Twenty-six

Today I turn twenty-six years old.

Birthdays as an adult seem far less important than when I was a child. Of course, as a child, I was hitting milestones and fun ages like one, five, ten, thirteen, sixteen, eighteen, and twenty-one. After turning twenty-one, my birthdays seemed less important. Not to say that my birthdays are unimportant, but that there is not as much to celebrate it seems. I was growing up and less self-centered, so I was not expecting many gifts, if any, and it just seemed like another day.

After I turned twenty-five last year, I was not excited for my birthday. I felt old. Now, I know that twenty-five is in no way “old”, but I felt like more of an adult and less than a child. I also realized that I was still living at home and was nowhere close to living on my own yet and being independent.

That hit me hard. I was twenty-five years old and still financially dependent on my parents. This is not how I imagined things. Then again, neither did any other person my age. All of my friends are also still living at home with their parents. Times are hard financially. I accept that I am no alone in this predicament.

As I turn twenty-six today, I stop judging myself for what life has thrown at me and the finical situation that I am in. Instead, I accept the way things are, and see what I can do to slowly work on changing them.

Turning twenty-six does not feel old to me as when I had turned twenty-five. Instead, I simply accept it for what it is and celebrate a new year of life.

Buddy

Losing a pet is difficult. Actually, it is very difficult. I never thought that losing Buddy would be so hard. That was until it came time that he needed to be put down.

Buddy was fourteen and a half years old in human years. I’m not sure what that is in dog years, but I am pretty sure he was around ninety. I hear that most dogs don’t make it past twelve years old. I was in elementary school when we got him, and now I am a young adult. He was with me for more than half of my life. The thought of not having him around was unimaginable.

On January 4, 2012, Buddy stopped eating and was looking at everyone with this terribly sad look as if to say, “Please, help me. I don’t feel well.” It was hard to see him like that. We talked about it as a family, and decided that if he did not improve the next day, that we would take him to the vet. On January 5, 2012, Buddy was not any better. He was looking worse and refused to eat anything. He would not even eat his snacks and he always ate his snacks.

We decided that that day was the day. We drove to the vet in silence. Buddy wouldn’t sit or rest. He was uncomfortable and knew something was up. Never before had three people taken him to the vet before. We went in and talked with the vet, tears streaming down our face. She agreed that putting Buddy down was the best choice. It was hard to do, but we did it. My Mom, Dad and I were with him when he went. It was good to see that he did not suffer and went peacefully. It was the only comfort that we had in the situation.

I keep trying to think that Buddy had a good, long life and that it was his time. That helps some too. But, I still miss him. I look for him when I drop food, but he doesn’t come to eat it up. I look for him to come running when I come inside, but he isn’t there. I look for him when I go outside a night, so that he can protect me, but he is no longer here to protect me and provide comfort.

Before he passed, I never thought that I would miss him or that I would even cry when he was gone. I didn’t realize how important he was to me, until now. I miss him dearly and he was such a great dog.

Now, I will value the life of my new puppy, Chucky (short for Chuck Norris), even more. I will be sure to enjoy those little moments like taking walks together or when he is there to comfort me while I cry.

It's a Nightmare

Living with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is nightmare. Really, it is. I have so many nightmares each and every night, that I lose count.

I wake up in a puddle of sweat, the bed covers kicked off, my heart throbbing and I’m struggling to catch my breath. I don’t recall running a marathon, but it sure feels like I have.

I’m scared. I want to move and find someone who feels safe. But I’m scared. I’m too scared to move out of my bed.

I lie here silently. Well, I try to lie here silently. I’m trying so hard to stop panting and quiet my breathing, but it’s only getting louder. What if he hears me?

I want to stop these feelings of fear, but they only seem to be getting worse. Am I safe here alone? Will he come hurt me? What if I get up to go find someone who will make me feel better? Will he hurt me on the way?

I’m scared. No. I am terrified.

I reach to turn the light on, but I stop myself. What if he is waiting outside of my door? What if he can see the light shining in a thin line from under my door?

I lie here in the puddle of sweat. I remember to focus on my breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Okay. I’m breathing normal.

I’m a twenty-five year old adult. I’m safe. I’m not a little girl anymore. I am safe. He is not around to hurt me. I am safe.

I’m relaxed. I fall asleep, knowing that I will wake up again, and the cycle will repeat itself. Eventually, around four in the morning, I will give up sleeping and will get up and begin my day, even though I am exhausted and do not feel like I have rested at all.

A Long Time Off...

So it has been a while since I've blogged. Life got to me. I was doing better and then worse and then better and then worse. In those better moments, I was living my life and doing fun stuff. In those worse moments, I was in too much pain to even think about blogging or have the energy to do it.

What I'm noticing in my life now is that I am always extremely exhausted. I'm drinking caffeine throughout the day to stay awake and then at night, I can't sleep or don't sleep well. I know that I need to get off the caffeine, but it is easier said than done.

I have started going tot he gym. I joined a new gym with a heated therapeutic pool. It is so nice and I feel amazing after getting out. I took my first swim class the other day. I was the only person in my 20's. Actually, I was in the only person under 50. It was weird, but the ladies where so welcoming to me and understanding of my condition. I have to say, some of the oldest ladies, did much better than me. They informed me that it gets easier with time. I am hoping they are right. I was exhausted afterwards because swimming does make me tired and I already had very little energy, but my body was pain free for most of the day. It was awesome. I plan on taking up the yoga classes as well. Hopefully they will help too. I hear they are good for those with Fibromyalgia.

Today is a bad day. I'm hurting a lot so this is all I will write for today.

Having a Rough Time

I haven't blogged in a while. My life is busy and miserable right now. I feel like all I do is run around from one appointment to another. I go to therapy twice a week. Then I got to physical therapy twice a week. I go to the psychiatrist once a month (but this past month, I went twice). I see my primary care physician at least once a month and sometimes more. So I do all these appointments and then try to fit my friends into my life. I need this social time to keep my sane.

Right now though, I don't even know if I want to be social. I'm kind of pulling away. Like right now instead of being out in the living room with my brother, I am in my room.

I am so miserable. I had nightmares last night. I had one of my worst ever. Actually, I have been having lots of nightmares. I'm having trouble sleeping. I'm having tons of flashbacks. I'm having panic attacks, where I really freak out. I get into these moments when I am so upset and depressed that I end up feeling very suicidal. Sometimes making plans on how to do it so that no one will find me in time to save me. It's scary. Thankfully, I've always felt better before the planned time to do it.

I've been talking to my therapist about this. He wants me to go into the hospital. I don't know if I have any insurance to cover that hospital, since its private psych and I have used up all of my days.

I hate the Fibromyalgia. It makes me miserable. The medication I am taking now, Nuerontin, seems to be helping some. I just need to learn to balance things. I can't do as much as I used to and I need to remember that. But with all the medications and vitamins I am on, I am so constipated. I hate it. I am either constipated of pooing all of the time because of taking medications to make me stop being constipated. It's all just so miserable. I hate it.

I just want thinks to get better. I may listen to my therapist and go into the hospital because things are getting pretty bad.

FML

This life doesn't seem worth living.

I keep trying to do stuff to make my life better, but instead it just seems to get worse and worse. When will I ever catch a fucking break?

I lived through all of that sexual abuse, then I lived through physical and emotional abuse. Then I lived through years of hellish flashbacks and many other PTSD symptoms. At times, those symptoms are still present, just not like they used to be.

Now, I am always sick. I got my Gastric Bypass Surgery so that I could be healthier and now I am not unhealthy then ever. I have issues with eating. Everything seems to make me sick, when I actually feel like eating.

I have fucking Fibromyalgia. I hate it. I hate living in pain and not really living my life. I can't go out with friends often, because I have to limit what I can do. I can't keep up with them anymore. I'm always so tired.

I have gotten to where I can be around guys and date. I am finally comfortable around them. But I just keep getting hurt. I do stuff with my whole heart, and when they don't, it just comes back to bite me in the ass. I give sex to easily and end up hurt. I can't seem to find that right guy. I should just give up on dating because my heart cannot take anymore.

I hate my fucking life. Suicide is seeming like a better option, each and every day.

I will have to talk to my therapist about this. I hate being this miserable.

Walk a Day in My Shoes

Back in March, I was shopping with my father after a nine hour day working as a nanny... not exactly easy. All I wanted to do was go home and rest, not to the grocery store. But, I went anyway and went in. This was the beginning of all my pain. I had pain before, but not this bad. I had told him that I was tired and wanted to go home while we were checking out. Well this started a huge fight. He told me that I was 25 years-old and shouldn't be tired. I said, well I hurt and I am tired. He told me that he was tired of hearing me say that. He couldn't understand why a perfectly healthy looking 25 year-old would complain of such pain and fatigue.

Then I started going to doctor after doctor and took trip after trip to the ER. I went to physical therapy religiously. My back was killing me and no were my knees. But nothing helped. Physical therapy hurt some, but not enough. I even tried getting spine injections. I was miserable.

Then one day, I decided not to go to the local ER but to go closer to the city to go to another ER. This time was different. While the doctor said she couldn't really do anything else, but patch me up and send me on my way with another prescription, she did give me some advice. She told me to get all of my medical records together, especially any diagnostic testing, and take them with me to any doctor I went to from now on. She said to get checked out by my Urologist and Gynecologist. She also said to see an Orthopedic Doctor, a Rheumatologist, and a Neurologist. She said I should get checked out for Rheumatoid Arthritis, Fibromyalgia, Multiple Sclerosis, and Lupus. She said that most likely it would be Fibromyalgia or Rheumatoid Arthritis. So I went to see a Rheumatologist and was officially diagnosed with Fibromyalgia.

After that, my dad became more sympathetic, but still it's hard for him or any other members of my family to handle. My mother makes rude remarks all the time. My father gets frustrated with me. M makes jokes. One day, I finally told him that it just wasn't funny anymore. Being in constant pain, just isn't funny.

Despite having a diagnosis, the ones that I would think would understand the most, just don't. It's hard to live with. It's hard to be in pain and hard that no one understand and wants me to do more when I just can't. It's hard that I want to work, but can't. It's hard that I can't always do social activities that I want to do.

I have hopes that this will improve. I have hopes that I will find some relief and that I will be able to do more. I have hopes that I will learn how to balance activity and rest. I have hopes that I will learn not to over do it when I do feel well... and I really hope that I will learn this soon because I think it is really setting me back. I mean, I know this, but yet I don't. I also have hopes that my family will come to some understanding and not be so frustrated with me.

If they think that they are frustrated, they should just try to imagine what it is like for me.

If only they could walk a day in my shoes.