Doubting My Sickness

First, check out this post by Misandry Angie about self doubt and chronic illness.

Read it? Good.

Now I’m about to get personal.

Medically, I am what is officially known as a “hot mess”. Fibromyalgia, depression. general anxiety, social anxiety, PTSD, sound sensitivity/misophonia, ADD, sleep apena, and to top it off, Borderline Personality Disorder.

It’s so much fun.  I’d party, but I’m too damned tired.  (and no, I’m not looking for suggestions.  Not the point of this post. I have a gang of doctors and a therapist. I have legal people helping me in the long process of filing for disability.  I’m handling shit)

Some days, the ‘good days’, I almost doubt my “Hot Mess” status.  “Hey, I got up and am just a little sore.  I don’t feel like a total failure who should run into traffic.  I might even leave the house today. Am I really that sick?”

And that gets me into trouble every single time. Because if I start to doubt, then I start worrying that I’m actually a big ol’ fraud.  That sure, I can look for a job right now and work and be productive and not a leech on society. Go you!

…and then the next day, or ever the next hour passes, and something breaks.  I’m tired because I went outside among people. Something happened and suddenly my okay mood spirals downward and I feel so worthless that I have to make myself sit down before I do something to myself.  Suddenly I’m nervous and shaky for no real reason, or for a silly reason, like my cat hopped off my desk and went for a nap, therefore he doesn’t like me anymore.

It comes back to me then. The hot mess-ness that is me.  The fact that I can type shit that people like and that makes sense when I can’t speak.  It’s hard, cats and kittens.

Real hard.

It’s hard to live in a world where your worth is based on what you can produce. It leaves people like me feeling worthless, and it leaves society thinking that we deserve less.  A pittance, tossed out like yesterday’s crumbs.  Not even the bare minimum to survive.

Because thinking that you’re a fraud sucks, but having society thinking it too is even worse.

Doubting My Sickness

Fashionably Late Hellos

Greetings, cats and kittens! I’m Feminace, also known as Niki, also known as “Human Provider of Treats and Pats” (at least to the cat). Welcome to the hot mess I’ve named Seriously?!?

The name comes from the fact that I say “seriously?” a lot when I look at the world and how it turns.  There’s so much going on that is so very, very fucked up, so when I get annoyed or amused enough, I dump it here.

Here you’ll find my ramblings about reproductive rights, my time as a clinic escort, race, disability, poverty, the occasional gaming post, and the not-so-occasional mental illness post.

Hope you enjoy, first post is coming up in about an hour.

And here’s a picture of my cat, Weasel:

He's on my HAND, you guys  I can't leave!
He’s on my HAND, you guys I can’t leave!
Fashionably Late Hellos

Getting My Bearings

So, ‘sup?

Been a while, yeah?

Sorry.  August has been a very tough month for me, mentally and physically, so I haven’t really been up for loud ranting and raving, though there is so much to rant and rave about.  It can be overwhelming at times.

It’s strange.  One deleted comment after my “whiny gamerbro” post suggested that I “get therapy”.  Funny, I’ve been in therapy for years, and still think gamerbros are whiny entitled babies who don’t want to share their toys, so take that, anonymous asshole.

There’s so gentle way to get into this, so here goes.  I admitted myself into a hospital a couple of weeks ago for suicidal thoughts and a plan. I’ll spare you the details, but it was just what I needed.  I managed to get out, feeling better, just in time for the Secular Women Work conference here in town.  It felt so good to see some of the people who’d be rooting for me up close and huggable.

And holy cow, how much rooting did I get!  I got well wishes on Facebook that a dear friend printed out for me (since they took my phone away), and stuffed animals and make up and gift cards and so many people wishing me well and health and to return.

…and thanking me for knowing when and how to get help.  That’s the hard part.  It always is.  Going from “well, this is it” to “well, maybe I should reach out” is a big leap.  But so far, I’m glad I made the jump.

So, I’m getting my bearings, getting used to new meds, looking to get a new psychiatrist (the last one can eat glass), and getting back into the swing of things.  While I was in the hospital, I filled journals with my days and my thoughts, and I might share them here.  I think people need to know what it’s like to be Black and mentally ill. But don’t worry.  I’m back, I’m gearing up for some of the old ultra-snark, and I can’t even leave anyway…Weasel said so.

He's sitting on my shoes, y'all.  I can't leave the how #catlogic
He’s sitting on my shoes, y’all. I can’t leave the how #catlogic
Getting My Bearings