Monthly Archives: December 2014

Day 58

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took: pot, fish oil, b-complex, multi-vitamin, probiotics

Pre-Brekkie snacking: mozzarella, banana, strawberry lemonade (for the swallowing of pills) Strawberry and lemons are both “ok” but I’m not 100% confident I should be having this in FODMAPS.

Brekkie: fried potatoes, ham, ghee, sugar, olive oil, cinnamon, tea, almond milk,

Snack: peanut butter candy piece

Lunch: oj x 2 (this was definitely not kosher), beef soup, gf roll

Dinner: spaghetti, tomato sauce, asiago, 1/2 a banana

4:30am- dark brown, toothpaste like, not very solid but fairly connected

10isham- long, thin, like a pencil. very dark brown. pieces were breaking off.

5:30pm- solid pieces, not big, not real hard, very dark brown.

I need a biography.

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So I’ll babble for a while. Every company wants a biography. I don’t know what to say.

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Krissy Gibbs does not always make wise choices; this means she has really great stories to tell about near death experiences and which safety measures are actually necessary. Krissy had a bad childhood and tried every bad coping method at least once: drugs, sex, alcohol, self-harm, killing yourself, running away from your problems. As far as Krissy is concerned this means she has some great stories to tell, but maybe you should make your own choices for your life.

It is much easier to make good choices when you understand what has happened to other people who have made similar choices.

After barely surviving childhood Krissy decided it was a good idea to be retail service employee, and a library technician, and a food service employee, and a high school teacher, and a graduate student. Apparently suffering is just a lifestyle choice.

These days Krissy home schools her kids and tries to keep in touch with former students. She’s busy painting murals and trying to not lose her mind.

———————————————————–

That is not fucking cheerful. Ha.

I’m not focusing. I don’t know what to say about myself. I think the above is shit.

———————————————————

As a kid Krissy fell through every crack in the system that is supposed to help poor kids with problems. This means she had a lot of time to examine these cracks up close and personal. At this point in time an uncountable number of medical professionals have told Krissy, “You should be dead.” This means she believes her survival to be nearly miraculous and she’d like to talk to you about how it has gone.

Krissy will not tell you what you should do; she doesn’t know. But she will tell you what she would do in a similar situation and then you can decide what is most appropriate for you.

———————————————————–

Krissy is kind of a hard person to describe. Is someone defined more by what happens to them, their personality, or by what they do? Krissy has survived a lot of traumatic events and experienced the benefits of a lot of privilege. She is both kind and very willing to be unkind when there is a reason. She tries to do good for the world, but just about every action can have negative consequences.

How do you measure the worth of a person? Krissy hopes that this book will help other people experience less pain. That seems like the best thing a person can do–lessen how much pain is experienced in the world.

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Krissy Gibbs has the unusual experience of being a high school drop out and a former high school teacher. This dichotomy of having the system not work combined with learning how to help other people navigate the system gives Krissy an unusual insight into the cracks that exist in the system.

Krissy moved more than fifty times before turning eighteen. She has lived in rural towns with one blinking yellow “stop” light and in major urban centers and everywhere in between.

—————————————————————

Much like a cat, Krissy Gibbs has nine lives. S….

fuck this is hard.

I want to say bad things. I want to say Krissy is self-absorbed and self-obsessed and she desperately wishes that her ridiculous self-interest might pay off to help someone else some day.

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That all took almost three hours. Pathetic.

Tone is absent

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For the record, I thought “Ha, ha, ha, no” was hilarious. Pam said it was really sad. Oh. Whoops. This is why I have no future as a funny writer. I think it is pretty funny how out of commission I am for sex. (For the record, my ankle only hurts when I’m sitting cross-legged and my foot is pushed sideways. It no longer hurts when I’m sitting in a chair or when I’m walking. Some improvement!)

I went to the grocery store with a FODMAPS shopping list and sauntered through Whole Paycheck practically kicking my heels together. I have so many new options!!! Nothing like extreme deprivation to make you think mild deprivation is awesome. (That’s a for-real-studied-phenomena. If you really get to thinking your life sucks. Take a deprivation vacation and you’ll think your life is awesome when you go back to it.) FODMAPS allows many types of cheeses and low-lactose yogurt and raw milk is probably fine so it barely feels like dairy restriction. No cream cheese or sour cream. Big whoop.

It also helps that Whole Paycheck can accommodate any weird food limitation/need so I was reminded that if you are rich you can eat no matter how annoying your body is. I constantly have feelings about that. I’ve been talking to a lot of the moms in the home school group about body-issues. Many have issues in the same league as mine even if they aren’t exactly the same and… they just can’t afford to follow what they know is “appropriate” for their body. They literally cannot buy the food.

I am so lucky at this stage of my life. My privilege comes from Noah. And I didn’t earn it. And I’m not better than anyone else. And I don’t deserve it more than anyone. I just have it.

I don’t know how to live with it. I mean, I’m living with it. But I don’t know how to be… sensitive? Appropriate? Not an asshole? I don’t know. I don’t have rich people skills.

Rich people and poor people talk about money differently. Not long ago I was talking to one of the wealthier moms and she mentioned that she was interested in buying a set of camping dishes like the set we had. I told her, “How funny because I think I’m getting rid of the set we have because it is too hard to pack due to size–want it?” She offered to pay me.

When poor people hand stuff to their friends, it is rare to expect payment (unless someone starts out saying “I want to sell ____” the expectation is that when you hand stuff off… you hand it off) but with wealthier people I notice that they often offer to pay for things. They want to feel less beholden.

I give things to friends a lot. I donate a lot of things. I don’t do a lot of reselling my stuff any more. Partially because I feel like a leech. I could extract money from the women around me when I have extra stuff, but most of the stuff came to me for free. I have plenty of money and extra. Why should I sell things under those circumstances? It seems… like the reason people hate rich white people. I have extra. I don’t need to wring pennies from people for my cast-off stuff.

But if I needed the money more I’d have no shame about selling stuff. I did it when Noah made a lot less money and there was more of a gap in the budget.

I just… I’m in a weird position and I don’t know how to handle it. I feel awkward when people give me a break financially. Last night the server didn’t charge me extra for the gluten free bread even though she was supposed to. I pointed it out to her. The guy on the Christmas tree lot undercharged me and I pointed it out to him. People are always shocked when I say, “Hey. You undercharged me. This is supposed to be +$10 and you didn’t get what you are supposed to get. Here.” Often they try hard to talk me out of giving them the additional money.

I don’t want to take from people. I don’t need the charity any more. Save your charitable impulses for someone who needs it, they will be along soon. I’m glad you want to be nice and all. If you don’t want me to pay for mine, can I pay for the next persons so you can let them have the benefit?

I owe the world something. I leapfrogged up the ladder so hard and so far that I need to not be selfish about landing where I land. I don’t need to act “deserving”. I need to be humble. Pride means it all goes away. I am so influenced by all the time I spent reading the Bible. (I’ve read that bastard cover to cover. Many parts of it I read many times.)

I spend time talking about the people in my life. I talk to my shrink, my other friends, Noah… I talk about the people in my life. I talk about my feelings and what my behavior should be. I’m not a huge fan of the golden rule (treat others as you want to be treated) I like the platinum rule (treat others as they want to be treated) but that takes a lot of thinking and work and making mistakes and trying other tactics. It takes processing.

One of my friends said something interesting to me about a situation I’m struggling with. She said, “Maybe she needs to not think about the road not taken. Maybe she needs to forget that they exist.” That was kind of startling for me. I… I’m not capable of not thinking about the road not taken. I’m completely fucking obsessed. I’m always in the mode of preparing for additional options. Other people… they don’t work that way.

Lots of people get through their days by putting their heads down and not acknowledging that there are other options possible. That’s how they endure.

I’m sort of vaguely aware of this. I have book learnin’ that tells me this is so. I think it is so fucking weird. But I try to understand people. I try to understand why this works so well for people. I don’t get it. I really don’t. But whether I get it or not, I can clearly see that it is the coping method of choice for many people. Oh. Yeah, that’s probably part of what is going on in that situation over there. Yeah, I would be quite distressing under those circumstances. Whoops. Crap.

I had a different conversation with a different friend about how we can manage our interesting overlapping PTSD triggers. I like treating these things like they matter and will take work. That way I don’t just hurt someone and then tell them to go away when we have overlapping issues.

Today I have lots of babysitting time and no ability to do outside work. I think today is a day for me to work on getting my book out to publishers. I have eight hours of babysitting today (in split shifts with more than one person) so I should be able to get some work done. That will be exciting. I haven’t made book progress in many months. I completely stalled.

Other than book stuff I can’t think of much I have to do today. The storm cancels out the majority of the tasks sitting here waiting for me. (There are many things I need to do… most of them are outside. Like putting together the travel trailer. I bought it then got really sick and haven’t had the physical strength to go move around the huge pieces of metal alone. I’ll get back to it. Damnit.)

I have made contact with a nutritionist who was recommended by a friend. She’s in Chico. She gave me contact information for people in Oakland and Berkeley. Someday some interesting people will move to Fremont. That day hasn’t come yet. Well… I’m here…

Another friend passed along contact information for a doctor who could help me out with fecal transplant, I just have to get to Portland, Oregon. (I do that pretty regularly.)

Being rich changes things. “Just suffer” isn’t really the same sort of situation. I have options that exist in the world. There are more things to try… if you have time and money. It feels crazy to me.

I want to talk to a nutritionist because I don’t really understand what the symptoms of having specific food problems look like. I was told yesterday that if dairy doesn’t give me horrible smelling gas I almost certainly don’t have dairy problems and I should reintroduce it to give myself more variety. (The person who said this has been to college for a medical degree so I’m less snotty about her telling me her opinion on this sort of thing than I could be.)

Why do I go back and forth between believing people with medical degrees more and hating them so much? Because it feels like they have the knowledge to help me it is just whether or not they think I am actually worth thinking about. I’m a hard puzzle. I’m work to figure out. They went to school to help them learn how to figure out puzzles like me. Most of them have decided that I’m too much trouble and I should be silenced. “Just eat more cereal” is a silencing sort of answer.

When someone tries everything they can think of and it all fails… I don’t get mad in the same way. I’m sad, but grateful they tried. I understand that different methods work for different people. I’m ok with the knowledge that some of the things I try will fail. I’m not ok with the feeling that the doctors don’t care very much and aren’t willing to try very hard. When someone isn’t willing to try very hard I hate them and hate them and hate them and hate them. I hate them with all the fury I normally reserve for my mother and father.

Because they don’t love me enough to try. Big theme.

My needs are too big. So they just aren’t worth trying to meet. Ok.

I have several tabs open on my Chrome screen for doctors I will call in January. That’s when I get my new insurance information. My neighbor has had a nightmarish journey over the past few years on her journey to a diagnosis of chronic pancreatitis. Her husband said she found a great gastroenterologist in town and I’m going to try talking to the woman. Worth a try. I’ll talk to the nutritionist in Chico (and hell, maybe the one in San Diego my other friend recommended). I’ll talk to the poop-transplant-doctor in Portland.

Because that is what privilege gives you. The ability to pay for the time of professionals. Sometimes it feels crazy.

I am very grateful that I get to keep trying things. That is such an unbelievable gift. That is hope all wrapped up in a shiny wrapping with a string.

I got to wake up and eat a cheese stick this morning. There is still hope.

Day 57

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I feel like I cheated. I ate a large variety of foods I haven’t eaten in a while. They are all on the fodmaps list, but they represent a massive expansion of types of food and I feel liberated. It’s kind of funny.

Brekkie: gf steel cut oatmeal, strawberries, almond milk, sugar, black tea

Lunch: gf bread, soy cream cheese, cucumber, alfalfa sprouts (that’s the sandwich–it’s hella good), arugula, spinach, vegan honey mustard (contained a little onion–crud), brownie, grapes, carrots

Dinner: more salad! lettuce, arugula?, some radish slices, olives, sweet potato tots (so fucking good), ham and brie sandwich on gf bread.

5am: multiple small solid-ish pieces, very dark. (technically hard to see through blood)

7pm: small pieces, dark brown, very soft

7:30pm: very soft, bordering on diarrhea, still gnarly dark brown

Days 55-56

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55 needs updating

From 2-4 am I drank Sprite and chicken broth. Then I gave myself enemas to make sure I had nothing in me. Many enemas. Oh god.

Lunch: mozzarella, goat cheese (fodmaps says these cheeses are ok and if fodmaps says so I’m fucking eating them), gf roll, ham, mustard, cabbage, olive oil

Dinner: rice pasta, tomato sauce, basil, carrot, paprika, asiago

I had diarrhea, just a little, over and over all day. I didn’t track. (Yellow bile. Hurt. Burned. No fun.) Not worth it. I also started bleeding like a stuck pig right after the sigmoidoscopy. This is the heaviest period I’ve had since my post-partum bleeding. I’m cramping like a mother fucker and I can’t take pain meds because of the scoping. Wheeee.

56- pills taken: pot, b-complex, multi-vitamin, Chinese digestion herbs (from acupuncturist), fish oil, probiotics

Brekkie: rice cereal, almond milk, mozzarella, prosciutto, black tea, sugar

Snack: peanut butter candy Noah made. mmmmm.

Lunch: gf roll, soy cream cheese, cucumber, alfalfa sprouts (this was hella good–I am craving raw green things something fierce), banana

Dinner: beef soup (home made stock, steak, bok choy, ginger, carrots, cabbage, bell peppers) gf. roll, lemonade

Dessert: brownies my friend made for the open house. Mmmmm tastes like love. And no egg brownies. Yay!

3am- solid log of brown poop

2:30pm- solid brown poop–not a full log. Dainty-like.

This morning wasn’t a solid log, but it was solid pieces and being on my period usually liquifies my bowels. So I thought that was pretty good.

 

Ha, ha, ha… no.

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Noah wanted to get frisky last night. Dude.

On Monday they stuck a scope up my butt, which was already completely flipping out from diarrhea and hemorrhoids. So that means my butt is not happening.

I started bleeding about two hours after the scoping procedure and this is the heaviest period I have had in many years. I’m soaking through overnight post-partum pads in 4-5 hours and I don’t do that. I don’t really want to clean the bed up from a blood bath so uhm…. no.

And I had dental surgery just recently and I had to go in yesterday morning to have extra drilling/shaping done on the new crown because when I keep my jaw open for a two hour dental appointment, by the end I am physically incapable of delivering my normal bite and they can’t adjust everything. My dentist said, “With folks like you (TMJ + panic disorder) often the muscles get so inflamed during a procedure that we have to have multiple adjustments over many weeks as the muscles heal from the procedure. So keep your jaw shut as much as possible for another few weeks to let the muscles heal.” I thought but didn’t say to the dentist, “Ahhh… no blow jobs.”

Do I need to mention that my arms hurt too much for a hand job?

So yeah. There goes our sex life.

So he wanted to rub against me for a while. I had to stop him because he was rubbing in a way that made the cloth pad rub really hard on my hemorrhoids and that is just not fun.

Then he tried rubbing on a different part of me and I had an intense horrifying flashback of my father doing exactly that when Noah reached in to kiss me and his beard started tickling my face.

I’d like a new body and new brain, please?

Weird food cravings.

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I want salad. This is not a usual craving for me. Also: I don’t feel “hungry” but I feel drastically under-caloried, if that makes sense. I feel like I’m not eating enough to sustain my activity so I’m weak and tired. But I don’t feel like I have stomach capacity for more food.

I agree shalyndra–it is really unhappy making that no doctors seem concerned about my Rainbow o’ Poop. I see everything from reddish brown to bright bright bright yellow (it’s practically neon) to the weirdest green. Sometimes I get this intense maroon brown, which is supposed to be kind of bad but no doctors seem to care.

Man. Food.

Lettuce is actually on the FODMAPS list. I didn’t buy any today. Instead I got arugula and spinach and I hope that will satisfy the same craving. I know I need more greens than I’ve been getting. I know I also need way the hell more fiber but that’s tricky without gluten.

Working on it.

I find it funny that I was sent home from the appointment yesterday with guidelines for treating constipation. Since obviously if I have hemorrhoids I must have constipation. Actually, I’ve had them since Shanna’s pregnancy. And I don’t get constipated if by “constipation” you mean that it is difficult to poop or my poop is really hard.

What I’m sending to member services this morning

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Dear Member Services

Yesterday I went in for a procedure. I was not told in advance what procedure I was to be given. When I finally received an instruction set (after the appointment had to be rescheduled because I was given no prep instructions the first time) I looked up the preparation online. Looked like I was getting a colonoscopy–otherwise there would be no reason for three days of low fiber/eating practically nothing before the day of all liquids.
Yesterday when I got to the hospital they informed me I was not getting a colonoscopy. I was getting a sigmoidoscopy. Now that I have had a chance to come home and look up the difference between these procedures (and the expected preparation) I am completely furious. I feel mishandled and abused.
Why did I have to go through three days of practically not eating for a procedure that would only check 1/3 to 1/2 of my colon? That is not necessary. That is a terrible thing to do to me. And given the degree of problems with diarrhea I have, what I was just given was an incomplete exam such that I will have to go through this procedure again to check the rest of my colon.
I am so upset that I am crying and I haven’t stopped shaking in a day. I feel like Kaiser has demonstrated time and time again that they have no caring for their patients. As of January 1st I will no longer be a Kaiser patient and I will never come back in my lifetime. I’m tired of doctors treating me this way. This is entirely unprofessional, disgusting, and abusive.
Kristine Gibbs.

 

Fud. next step.

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I came home from Kaiser with a list of things I’m supposed to start eating. A large number of them directly conflict with what I have been eating or what I’ve been told to eat so far.

I’m going back to FODMAPs. That is the most sane group of limitations that seems to have some relationship to my health issues. Although eggs are considered awesome in FODMAPS and I really think they aren’t working for me.

But of course, my problems are all conflated with anxiety. Maybe I have no food problems and I’m just crazy.

Kaiser continues to unimpress me.

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Sigmoidoscopy. That’s the name of the procedure I experienced today, which makes me pretty unhappy because I thought I was going in for a colonoscopy. They decided not to give me one. They found lots of hemorrhoids inside and outside so now they want me on high fiber. They sent me home with the constipation diet regime. Because clearly constipation is my problem.

163/91 was my blood pressure, which is ridiculously high for me. I border on problems for low blood pressure. I’ve never seen my blood pressure higher than 125/85. They thought that was fine. Mostly my blood pressure hangs out in the 115/79 range. I go as low as 110/75. But it’s no problem if it goes super high. You are fine. The lady said I was just nervous and I had a laxative.

I am very grateful for my friends’ company today. They tried to tell her she couldn’t stay with me. I picked someone as forceful as me and between the two of us saying She Is Staying they relented. They told me that next time I can’t have anyone with me. I said then I will never have another procedure done at Kaiser.

Which is probably true. I am glad I got this testing done for a whopping $20.

I’ve been shaking all day. I feel like shit. I should eat now. But right this second I don’t feel like I can.

Days 49-55

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(This is getting so hard. I feel so little hope.)

49- Brekkie: rice Chex, almond milk, turkey bacon, black tea, raw milk, sugar

Lunch: turkey soup, gf bread roll, peppermint tea

Dinner: turkey, Brussels sprouts, mashed potatoes, I think juice.

4am: big cloud of green poop, entirely soft

1:30pm: log of greenish but mostly brown, hard to wipe up–sticky

50- Brekkie: gf pancakes, blueberries, maple syrup, turkey bacon, tea, raw milk, sugar

Lunch: gf roll, turkey soup, grape juice, I had a Pepsi and one meringue cookie before I had the brilliant thought “meringue= egg”. Fuck. (It was hella good though.)

Dinner: lemon rice, carrots, kale, garbanzo beans, onions, garlic, tomato, coconut milk, xanthum gum, ginger, cilantro, cayenne pepper, turmeric, galangel, probably more spices

1:30pm: small brown logs (multiple)

8pm: many small green pieces

51- Brekkie: fried potatoes, bacon, gf roll, peppermint tea, ginger ale

Lunch: gf/dairy free apple pie

Dinner: white rice, turkey, ginger ale

7:15pm- completely solid wicked green log.

52- Brekkie: gf roll, mustard, chicken lunch meat, coconut milk yogurt

lunch: rice, turkey, chicken

dinner: gf roll, vegan cream cheese, chicken

5:30am: very solid brown log

2ishpm: lots of small pieces, yellowish brown, very soft, turned to cloud when flushed

6:15pm: small yellow pieces–clearly diarrhea

53-Brekkie: gf pancakes, pork bacon, maple syrup, black tea (with some caffeine) (no milk or sugar)

Rest of day: rice, soy sauce, mustard, chicken, ham. Eaten at intervals during holiday party.

7:15am: completely liquid yellow

8:30am: little squirts of yellow diarrhea

54- NO SOLID FOOD.

I had jello- lemon and berry blue, chicken broth, apple juice, and Sprite. In the evening I took magnesium citrate to cause more diarrhea.

5:15am- yellowish paste-like poop. Lots of air and pushing before stuff could come out.

Starting at 12:30pm I had diarrhea every 30-90 minutes until about 9pm. Then I fell asleep and slept till 2am when I woke up to start the diarrhea over again.

Day 55 is today. I drank chicken broth and Sprite between 2 and 4am. I have used two enemas this morning. My butt hole hurts so bad I want to cry just sitting still.

I’m sure I will eat something later. I may even be good and come back and record it. As of this moment, it sucks to be me. My friend picks me up in a little over half an hour. My appointment is in less than an hour now.

Oh god. Someone is going to touch my anus. This is so bad.

Edited.

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I want to say incredibly hostile things about someone. But I won’t because that won’t be helpful. I should just be happy when other people get to the party not be upset because it took them so fucking long. But sometimes people repulse me.

Sometimes my fellow humans make me think the only good thing for the planet would be to kill my whole species.

Probably doesn’t help that I’ve had burning diarrhea hourly for the past 30 hours and I finished the third Hunger Games book again this morning. I doubt that makes me feel happier about my species. I’m really dreading having medical professionals touch my anus because those bastards are never gentle.

This sucks.

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I have had so much diarrhea in the last 24 hours that it is kind of horrifying. It burns and burns and burns and burns. Based on the color of things coming out of me, the blue jello went through me in under an hour. I would guess that the extreme burning is stomach acid coming through with the poop.

Noah and I had a very unfun conversation about “support” and medical procedures. Namely: that begging on my blog for a friend to come with me is how I get support during medical procedures and I’m not all that happy about that. He agreed that it kind of sucks. That said, we both think DSH may be slightly more useful in managing Kaiser anyway.

Basically I said, “Remember me begging for you to be more involved in Calli’s pregnancy and you remember how you didn’t do it? Yeah. At this point begging other people for help seems more productive so I don’t waste my breath asking you any more.” That can’t be fun to hear.

When my family sat down to a lovely dinner I wanted to go in the bathroom and cut. I didn’t, but that was all I could think about. Not being able to eat is becoming a real problem for me. Psychologically this is getting really bad.

Yes, I know that I was going to have nasty diarrhea right now by design. They made me take a fucking laxative (as if I need help causing diarrhea) and I’ve had no fiber in four days, going on five. Apparently no fiber also causes me major diarrhea. So I’m going to have diarrhea right now. This is for a medical procedure.

But my poop book is an exercise in crying and feeling bad. I have a few days in a row that are ok then I’m back to diarrhea and I haven’t cheated on wheat or dairy in a while. And I still have wicked diarrhea all the time. Somehow I am finding it hard to believe that wheat and dairy are the problem when I’m up to day 55 and I still mostly have diarrhea. Yes, I did cheat a few days so I suppose there are going to be people who tell me it is all my fault I haven’t really cleared my system so I can’t truly be sure. But give me a fucking break.

I’ve had wheat on five or six days out of the last 55. I don’t think wheat is the current problem. I really don’t. Yes, I understand that a lot of the current problem is stress (when I’m not preparing for a medical exam) and I don’t know how to get that out of my life.

Part of the problem is, if you start telling me how anxiety causes my diarrhea you spike my anxiety… and my diarrhea… and you convince me that the only solution is dying. It is my fault I suffer. The only way out is death.

Now, after several mugs of broth I know I just couldn’t do the GAPS diet. If I tried drinking straight broth daily I would throw up after a few days. Just like I can’t consistently take multi-vitamins or I projectile vomit them. Festive!

I’m scared that I am going to get to the end of this procedure and have the same diagnosis I have now–IBS. The thing about IBS, they don’t know what causes it and other than managing stress and trying to figure out which foods trigger you the worst… nothing can be done. And the foods that trigger you aren’t true allergies. You just have to play with food forever and someday something will give you wicked diarrhea and sometimes not. (Some people get constipation. The internet makes me think that I am starting to alternate constipation and diarrhea because that would explain the massive uptick in gas pain. Since starting this elimination diet the pain in my belly is 4 or 5 times as bad as it was. I *never* got abdominal pain like this from gas before the elimination diet. Sometimes I double over in pain and have to breath for a while.

Sometimes I think the gas pain is worse than labor. I think it is funny that I am developing this list of things that have happened to me that actually hurt worse than labor. Given that I had a 9 day unmedicated labor at home followed by a hemorrhage that left me unable to walk for two weeks… that really is kind of saying something.

Right now it is 3am. I woke up at 2am to drink as much as I can. Only clear fluids at this point. No liquid past 4am. Not till after lunchtime. Seemed important to tank up now. And quite frankly: when you have this much diarrhea, getting dehydrated hurts. Yay Sprite! I am drinking Sprite! Even though it has carbonation. Fuck the universe. I already hurt. I need calories. If I have more apple juice I will puke. (I’m also drinking home made stock. Which, at the bottom of the cup, makes me totally fucking gag. It’s great in soup. By itself… not my thing.)

I’m going to drink a minimum of four cups of liquid. Maybe I’ll try to force six cups into me. Phew. Now the broth is gone. Bleh. Yuck. Ew. Cover the taste with SUGAR!

We had a great interview with a babysitter last week and she no-showed last night. I looked at her profile again last night and I’m the fourth one star review saying she interviews great then never shows up to work. At least it isn’t personal? A different babysitter no-showed an interview yesterday.

I’m kind of amazed by how many people will email me telling me they want a job and they they either don’t show up to interview or they interview and don’t show up for work. It is just about impossible to find people who want to show up consistently and earn money. They want money but they think that an exchange of their labor for the money is ridiculous. Given that I pay right in the middle of the babysitting scale for my area it isn’t that I’m under paying.

My shrink keeps telling me that I have to find another babysitter. Given that I can spend 10-20 hours a week on hunting for a babysitter only to end up with no babysitter (there have been a minimum of six weeks that I’ve tried this since Shanna was like two) I’m starting to question the point of the search. I could find a daycare to drop them off at, no problem. I can’t find people who want to consistently come to my house to babysit. That’s just… onerous. (Thank goodness for the homeschooled teenager three doors down. But her parents are looking for a house in Modesto. I’m going to cry a lot.)

In positive news: we got a Christmas tree yesterday. I put up the lights and garland and I let the girls decorate the rest. So we have kind of a hilarious band of ornaments. It actually makes me feel very happy. This is the range of their current competence, neatly illustrated. so cute.

In general I feel the kids deserve medals for how patient they are being with me lately. When I start crying when I’m eating (because man my food doesn’t taste good anymore) Shanna comes and pets my shoulder and tells me, “Mom I know this elimination diet is really tough. But it’s not forever. You can get through this. We will figure out how to make you hurt less. Then we’ll figure out how to make it taste good.”

I feel so guilty for my suicidal thoughts. How could anyone want to get away from someone as wonderful as Shanna? Or Calli. Oh man Calli has been the biggest love bug lately.

I feel grateful all the time that I get to be with my kids instead of people who wouldn’t appreciate them as much. Sometimes my friends tell me they would “shut Shanna up” and I think “That’s why I’m so glad she’s my daughter and not yours. I don’t want to shut her up.”

Calli has been trying to figure out volume stuff lately. She’s experimenting with whispering voices and how close to someones head you have to be for what volumes. I think it is wonderful.

Once in a while Shanna asks me what’s wrong. I suppose at those times I don’t have a great facial expression. I tell her, “Something isn’t going right with my body or I would be smiling. You are enough reason to smile all day every day. But my body isn’t.”

Recently a woman I know was talking about her experience moving through the world with what she described as “resting bitch face”. I don’t think I have that. Of all the ways I trigger people to be more hostile to me, I at least skip one magnetic pull for hostility. I’m a smiler. Big time. Safety decision. A very long time ago I figured out that doing something other than smiling was kind of dangerous.

I feel weird about what I’m teaching my daughters. Don’t be quiet. Smiling is safer. Take up space in the world. People will protect you more if they have more of an emotional bond with you and the way to create that bond is to seem personable and friendly no matter how you feel. Your feelings don’t matter; the feelings you cause other people to have matter.

I’m glad my kids are getting to the point where they will rattle off that clothes don’t make you pretty; your behavior, or not, makes you pretty.

It has taken many many many times of saying, “I’m not going to tell you that you are pretty because you changed your clothes. I’m going to tell you that you are pretty if your behavior is awesome.” Earn it or you don’t get it.

I’ve had many people tell me over the past 15 years that I’m not one to give idle praise and that is part of why people trust my praise. I won’t say you are awesome until you are and then I will say it thousands of times.

If you believe suicide is a permanent solution to temporary problems then I want to live with you for 15 years and cause you as many emotional and physical problems as I have before we have a conversation. And fuck you while we are at it.

I want to stay. I want to see my kids grow up. More than anything I want to find out what Shanna is like as a 35 year old woman. Whoa. What will Calli do with her life? I can’t guess. She doesn’t even have any “When I grow up” beliefs yet. Other than wanting to be near me.

There is no doubt in my mind that if I had not had children I would be dead. Sometimes it seems like cheating that having kids is not only as good as I hoped it would be, it is better. I could never have imagined all of the life I have now. I didn’t have the imagination. And I’m going to do some intensely cool things in the future. Even if I do have diarrhea.

My shrink tried to tell me that if I get a “real diagnosis” that means I’m likely to have diarrhea forever that will be the end of travel. I laughed. I told her that I have a travel toilet. I’m going.

My kids are going to see this country. And many others. My kids are going to find out what a range of humans exist here. My kids have so much privilege that sometimes it kind of breaks me. My kids are growing up being told that with great privilege comes great responsibility. I say things like, “There are a lot of people in this world who are so hungry they are not able to think of solutions to the larger problems. It is the responsibility of people who have enough and more to solve these problems because you have the ability to think. If you waste what you have, that is terrible. That is hurtful. You are damaging the people who cannot do what you are doing just out of… what? Not wanting to? Not wanting to deal with making mistakes and having to learn from them? You are going to fuck up in ways big and small. Try to change things. The world needs changing.”

A former student told me that Outrunning Suicide is the book she wishes she had read when she was twelve. She said she cried because of all the mistakes she made during her teen years that could have been avoided if she had read this book. I need to find the time and motivation to submit this for publication. Man it takes spoons. She described it as “It’s like The American Girl Body Book but grown up…”

She says I’m very good at presenting facts and options and not telling people what to do. *phew*

I don’t want to tell you what to do. I don’t know what you should do.

H’okay. 90 minutes since I’ve been in the bathroom and 5 cups of liquid later time to leave the garage. Have a good day, y’all.

blurgh

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Yesterday was a great party and today I can’t eat food. Tomorrow they stick a scope up my butt.

I’m hungry and cranky. But, this too shall pass. Right this minute I get to go take something that “might cause diarrhea”. Which is hilarious because how will I be able to tell it apart from the hourly diarrhea I’m having anyway?

Good day

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I clean my back yard like many people go to church: for Christmas and Easter. Today, I did some pruning/cleaning and … the kids did more. Holy moly they are getting so big and competent! We were done with all the yard work by ten in the morning.

Physically I feel pretty ok today. That’s nice. I’ve been talking to the kids about pacing the work today so we can rest/go to bed early tonight so we have energy for tomorrow.

Emotionally I feel like today is the best day I’ve had in weeks. That makes me worry that tomorrow I will wake up sobbing and have to drug myself into oblivion to get through the party. Burn that bridge when you get there.

Today the main feeling of sadness I have is that I’m not protesting more right now. I believe it is the right thing for people to be doing. Historically speaking, if you aren’t on the side of being upset about the things happening in our country you are on the wrong side.

But I don’t have the spoons. I’m donating money for funeral costs. I feel sad that I have nothing better to give.

I’m thinking about what I “should” write about my experiences with Kaiser. Haven’t started writing yet.

Today I’m interviewing babysitters. We’ll see if anyone pans out. *Cross fingers* Hell, at this point I may do a cartwheel if someone shows up.

My kids are more competent by the day. I’m getting through the chores I want to get done. When the kids finish eating (they are bottomless pits today) we are going to mail Jenny and Little Djinn’s presents. I’ll also drop off most of the Christmas cards (the ones *I’m* sending; the kids haven’t finished theirs yet).

Aunt Sarah–we have no address for you. I should email you. I will try to get around to it. I am such a fucking schmuck.

I’m kind of surprised that my attitude is positive today. I’m eating rice and turkey and chicken. whoo hoo. You know what? If you put enough dijon mustard on something it tastes alright. It’s just a couple of days. And I get to have soda. (Even though carbonation is awful. I need calories and if apple juice is supposed to be a lot of my form of calories soda isn’t that much worse.) I had ginger ale. swoon with joy

And I pooped today. Like, normal poop. I really think eggs are a bigger problem than wheat or dairy. Even though the last doctor I talked to said it wasn’t possible. After all, she’s a doctor–she knows everything.

Ok that’s my snark for today. Off to post!

(Actually, before I run off: I sorta wonder how much my happiness is tied to the fact that the kids are exponentially more helpful than they were. Hmmm.)

Find gratitude

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I have 70,282 thoughts that are kind of whiny.

Today I am grateful for my friends. A former student came over today and visited for a while. She taught Shanna how to play some video games. We talked for hours. She is reading Outrunning Suicide slowly. She says she desperately wishes she could have read it at 12.

My husband continues to jump through a series of flaming hoops so I can eat despite all kind of ridiculous changing metrics. There are not enough words of gratitude in existence.

Lately Shanna has developed a habit that pleases me so much I shiver when she does it. When I manage to choke off yelling at her and take a deep breath and explain why I’m upset about something in a reasonable voice she says, “Oh. I didn’t know that. Thank you for telling me.” She has this clear, piping little voice. It makes me feel like any amount of work for that child is worth it.

Callidora says, “Can I tell you something?” Then she asks a question and I giggle every time.

I am very glad for my life.

Also: gluten/dairy free apple pie is totally low fiber so I had it for lunch. See, I’m totally “healthy”.

What is normative?

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A friend challenged my perception that “everybody leaves”. (Reasonable thing to do. I have lots of long term relationships.) This is so complicated. What does “staying” even mean?

If someone is my “friend” for 25 years and we see one another for 0-3 hours/year and when we are together we can only talk about their stuff because my stuff is inappropriate… should I treat that like someone “staying”? Are they really in my life? They don’t know anything about me.

Once in a while someone that I have known (only in person) for many years learns about my PTSD diagnosis and problematic background. I can not count how many people have said, “I had no idea!” Well, if I told you then you wouldn’t even give me that much public acknowledgment. Of fucking course I lie.

People stay if I can manage to not be too offensive. Not too scary. Not too intense. If I have a bad day in front of someone I may not ever hear from them again. (Or like the dear Jane letter lady I hear from you exactly what a disgusting person I am.) They may start saying, “I know I scheduled dinner with you but now I am going to cancel. I’m not sure I can actually handle you.” That happens a lot. A lot.

What is “staying” when I only talk to people when *I* reach out to them?

I am so difficult and I talk about being busy a lot so people don’t ask me to do stuff much. In any given month probably 0-3 people ask me to do something. I do a lot of things. I have dinner with people because I pester. They don’t ask me. Mostly I have to ask and ask and ask and deal with being told no dozens of times. Eventually they will come. But they will never turn around and extend me similar invitations. If we are to have a relationship I have to bear all the little rejections along the way and keep begging them to notice me.

Sometimes that doesn’t really feel like having people stay.

I don’t talk to people in the leather community almost at all any more unless *I* go look someone up and ask them how they are doing. Near as I can tell people don’t care how I am. All I can go by is the complete silence I receive. Do you know how many people there told me I was family and they would be there for me no matter what. Haven’t talked to a lot of them in almost 10 years. Fuck you so very much.

I don’t know what normative even means.

In my fantasy world I only really NEED about three friends. I wish they lived within five miles of my house and we can see one another a few times a week for a few hours. (NOT all day every day. I would quickly hate anyone in that role.) We can send the kids over for visits and everyone can grow up together like a family or a tribe.

It won’t happen. When I make comments to friends about moving to Fremont usually the response I get is snide, dismissive and cutting. Ew. Why would anyone want to live there?

Because I am here. And it is cheaper than where you are. And because you could have a yard. And because I’m here.

Never mind. I’ll shut up.

What does staying mean?

My friends give me what they have to spare and I try like hell not to bludgeon them with the fact that their best isn’t good enough. I feel like I’m dealing with mother all the time.

I have so many friends because I can only beg a few hours out of people. I know I have to ask for a very small slice. Just a few hours a year. Once in a while someone can handle a few hours a month. Often a few hours a month turns into them needing a six month or longer break because they are overwhelmed by me.

I don’t know what staying means.

Today, for no reason at all I’m thinking about Jill. She was a woman I met in the scene. I don’t have a problem using her real name because she is dead. She died a few years ago. She had drifted out of the scene and gotten married. I don’t know for sure what happened, but her facebook wall after the fact looked like a suicide. Those kinds of comments.

I knew her for a long time. We didn’t hang out much–I rarely hang out with people much. If I try I burn them out. But we checked in for dinner once or twice a year. We talked about the things we couldn’t say to the people who were closer to the center of our lives. I miss her. She gets a pass on leaving though. Even if she did commit suicide, I know there was nothing I could do. Her pain is hers. I can’t take it away.

Just like no one can take my pain away.

Maybe “staying” looks like years and years and years of me saying, “I’m afraid everyone is going to leave” and year after year after year people still being there and saying, “I have to go someday. Not yet.”

This is part of the dual realities thing. I can be completely present in the fear that everyone will leave while being completely present in thinking that I have a large and devoted group of friends who won’t all leave.

Many will leave, for lots of reasons. Death, moving away and losing all contacts, changing social groups in a way that means you just don’t go back.

I “know” I am remembered fondly. People tell me so. That knowledge is cold and distant and never reaches my heart. In my heart I am just bad and unlovable anyone. No one has ever wanted me.

Apparently, unusually, today Shanna spent the whole babysitting session talking about how much she missed me and wanted me to come back. She hasn’t really done that before.

I am wanted now. I know it. But it’s so complicated.

I lose so much sleep worrying that being crazy will drive my kids away from me some day. I won’t be able to do enough to be worth a relationship.

Life is hard. I read one of those “How dare you commit suicide and leave me” posts. All I can think is, “How dare you say that he should have stayed in pain just so you don’t have to feel pain.”

I don’t know what staying means.

 

Days 44-48

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44 was Thanksgiving-

Brekkie: rice Chex, rice milk, peppermint tea (Took: woo vitamins and probiotics)

Lunch: gf bread, soy cream cheese, cucumber (this was surprisingly good), of course with some dill, tea, milk, sugar

Dinner: turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, carrots, Brussels sprouts, “gravy”, apple pie, cherry lemonade, cranberry dressing, cornbread (everything was gluten/dairy free)

4:30a- diarrhea

7pm- solid pieces, brown, floating, no log

11pm- no big log, solid pieces, brown, floating

45- Brekkie: gf scones, scrambled eggs, tea, milk, sugar (took all the woo + probiotic)

Lunch: pop corn, turkey, gf bread, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, mustard

Dinner: turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce

7am- brown, lots of bits of undigested veggies, many pieces, semi-firm, floating

4:15p-brown, floaters, smallish solid pieces

46- Brekkie: egg crepes with almond milk, gf flour, strawberries, blueberries, brown sugar, apples

Lunch: 1/2 meat pie (with gluten and dairy), chicken, beef, peas, sugar, cinnamon, almonds

Dinner: turkey soup (turkey, turkey stock, bok choy, peas, broccoli, salt, pepper)

8:30am- solid brown log

47- Brekkie: gf pancakes, apple, scrambled eggs, piece of peanut butter log (piece of medicated chocolate, contains milk)

Lunch: turkey, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, Brussels sprouts

Dinner: egg crepe, bison, green beans, cabbage, almond milk, gf flour

3:15am- LOTS of brown poop. Softish, many small pieces

48- Brekkie: gf pancakes, blueberries, almond milk, maple syrup

Lunch: turkey soup, corn bread, apple juice

Dinner: turkey, cornbread, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green beans, Brussels sprouts, carrots, gf cookies

6am- very solid brown log

10:15am- diarrhea. completely and totally liquid diarrhea.

 

 

I added eggs back because a doctor taunted me and told me that eggs couldn’t possibly be causing my diarrhea. I added eggs and all of a sudden I have way more diarrhea. I hate doctors so much.

Two realities

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Yesterday the cookie exchange was rad. I had a great time. Only two families showed up so I got to have lots of real talking time with the moms. Yay! And they accidentally staggered arrival so I got one hour alone with each family. That was really nice too.

Something that is still sticking in my head is about the conversation where one mom (a blog reader) expressed that has a hard time seeing me interact with people in person sometimes because I seem to be lying. I will type for hours about how depressed and shitty I’m doing and then come to the park and say everything is “great”. This dichotomy seems like lying to her. (Very reasonable association.)

I told her it isn’t lying. It is accurately representing the two parallel realities I live in. It is kind of confusing sometimes. There is the simple and literal reality I live with: I have mental illness and often I will be able to say that my life is really shitty and I don’t feel even remotely “ok”. But there is the parallel reality that right now people are nicer to me than they’ve ever been. I’m more stable than I’ve ever been. I’m more loved than I have ever experienced. I am doing great.

Sometimes it is hard for me to live with this dichotomy. I am doing shitty and great at the same time. Neither is lying. Neither negates the other reality.

But if I spent a lot more time verbally telling people about the shitty parts I would rapidly find that my life went back to how it used to be. People would want to talk to me less. I would not have as firm of support.

If I told strange moms at the park all about my mental illness there would be backlash. Period. If people wade through the blog, then they are almost certainly capable of being supportive. They have already invested a lot of time in my stories and they are more likely to give me slack. People who have no patience for the blog in general have no patience for me. I know that if I want them to be nice/polite to me I have to maintain a front they can handle interacting with. That means “everything is great”. Whether it is or isn’t.

Paul Graham’s essay on “Mean People Fail” (not linking to it because I did yesterday and his writing isn’t that good) kind of relates. I have to maintain a front that people want to interact with or I will fail.

If I talk about my problems without respecting the fact that most people don’t care then I will be seen as mean. I will fail socially and it will be “all my fault” because I don’t have “appropriate boundaries”.

Sometimes I think that the best thing that happened to me was going to 25 schools so I could test a lot of social approaches without truly having to bear the long-term consequences of being shunned. I’ve been shunned in a lot of places. Whatever. I’ll move on. There are freaks somewhere who like me. I don’t think I would be capable of being as resilient as I am if I hadn’t had to learn.

I try to talk to my kids about this and it is hard to find the words. I can be having a basically good day and feel happy about it and have this simultaneous terrible day where I am angry and hateful and I want to go break a big pile of dishes. Living with both contradictory emotions is just my life. I don’t have many unmixed feelings.

“I’m not acting snippy or angry because of you. I’m really sorry that will slip out. That’s about other chemicals in my brain being wacky and I will try as hard as I can to sit on it. If I sound nasty, feel free to tell me and I’ll try to soften. You don’t deserve a single nasty syllable and I’m sorry they live in me.”

I cancelled the woo doctor for this week. All of my downtime lately has been driving around to doctors so I can feel worse. I need a baby-sitting session where I’m not frantically cleaning or going to a doctor to feel worse. I will be seeing Mockingjay 1 at the 9:30 showing. I read the trilogy this week. I’m very interested in seeing the first part of the third movie.

I think it is funny that my adult friendships have been kind of rocky lately but my relationships with former students are blossoming. Several of them have done their occasional “pop out of the woodwork” thing. See, two realities. I feel continually shocked by how many students think it is worth their effort to hunt me down to talk to me. They miss me when they don’t talk to me for a while.

I shouldn’t even say all of my adult relationships are rocky, only a few. I’ve had two long-term friends tell me that they have very specifically kept me in their life because I make them want to be a better person. That blows me away. Funnily enough, both of the two who said that happen to live in Tennessee right now. Maybe I’m easier to bear with a lot of distance? One is a friend from middle school. I don’t drive everyone away.

Thank you. I keep trying because of the people in my life. The people who show me day after day who I want to be and how I want to live.

A very wise woman once told me, “Friends come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime and you won’t find out until you die who is in which category.”

When I am across the board doing well, I can sit lightly on my paranoia about everyone leaving–about everyone ceasing their love for me. Sometimes I’m capable of mostly merging the two realities and telling myself that the people who leave (now) are doing so for complex reasons and they usually aren’t about me. People who leave my life now aren’t usually rejecting me. They are losing focus on me because they are entrenched with what is right in front of them.

I don’t go put myself right in front of people much. They have to come looking for me. That means I’m going to lose a lot of people. That has to be ok or I have to change my approach.

I feel like part of what I have learned is how to step back and not force people to deal with me. I have become a much better wallflower. As a woman, the older I get the more I will be relegated to such a role anyway. I’m no longer hunting so there isn’t much reason to talk to me for lots of people. Not everyone.

I’m kind of shocked by how many people are happy with platonic relationships, actually. When I was younger I didn’t believe it. I probably actually alienated a lot of people by pushing sexuality on relationships where it wasn’t actually wanted.

Ok, time to go update the poop book. Ugh.