Inside the Mind of a Fibromyalgia Flare Up

Inside the Mind of me..  right now

I write this with great speed, because I shall lose my train of thought any second.  Inside my brain, right now..  I reset every 30 seconds or so.  It is like a bad acid trip all the time.

My skin burns, and I wonder at the fact that it doesn't feel hot to the touch.  I wonder if I just stepped in piss or if the tempurature is different because my hands and feet are numb.

My head is screaming at me, my body reaches out in terror.  I feel like I am buried alive with no escape except diversion.  So I find shows and I watch them until all my devices are too hot to touch..  or it could be pee because I can't feel my hands.

Typing is impossible.  Thinking is impossible.  I must rest for the game later.  I know I am not doing my homework and I cannot bring myself to care long enough to push myself through.  I remember that I forgot..  Then I remember that I am forgetting, then it starts back over in my  head.

Shaking hands, quickly now..  before it is too late and I have done a master re-boot.  I wonder if I get tasered..  I wonder if it is that simple

Living your best life.  fighting the darkness..  fight on..  live to fight another day.  Wonder of wonders..  I tried it..  You cannot stop the darkness..  You learn to live the darkness, balance the darkness.  No rest, no sleep..  we fight.

Wait..  hang on..  what was I just saying?

Please, Don't let me Ruin Your Day...

This picture is simply for giggles, nothing at all to do with what I am writing about

I graduated in 1994.  Readers, I am sure you remember graduating.  Maybe I even have some younger readers here that haven't graduated yet..  doubt it.  I digress.  I am the mother of two amazing boys.  I won't go into that again, however, I will say that when your own kids are more fun than strained conversation with people you barely know at a fair..  well..  

Here's the thing.  People see me, judge me, and decide they cannot be seen in public talking to me.   We were at the local fair last night.  I was there for one reason.  It wasn't to look at tractors, or wait in line for an hour for a funnel cake, seriously it is like they are made of gold and handing them out.  It's ridiculous.  Admittedly I did have a BBQ sandwich.  It is total chaos and I hate it because every single year I see people see me, then feel strange because they don't want to say hi, for some reason they feel strained..  I don't give two flying fucks if you don't want to know me.  If I wanted to be your friend, you would know it.

Here is where I should edit and say that in no way does it make you an ass hole if you don't want to talk to me.  I am not calling everyone an ass hole.  I get it.  I ain't mad.

I was there because I was trying to see my kid be the drum major for his high school band in the parade.  I give two shits about everything else people get excited about.  Let me add here that I am glad for an opportunity for new businesses to get their name out there to the community.  I have been to that same fair more times than I can remember..  It has exploded with people.  My kid is the drum major, I wanted to see him as many times as I possibly could.  Which turned out to only be two times.  We tried the running/driving/walking/bus approach and missed the third chance only by a few minutes.

I swear, I am from Lancaster County, the Amish bit.  One day a year it is like this.  As a soc major I really like watching my neighbors.  They really are fascinating.  However, this year..  I was on a mission.

Now, at the end of my mission I talked to one mother.   ONE, and she approached me.  I am totally fine with that.  I love that she stopped.  I stood at the intersection of shakes and BBQ waiting for both of my boys to eventually show up to get in the milkshake line.  It worked.  My sweaty drum major and his friends and my dirty mechanic and his friends showed up as well.  This, as well as seeing my kid drum major, were the highlights of my night.

We were at that intersection for a while.  I saw a whole bunch of people I knew, or graduated with.  They all look, look again, now picture it from the movies... they do their own version of glancing skyward and whistling while putting their hands in their pockets.  I hate that.  Not that they don't want to talk to me, I don't want to talk to them either..  but shit..  there is no reason to feel bad because you don't want to speak to a person.  Likely I don't want to talk to you either.

One girl I graduated with struggles with the parents in the same way as I do.  She didn't have the ten year break that I did.  She doesn't care what anyone thinks, she just wants her kids treated fairly.  Unfortunately, around here, some people are so undeveloped that we still struggle with the mothers being bitches to our child.  Who does that?  Around here, a lot of bitches do that.

I want to say grow up.  Get a life.  But these things all sound wrong.  Because I am NOT 13 years old anymore.  Also, none of them read this blog..  or they do with nasty intentions.  Once again, it's all numbers on my blogger board and readers are the things that I want.  What they take away is on them.  If it is nasty things to use as ammo when they all get together, I can't say it enough..

Click here

To end this I will say to my friend, don't let the ass holes that never grew up properly mess with your life.  NEVER allow them to mess with your kids.   I had one kick my kid out of scouts for a year because she didn't like me.  It took me a long time to get over my anger at her.  Once you let them start to fuck with your kids, they will only get worse.  They don't think like we do because they didn't develop properly.  I have been a psych major for a while now.  I know about growing up and development, and these ass holes are stunted.  I am almost 40 years old.  Maybe I want to look at the bunnies.. and the art..  at the fair without feeling like everyone around me feels strange because they don't want to speak.  However, I will be the bigger person and look at bunnies and art on the internet.

Same reason I didn't visit my grandmother on her deathbed..  and this is the hard one, no one in that part of the family likes me.  and there are a lot.  None speak to me.  I didn't want their visits ruined by me.  Maybe that is fucked up and I should have fought.. But I had already said my good byes and had no intention of standing around making her children angry because I am there.

Moral of this story?  I don't know.  I guess my moral here is you do you.  You live your own best life.  If someone's version of life, makes them hate on you?  Well, haters gonna hate.  To quote Katt Williams, haters gonna hate, it's their job..  sit back, live your life, and let the haters do their jobs.

Blow Me

I feel a lot like Bloat the blowfish from finding Nemo.  I have reached a beautiful place in my life and with my disease.  That being said, now that the boys are back in school I spend my day doing homework, spending time outside, and working my spiritual path.  It is quiet.  I turn on music that makes me happy, I dance or beat my drum as the song calls for.  However, I am at peace.  I have found a place of peace in this disease, and if I can do it so can you.

 

I do notice when the seasons change that I can sit for hours and wonder if it is really hot, or if I just think it is.  Should I turn on the air or is this fibro?  I know you know what I mean.

I am pretty regimental in the way that I set up my inner rules.  Example, if you are going into a store and you are grabbing a drink and a sandwich, do not hold that cold drink for long because it is probably going to make your hands feel super shitty and for me it takes a moment to recover.  It affects my whole body.  Take a buddy, or make sure that there isn't a long line.  Same at the grocery store, get a damn buggy.  Even if you don't think you will need one.. and yes, they want you to fill it, it's a marketing thing.  Fuck all that..  you cannot carry all those things, not to mention it is pretty great if you get a weak moment you have something to hold onto.  It's pretty shocking that I have literally sat down in an isle while shopping there.  People do look, but I smile and tell them I needed a rest.  They move on because I confuse and scare them.

Anyway, back to bloat.  I spend the day and in my head I am like "fuck yeah, you are doing it, you did homework, my fear seems to be abating.. I have not changed my meds.  When the boys get home I am like the blowfish though...  I find myself saying "wait..  I...  OOH There I Go" and I am metaphorically blown up and floating to the top of the tank.  Or, flaring and upset.

Even though they aren't mad, they have this energy about them that is super intense.  It takes me hours, sometimes the whole evening to calm my body.  My husband says, you seem calm..  I respond by saying "tell that to my nervous condition".  I have tried taking pills right before they get home, cannabis (it puts me to sleep if I am not careful during the day), everything I could think of.  I do not have a sitting place in my room and I refuse to allow this to effect my rules concerning that.  No bed till night time..  or get lucky time..  which is actually nice in the afternoon because you aren't as tired.  I digress.

My new rule is that I will hide wherever I can, right now it is the back porch.  They are not to approach me until they have been home for 20 minutes.  They are 16 and 18..  this is not effecting their development.  They know that I want to hear about their day and when they were young I delighted in being here when they got home, because that was pre-testosterone.   Now the stories of the day, etc..  can wait. 

I am getting better.  Stop feeling bad because you got this fucking shit fibromyalgia shit.  This is not your fault..  but more than that your family wants you as well as they can get you.  Forgiving yourself, and forgiving your loved ones for being kinda shitty sometimes is essential to the journey back to version 2.0 of yourself.

What I mean by that is that I held on.  I held on to when my husband said that my disease has ruined the way we were.  However, it sort of has.  He isn't wrong.  Delivery is shitty..  but he isn't wrong.  The only way you can make it right is finding your center in the chaos and learning how to get there on your own.

Hang in there, and fuck the rest.  It will come to you when you are ready.

Must.Read.Scary Life of a Citizen of the United States

First of al; I would like for my readers to click on this video.  It made the universe speak to me, I was putting off writing this blog.

Click on here to see the video

Now onto other things.  I have been super focused on fibromyalgia with this blog lately and since my goal in life is not to let it dictate who I am, I remembered that I have other interesting things to say, plus some stuff about fibro because, well, I have it, and it blows donkey dick so..  here is my truth,

I was thinking yesterday, now bear with me..  I circle things for a while before the metaphorical light bulb comes on; yesterday I was watching a video 

Click here to see the one I mean

This man, Ray Occupy Lewis is a living hero of mine.  He is brave and he is fighting for us.  You know, the people that can't catch a break.  He gives a voice, wearing his Philadelphia Police Captain Uniform, to the voiceless, he is bravery incarnate.  I am blessed to know him, and you should all follow him and share the hell out of this video.  He is not hard to find.  Ray Lewis...  Mostly, SHARE.  This man was a police officer his whole adult life.  He knows what he is talking about and he isn't afraid to say it.  Oh yeah, and the fact that he wears his uniform to do these things?  More than awesome.  

I was wondering after watching the video how the police can possibly be doing this in our own country.  I have been saying the words "Police State" for a while now.  However, I don't think I understood until yesterday.

After I watched what Ray had to say I sat here and had a think.  I asked myself, why?  Why are they rolling up in a tank looking like I did when I was in Marine Corps Boot camp?  Except we only got to practice on a wooden tank, and a wooden helicopter.  Why? We were taught in boot camp that we are to be feared because of how we look.  Why?  Because although they are newer versions are they carrying guns capable of bursts and automatic fire..  and the rounds coming at you from those gun are 3.75 (?) I think that is the size, numbers don't matter, I used those, and they are big.  You are lucky if you survive one shot from that weapon, let alone several. The only answer I came up with is fear.  They want us afraid.  (I know people have said this forever..  but it actually looks like a plan playing itself out.  There are so many variables.

I was faced with a moral dilemma several months past.  I knew an 18 year old had done something really stupid and I had to call the police.  This was the state police, so if you are one of those....  "yeah but the state cops are okay" people, you are wrong.  I had a choice, not report a gun brought to a boy scout meeting, potentially allowing a bunch of kids to be in danger, or do the "right" thing and call the police.  I was scared to call them.  I have fibro.  

They show up and well the story is in my blog, I don't want to write about it again because I think I am lucky I didn't go to jail that night.  That was the night that I deleted the last cop I had on my facebook, and officially became absolutely terrified of the police.  It was one of the worst experiences of my life and I will never call the police ever again because of it.

I live in the middle of nowhere and yes, I am an activist, but I haven't been to a rally in a while.  Every time I run into the police, they are spraying someone with mace with no warning and no inclination they were about to fuck that dude up.  <---  that one was at a BMW car show.  Yeah, You heard me..  a BMW car meet.  Mace and the entirety of the local police force.  Because they were doing a burnout...  I wish I was lying.

Click here to watch video

There is some language.  When I say fuck the police, Ray is not who I mean.

Ray Lewis went to Ferguson, he was held at the airport forever because for some reason there were no flights that would take him to Ferguson.  He waited them out.  He got there.  I was thinking about that, and how the other night I sent my kid out around 11 to get me some candy (don't judge) it hit me, that if we were in that town, we would not be allowed out of the house.  

I stood up every single day and said the Pledge of Allegiance to the flag in school.  My husband and I both served.  We wouldn't now.  Nor will we let our kids.  I was proud when I graduated Marine boot camp and saluted the flag at the ceremony and every single time we saw it.  I want that feeling back.  Instead, we are turning policeman into killers and wanna be G.I. Joe's.

I am not saying that we have it worse than other places, the whole world is bubbling hot right now..  But we should all be watching very closely..  (NOT FOX NEWS)  and paying very close attention because I think this country is headed for a devastation that people can't even imagine yet.  

Really, really think about it.  Think about those late nights on the front porch with your family, and having the cops come round at 1030 to tell you that you are out past curfew.  Think that is crazy?  That is already happening.  Think you are safe because you are white?  Think again, you aren't a cop, that must mean you are the enemy.  Of course it is worse for our darker skinned brothers and sisters, but that doesn't make it okay to sit back and let it happen.

It was never about healthcare, or legalizing marijuana, or gay marriage, ever.  Not at any point was it about those things.  Those are called red herring fallacies and we have all been letting them trick us, which separated us, which is what they want.

All living things are my family.  All living things bring joy into my life.  All of these things are under attack under our noses and we are worried about all these things that don't matter, when right under our noses the police are arming themselves and they are serious.  They will shoot you.  Especially if your skin is darker than pink.

When will it happen?  They showed up when I called to report something very dangerous to them..  Like I was told to do.  They almost arrested me.  Saw me shaking and with my bad teeth assumed I was on meth, although let's be honest, if I was on meth no way in hell would I be this fluffy.  A cop with half a brain would know that.  I was appalled, my son was involved and he fears them as well.  This feeling, this fear of a police car...  this is NOT what I meant when I said the fucking pledge every morning.  This is NOT the freedom that our sons and daughters are dying to protect.  

Open your fucking eyes, we don't get together on this thing...  we are in deep shit.  Tea Party, Republicans, Democrats and everything in between, fuck all this petty bullshit.  Teenagers are getting killed for NO reason, just because it isn't in your town yet..  don't look at the hippy with the funny hair and skirts and think she is a piece of shit.  I don't look at a guy wearing his Cummins hat and Abercrombie jeans and assume he is a douchebag.  Lay down the labels and pick up a clue..  we are in trouble and we need to fucking start paying attention.

The reason this is what I wrote about today

Deputy who killed former Napster COO after drifting into the bike lane while distracted by his laptop will NOT face charges because he was answering a work-related email http://goo.gl/9ZVpt1

I could literally make this the longest blog post ever, there are so many..  :(  Fuck this shit.  Stop arguing about shit that doesn't matter.  Religion, skin color, who is fucking whom...  it doesn't matter, THIS matters why aren't more people paying attention?

Keep Fighting Warriors... Kick Fibromyalgia in the Balls

I am going to start telling a bit of my story.  I think it is interesting enough.  I won't be writing my book in here, but a little background might be nice.  I grew up in southern Lancaster county.  The one that you see on Amish Mafia, or any Amish show really.  That is where I grew up.  Next to the Amish.  I am not Amish.  But here they live among us "English".  They don't have little hidden spots like throughout the rest of the country.  I guess that is why the shows here are so interesting, yes I watched them.  Yes I think the Amish Mafia is real.  I don't think those guys on the show were anything but lackeys and that is because it is the Bishops of the church that run the thing.

When I turned 15 my dad left us.  Up until then we were like everyone else, because that is how my mother liked it, keeping up with the Jones.  She felt inferior to her male brothers because she was the girl and got treated that way.  She passed that on to me, until very recently I wanted their approval, no matter how often I said that I didn't.  But now I have heard enough and learned enough that they truly don't matter, my life's path has nothing to do with them anymore.  I suppose when you get Fibromyalgia and you lay in your bed for two years wishing your heart to stop..  or absolutely everything in your life changes... that those things are enough to finally give me the strength to say "fuck what you think of me, you would never survive what I have."

After my dad left it wasn't long until I was driving.  It shattered my mother, no more so than when he took her to court and we lost our house.  I realize now that my father set a precedent then that I should not have forgotten.  However, he started coming around after a year or so went by, and I spent my life wanting my daddy to love me, and since he was acting like he did I ate it up.  My brother, always the keen one, wasn't so easy to please.  I ate up the attention like it was my life's blood.

It still wasn't enough.  I went a little crazy.  Partying, having sex with multiple people, everything a little girl who needs her daddy does.  I found it in sex.  I knew that I was malfunctioning.  I knew that I was crazy.  I was self-aware, even then, I knew what and why I was doing it.  That did not stop me.  My mother thought it would be best if I moved in with one of my cousins for a while.  She thought that would help.  I loved staying there.  Once I went home they all decided that I needed a husband, that I needed an older man to marry me and tie me down.

 My mother introduced me to a guy named Nick.  I did not think he was interesting.  I was not sexually attracted to him.  Nothing.  However...  to appease my mother and not hurt anyone's feelings I went out on a date with this guy.  He bought me alcohol and took me to the woods to try and fuck me in his car.  First date.  I didn't want to hurt his feelings.  Sex wasn't emotional for me then.  Oral was the name of the game that night.  Not on me..  I did it.

Now, not wanting to disappoint my mother I said I would go out with him again.  There was a lot of pressure from all around.  This is the guy for me and that is that.  They thought.  Second date?  He bought me more alcohol and took me to a hotel room.  More space for activities than in a car, I suppose.  Yeah, I did it.  Whatever, he had a really small penis.  I was less than impressed.  I didn't want to see him after that.  He called a million times.  He showed up at my house.  I told him, I just graduated high school, I am leaving for boot camp...  I am going to go to the beach, have fun.  Not a hotel room with a tubby guy with a small penis that I wasn't attracted to at all.  I pretended that I was interested until I left for Marine boot camp.  (more on that later)  This is the first time I have told this story.

It wasn't long before I met the love of my life.  I graduated boot camp.  Didn't last very long in the Marines, and I met the guy I am still married to.  18 years together.  The ACTUAL guy I was meant to be with.  I love him as much as I did when we first met.  We have raising brilliant children together.  There have been some HUGE bumps in the road, but we overcame all of them and we are stronger for it.

That blast from the past was not fun to talk about, but I find that the more I dig the more I find stuff that did fuck me up.  I find more hurts.  In reality trying to improve myself  is a trip down memory lane.  I remember more than I thought I did and until I started down this path I had made myself forget.  That is not healthy.  

It's why psychiatrists ask about your childhood, because truly the shit you think you are over?  You probably aren't and if you are going live your best life, you have to rip those bandages off and deal with it.  I write.  Then it is in the universe.  Let me say here I never told my mom, she still doesn't know..  about the Nick dude.  It would have killed her.  My mother is the most selfless person that I have ever met.

This brings me to now.  I have my house, right in the middle of my huge family... my marriage is amazing, my kid is a drum major..  I am sick with fibromyalgia but I am fighting and I am happy.

Over the winter, the one where I spent a month wrapped in blankets with my dogs because we were in the middle of an arctic freeze' ; well during that time our past landlord called and said in January, that we had to be out of our house in a month.  We panicked.  I called my brother to ask if the kids could stay with him so they could graduate from this school.  I didn't ask for help, but I was crying my face off.  My amazing brother, whom I love so so much, immediately called my father.  Said Tammie and Jason and the boys are about to lose their house.  I will pay for what needs fixed in Mammaws house (he owns it) and they can stay there.  I called my dad.  Crying.  I said daddy we are in trouble, we are paying on time, we are taking care of the house, somehow though my landlord is about to lose the house to the bank.

He said to come over the next evening and we would work everything out.  So many red flags, I knew better, but I was in such a huge amount of trouble though that I really thought he was going to help us.  The next night we went to his house, Jason and I were both zombies.  We have had too many struggles in our life..  we were beaten.  My dad proceeded to tell us that we could not move in because it would increase taxes..  we offered to pay.  He asked why don't we just buy a house.  I left there out of my mind.  I couldn't believe that my own dad would leave his daughter and grandsons on the street.  Trust me on this, you aren't going to find a place to live in Lancaster county in the school district we wanted; in the middle of the worst freeze we have ever had.  He has someone living in the house now.  My husband does not understand why that pisses me off..  but it pissed me off..  I am over it.  I wouldn't want to live any closer to that ass hole than I already do.

My mother is on hubby number 2.  She loves him.  My dad took my children's inheritance when he made mom sell the house.  My dad is on wife number 3.  It was her that told him she would leave him if he let us move into the house.  There is now someone else living in that house, and for us it worked out.  The original landlord's dad bought the house, and now he is our landlord and we love him.

I later found out that first of all my dad changed his will and wrote me and my brother out of it and put the new wife and her kids on it.  I don't give a shit about it, if not for my kids, I have nothing to give to my kids because nothing is coming from my mother, who is still driving the dead wife's car.  Now my kids have absolutely nothing because he is giving it to children that he didn't fuck up, or create.

He is 6 foot 4 inches tall.  He is terrifying when he is mad.  He is mad a lot.  When I was little he liked to pick me up and throw me, onto a couch or a chair.  He never apologized.  Given the fact that he took our house when we needed it, he refused to let us stay in an empty house, the only question left if how the hell it took me so long to realize that he is nothing but a sperm donor?  Thanks for making me exist, ass hole.  Oh yeah, at his wedding reception he stood up and said that he found his real family.  My brother and I were both there.  He hurt my brother.  Without all of the shit he has done to me, no one fucking hurts my little brother.  Luckily I was the one that he was awful to.  He was nice to my brother.  It was me he screamed at.  I remember every day my mom would cook supper and tell me, every single day, "please don't say anything at the dinner table"  Inevitably I would piss him off, for no reason.  He would scream at me.  I would leave the table and spend hours in my room crying..  Then my mom would come in and tell me he didn't mean it.  That he was just stressed.  Just realized I am a little pissed that she didn't stick up for me, she was even scared of him.  That is no excuse for allowing your child, who did nothing wrong, to get screamed at, and never finish dinner.  OOH..  new one..  ouch.

My husband and I are perpetual renters.  We worked really hard to find houses that were in the district, so the kids could finally stay in the same school for more than two years.  Which has brought me almost full circle.  I live in a house that my grandmother helped to build.  The house is no longer in the family, and our landlord is great; we do live right up the road from my entire extended family.

Now, there is one side of my family that puts up with me, but they don't approve of my life.  That is okay.  I have an uneasy truce with them.  The other side of my family won't speak to me because I am a "no good pothead".

 Now, through my previous posts you have seen that I am an activist for medicinal and non-medicinal marijuana.  I go to Harrisburg, I fight when and where I can.  Gas, money, and cars and my teeth all hamper what I am able to do.  I don't want to take any chances with politicians thinking that I am a meth head, because my braces cracked my teeth.  I am just too poor to fix them.  That being said, I fight and that brought me out of the "grow room" so to speak.  Now, they act a lot like the Amish.  My Mammaw died and at her funeral one cousin spoke to me.  ONE.  My dad barely spoke to me, and he was the only reason I went.  I find funerals to be excruciating and macabre.  I don't want one.  I think it drags out the suffering and there is enough of that.  I digress.  No one spoke.

The family with the son that sexually abused me when I was 6?  They turned their back.  No one knows about that one either.  My husband knows.  I told my mom, but she has this amazing lock box where she keeps things that she doesn't want to know about.  That shit it locked tight too.  So, blogosphere, you are the first to hear that one.  That family won't speak.  How ironic.  I was fucking 6.  I saw him once, and it was before I found my power and he looked at me with disgust and said "look at you, all those nasty tattoos. you look like trash"..  Now had this happened to Tammie 3.0 he wouldn't have left with his nuts attached.  Tammie 2.0 was afraid of this happening and I simply escaped as quickly as I could.

Now you know a little about me.  I have found my story to be an interesting one and I have overcome so many things.  If I can hurdle all this shit, and having fibro I can fucking be anything I want.  I am learning my boundaries and I am living my best life and I want to help others do the same.\

All of that shit was like an iron around my leg holding me back.  Making me meek.  Fighting..  really fighting changes you.  It can be painful, you will fuck some shit up..  but there is no reason in the world that you should lay down and let a thing beat you.  Fucking fight.  Stand up, get in your wheelchair, and fucking fight for happiness and the best life.