I hit someone on one level, on another I expect for them to hit me back. No one has. The first person I knocked out, the second I don’t really remember today I just remember sore fingers, and the third ran off in tears. I think she called me names but I couldn’t understand her through the wailing.

The expectations of witnesses are to panic. No one has yet. Instead, people find my striking a bigot amusing. I get told variations of good job, I wish I could, and today a money saving coupon for money off of my purchase (I saved ten dollars!). I expect security. I expect reprimands. That has yet to happen. The cashier had been about to interviene, I realized this after I had hit her. She hadbeen speaking to the woman. I had already committed myself to feeling flesh on flesh and the spark of violence. I wasn’t angry. I was panicked.

I don’t hit out of anger. I expect it, when I am angry but the more I want to hit the less I let myself. I have yet to commit an act of violence with anger as an adult. As a child I did so mostly because I thought this was what was expected of someone when angry. I literally did not know better. I do now.

I know I could have taken care of the situation without hitting this woman yet, I feel GOOD about striking her. I knew immediately I was about to melt down if I didn’t contain the situation and put my headphones on, but I could keep one ear open. My carer missed the entire situation. I think the woman that I hit waited until she was gone before seeking to touch me. This means she was a predator. This means she was a threat. This is the time of year when I struggle most with violence, the fear of being hurt grows. This used to be the start of a half a year of self destruction followed by a half a year of recovery before I would be destroyed again. This cycle is ending.

I am fighting it. I was told I never could. I was told the expectations for me as an adult were not good.

Adult Expectations for Kat

1. You will never live on your own.
2. You will never work.
3. You will be in and out of institutions because you aren’t good enough for society (a therapist phrased it this way).
4. You will end up in jail.
5. You will commit suicide before you are 25. (This was before I was aware that I am supposed to die every year from my disabilities and illnesses.)
6. You will never get married.
7. You will be an abuser if you date.
8. No one can love you.
9. You are not strong, you can’t be independant.
10. You cannot take care of yourself.
11. You will always be lazy.
12. You are a hypochondriac, every time someone has a sickness you think you do too. This will lead you to self mutilation, and may be the cause of death that gets you before suicide. Not that it matters, because you aren’t a productive member of society.
13. You aren’t creative. No one will want you to be a writer, an artist, and you don’t sing as well as you think you do or you would be on the radio.

I list them this way, though I feel a few are redundant, because this was the list I was given when I turned 17. The therapist at the mental hospital I was in told me I was hopeless, that I would never make it to adulthood, muchless the twenty five mark. He made it clear that I was so valueless that there were no positive expectations for me. He said something that has haunted me more than his lack of respect. “If you were more like your older sister, then there would be hope.” He had never met H. He had only heard my mother’s biases. My sister was like the dead in a way, in that once she left she was treated as the saint that could do no wrong. Mind you, she ran off, got married to a close blood relative and had babies that she couldn’t take care of.

Yeah. She’s better than me in his eyes. I was angry. I believed him. I realized then and there that this was how the world saw me. He rehashed everything that my abusers had and would say. He took me down to nothingness, but as I was already as low as I could go he gave me something else. The first sensation of a spark of self respect.

This was not his intent. He was working on having me placed in a group home, because my mother agreed, I could never come home. After all, I was/am an evil horrible monster that will destroy family values and all that she cares about. Right? (Probably still am in her eyes… )

I behaved as he wanted. I learned how. I went to the Ranch, and I learned how to fake it in society. I learned the right facial expressions for the moods I have, according to other people. I don’t bother trying all that now, though a lot of that programming is still there. If I glower when happy, it’s because of pain. If I don’t act like a perky air head, it’s because I don’t feel like one. If I do not meet your expectations it’s because they are wrong.

The Truths About Kateryna Fury (Add Jackass in parenthesis to each statement. That’s what I feel when writing this part. Boy was that therapist an unqualified Jackass):
1. I live on my own. I have lived on my own as often as possible. I stopped living on my own once for financial reasons. I thrive on my own. I will never live with other people, unless it becomes state mandated, and then I will sue for my freedom.
2. Kateryna picks up her resume, skims it over and looks at the myriad of work that she has done. She notes her charity work, and with a smile that shows malice mails this off to the Jackass. (Novel Style Oh snap)
3. I am going to say this once. Needing the assistance of a therapist does not make you weak, it does not make you a person without value, and it does not mean that you are unworthy of society. If I need to go to an institution I will. I do not think I need this. Yes, I have mental health issues including depression and constant suicidal ideation (the words of the Jackass), I deal with PTSD. I learned the right way to handle this stuff… from therapists that are not jackasses. I have not set foot in an institution since becoming an adult, except once when I was hallucinating from pain and mistook this pain for psychosis, as I had yet to learn how to feel the difference. I was NOT admitted but instead had the doctors send me to the ER for medical reasons. I was given care and it wasn’t all in my head. I haven’t even found a therapist yet and have looked for the last year but I am not in the institution, nor will I go there. I’d die first because you work there.
4. Jail? Hmm… I do punch people. The only threat of Jail I have had was an illegal one. I do not break the laws, and the reasoning behind this statement was PTSD related. I hit people when I am afraid, and PTSD means for me constant fear. Finding a way to free myself from my PTSD and the link to my reactions in Autism set me free. I may go to jail someday in the future but I doubt it.
5. I turn 26 in September. So far I have not even tried to kill myself as an adult. I may want to at times but in reality that is internalized garbage from shit factories like you. In actuality a few of your patients have died, I know because we did know each other and it made the news. One was murdered, one was a suicide by cop (The patient you told me to idealize no less, though I mourn her you sure suck at your job, Jackass). Another overdosed on drugs. Me? I get my drugs the legal way. I follow my doctor’s orders. I do deal with my depression but I also know that when I want to die it’s pain. Pain people like you cause. Jackass.
6.I got married. I got unmarried. You were wrong, and your statement implies everyone should be married. So you wanted me to follow socially normative behavior instead of doing what is best for me. You wanted me to find someone who could put their penis in me, regardless of my sexuality. In fact you out and out told me I could not be a bisexual because bisexuality was an illness. I love all genders equally. All. Not two. All. I am Omnisexual, Jackass. Your white heterocisgender racist able bodied male privilege is showing. Jackass.
7. I figured out before you were done trying to make me give up on life, since that was your apparent goal and you had such high expectations for me and hopes for me that you were wrong and blind to much of reality. I knew this then, when I was so drugged up I couldn’t think and can barely remember much besides you and your hateful criminal actions. I understand, you presume that I should be like my sister who IS an abuser. This must be why you said this. You don’t believe in people breaking the cycle do you, Jackass? I will not be abused nor will I abuse. My first thought with each action is about consequence. For me. For them.
8. Jackass. (I believe that says enough). In case that wasn’t clear, I cannot count the people who love me and whom I love, because the number is infinite, as I cannot count that high. Jack. Ass.
9. I am the strongest person I know, and I know many strong people. I do know that sounds prideful yet, I can only assess others by my own knowledge and for me, I am the strongest. I think I have to be as well. My strength is not physical but mental, the very thing you thought I did not have. You drug me into a fog and decide I am stupid. That’s good medical care. Yes you have an MD and the whatever it is for psychology. Oooh. You are a Jackass anyway! Maybe even more so. Instead of paying attention to your patients you let me walk around with gangrene, you let me walk around with severe and deadly allergies, and a giant tumor in my intestine and buttocks. I did not cry or scream. Even the nurses commented on this when changing my bandages, I should’ve cried out more. Does strength mean crying out? Does it mean silence? For me it is both. For you? Obviously you are a jackass so what does YOUR opinion and expectation matter Dr.Jackass?
10. Hmm… I can too. I do all the time. In fact having a caregiver is a proof of this, as I had to advocate in order to get the need met. So my body wore out because I believed you… Jackass, you are again wrong. I can care for myself and I do with each breath.
11. Error, this is invalid. By not working myself to death I am lazy in the world of the Jackass. Therefore, I have never been lazy. Jackass.
12. Funny, everything you said was in my head wasn’t. Everything you said wasn’t real was. Someone is an unqualified Jackass! Or are you overqualified in your credentials for being a jackass? I get it. Therapy is, for you, about ignoring the body completely. I remember how angry you were when I had to have not one but two surgeries under the umbrella of your care, and… yes… I did survive and still have a crappy body. It turns out NOTHING was in my head in the realm of hypochondria and every disease that I thought I may have and wanted to ask my doctor about I do. Each time you coddled the other girl with Reynauds and made me suffer, that was wrong. Then again you told me that though I had signs of being Autistic I couldn’t because I am a girl. Hah. Sexist Jackass.
13. Well, this was added on just because it speaks for itself. I sing, I write music, I write audio plays, I write stories, and I write here. Someday you may read this, wondering if this was one of your patients. The answer is yes. If you are a therapist read this and pay attention. How much of this have you done to someone? Why give up on someone and tell them? This harmed me. No one will love me, everything I am passionate about is worthless, and… the most damaging thing a therapist can do is reiterate the words of an abuser.

This was the best therapist I had had up to that point. Each one tried to stick so many labels on me and not a one, even this jackass, saw me as a person. Each one only saw flaws. Some didn’t care about my not wanting God and others required it. I faked being a Christian until I was on my own as an adult. I did this in order to escape more abuse by THERAPISTS.

I also question a profession that’s name can be split into the rapist. I question a profession that tells the victim they must abuse. I question a profession that though it an be helpful can do so much damage. I question anyone that tells any person that there is no chance something is medical. I question why someone has expectations of me at all. I don’t think people should.

I will always strive to fall short of expectations. I know some are positive but for me expectation is obligation. If I succeed and am not expected to, there is anger. If I do not succeed and am expected to, there is anger. Expectation is also the measure of success. I have no expectations of myself, I merely focus on living and being happy. My happiness is more and more common.

I am still hunting for a therapist. One that can understand that therapy itself should have a trigger warning. One that does not victim blame, one that does not set expectations.

I don’t have a life goal right now, because life IS my goal. I will not work again, for a long time, because working would probably do me in. Why is this an instant assessment of a person’s value? Why must I fit in with your expectations?

I am glad Nymph opened this door. I wish it was free of the PTSD, but nothing I do can be free of that. Maybe someday, but not this one. This is also the reason why I have felt guilt for suggesting that someone finds a therapist. Yet, the good therapists are the ones who help people. It’s a shame they are so rare.

The Significance of Warmth

I have taken for granted the sensation of being warm in my life. It has been so rare and disconcerting. I wasn’t aware of the benefits of being warm. With poor circulation comes a constant coldness, it settles into the bones and makes it much more difficult to handle heat or cold. The temperature has to be just right or it hurts. Then there’s the blueness in my skin that I thought was natural and supposed to be there. It wasn’t a dark blue that would alert me to the issues like is always in my feet but more a lack of redness. Today I am pink and warm.

In fact in the month or so since I have gotten my wheelchair I have been warm. It started about a week after the chair was here. There are some moments where my normal chill is present but those last a few minutes, a reversal of temperature extremes. Today when I saw my doctor we discussed the warmth. Not only was my body temperature normal (98.6!) but the pinkness in my skin has actually changed my complexion in a way. I look alive, instead of like the perpetual goth girl by default. This has excited me, and I must say Sprite enjoys warm hands. She keeps jumping up into my lap to knead and purr at me so I will pet her. At least two times a day more since the warm started. It isn’t just my hands that are warmer, but my arms, the back of my neck, my legs, and even the parts of my feet that aren’t so damaged no amount of circulation could change things.

Of all of the changes in my life since the wheelchair this is the least expected and the one that has brought me the most pleasure. I don’t need the air conditioner on to keep the house cold enough so that I don’t feel like I am burning up. Every year 80 degrees has been enough to make me sweat and extremely uncomfortable. I am still extremely pale but that is the type of skin I have. Without the blueness a lot of my scars aren’t showing, though I do have some sun spots on my hands that show.

The best part of the day was the discussion of activities, because my circulation is improved she approved my idea of trying to swim at least twice a month, instead of once a month. With the water allergy I am a bit worried about a reaction but I found a heated indoor pool, and I also know that showers hurt more than baths so swimming should be okay. Especially since my pain meds have been upped. The visit with my pain clinician was interesting as well. Both doctors mentioned that there is a drastic improvement in my health that is visible.

I feel it. I also have had less seizures, though a bit more Asthma issue comes with going outside. Not only do I get to go swimming once the paratransit is set up (and that is nearly there) but I also get to go for walks, and my doctor instructed me to go out to do something once a month that is not a walk. Things like a movie if I can afford it (there is a twenty five cent movie day at a theatre weekly), the museum, or maybe the mall (okay not the mall). That is for my mental health.

I realized last night that I am enjoying being warm. Once the confusion wore off and I realized this is a good thing, I could relax a bit further. I never fully relax but my body went to sleep more easily because I allowed myself to be warm. Sprite had help keeping me asleep and warm too. We finally have a new cat in our house. Soon I will post a picture of her, but Nymph joined us on Monday afternoon. I have thirty days to decide if she can stay with us but Sprite has only hissed at her twice, once when the little scamp bit her tail and the other when I insisted they share the food bowl.

Nymph is the runt of her litter, a white calico with creamy orange spots and silvery gray streaks over the orange. She looks like she sat in a pile of ashes because her backside down her legs and her tail are all gray. She also has a headshape that reminds me of Yoda. Her eyes are a big golden color and her meow is a tiny squeaky sound. When she makes a murr to call for her family or me and Sprite if she gets lost in the apartment it is very melodic. Almost like a bird trill. She is quiet, curious, and quickly overcoming her timidness.

As you may or may not know Sprite’s full name is actually L’Fee de Esprit or the Fairy Spirit. Nymph’s full name courtesy of a friend’s children is Mystara Moon Nymph. Sprite is playing with the kitten a lot but when she gets tired she hides up on my lap, as Nymph (who is three months old) is too small to jump up here and is afraid of jumping. She has gotten over her fear of the laser pointer, so I know this is a matter of time.

Both Sprite and Nymph bring me warmth and I can finally share with them. The oddest thing about warm hands is that the way things feel is different. Not everything but small things, like the texture of my keyboard keys, Sprite’s fur feels smoother and thicker, and my hands hurt far less. They are still having their normal issues but the joints are less swollen.

This is one of the little things that I am astounded I never knew. I never realized that my circulation issues really did effect me this much, I just thought they made me cold and added to my temperature sensitivities. I wish I had known they were a sign of joint pain and sleep issues but having had a little more sleep because of being warm helped me get over my fatigue from Transport being made of Fail yesterday. (Nothing new, they just treat their consumers like luggage who has nothing better to do than wait around for them).

In a body made up of extremes, I think warmth means maybe I finally found a moment of medium. Now I have to go rescue my wallet from a curious kitten!

Sprite

I decided Sprite deserves an honor, as she always goes above and beyond what is expected of her. She has thusly been nominated for the life time service award (Screw the cat award, she has given a life time of service) with the ASPCA. In my lifetime of trials, the last five years have been better because of her presence. I would be very literally dead without her so many times over. Feel free to nominate her over and over if you want, or some other fantastic animal in your life!

Kitty Retiree

I judged a Toastmaster’s competition today and did so without Sprite at my side once again. My beloved Service cat has aged, she has begun to fall ill too often to work, and now is a retiree. As of this morning I no longer have a working service animal. Not outside of the house anyway. Sprite will still travel with me if I will be going somewhere over night, but beyond that? I do not feel confident in her ability to perform or to stay healthy. Despite my happy day this is still a moment of sorrow.

She is six years old, and with her history she has worked long for her life. She came from starvation and ill health, therefore I cannot fault her for her body quitting. She was upset I left her this morning, and there were consequences, but there were still good points too. It turned out a service dog who doesn’t behave at all around cats was at the contest today. Sprite’s at least partial retirement saved us from a fiasco.

What does this mean for me now? Well, it means I need to find out if there are any dogs I am not allergic to, I need to consider a horse though I do not think a horse will be compatible with my life style, and I need to start saving up cash so that I can feed another animal. Sprite will no longer need her monthly payments though I think I will continue them, so that she has the benefit of consistency. Perhaps I am wrong and with a bit of extended rest she will resume working. I still need to persue another avenue.

Does anyone have a service poodle? I know I am not allergic to purebred poodles. I had one once upon a time, and depsite his behavior issues I could pet him and brush him all day long, without any problems. No rashes, no boils, and given that the Hidradenitis Supprativa has it’s own sets of issues the last thing I need are more sores and skin problems. I will begin my quest for a service poodle, though this could take years. I feel fear, I feel sorrow, but I am happy for Sprite and William. They will get to play and pounce daily. Sprite also can protect my socks.

That is William’s latest fetish, he has stolen my socks! My Person caught him in the act this morning, and described the act as cartoonish, cute, but ultimately detrimental to my ability to own socks. Sprite can take care of him, she won’t be lonely, and that is important too.

This is my first loss of a service animal, but I am thankfully able to keep her around as a pet. My heart aches, yet she is alive. That is reason enough to celebrate. I do know I cannot handle training my own service animal at this point in time. I am too weak physically to cope with a dog if they misbehave, I cannot afford to introduce another cat into the house at this time as the two we have are bonded and the other cat would cause mayhem.

The ecosystem of my household is balanced, My Person does what he is needed to, we also share our love and intimacy in ways that are unique to each of us, the interactions and feeding schedule with the animals has it’s own balance, as do our activities out of the home. The balance must shift, but, to add stress to the lives of my animals adds stress to me. A dog will be stress yet a cat moreso.

My one regret with sprite retiring is selfish. I regret that she cannot be with me to tell me when my body is going to fail. I regret that she cannot remind me to take my medication, she is my caregiver. I must adapt, yet I feel that same fear that I felt when I started training her. What do I do now? How do I grow? How do I continue living?

I do not have the exact answers but this is another learning point. I have no choice but to go forward. I choose life over stagnancy. I will adapt. I will find a way to thrive, i will find a way to live. Sprite will have a longer life if I respect her medial needs, and I cannot be cruel to her. I love her too much to force her to risk her safety.

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