(Really) Glad To Be Alive

I almost died yesterday.

My day started of okay - had a routine cleaning at the dentist for 11am: the hygenist was extremely chatty the whole time, which makes me anxious, although she was very nice and kept going on about how beautiful my teeth were.

Value Village is in the same plaza as my dentist and that's where I headed after my appointment.  After heaping my cart full, I proceeded to the change room where I spent a generous and painful length of time trying on various things.  After a while, I was so sore that I just had to stop.  I was also starting to get hives, which is normal for me as I've been getting them for the past two years whenever the lightest sweat breaks out (it's very frustrating).

I left the change room and started looking through the items in my cart.  After a minute or so, I started having trouble breathing, so I started taking my inhaler, but it wasn't helping and the hives were getting worse.  I went to sit down and text Brian and right after that, I felt my face was swelling up.  At that point I dialed 911 and went outside to the front of the store, leaving my cart inside.  My breathing was worsening by the second and by the time I spoke to the lady on the other end, I could barely speak. 

So I waiting, bent over a railing, trying with all my strength to just breath. 

The ambulance seemed to take forever to arrive - longest time I've ever waited for an ambulance.  Meanwhile, the 911 lady kept asking me questions, and I eventually just stopped answering her because they had nothing to do with my condition and I couldn't talk!

Then a woman coming out of value village starting acting like my nurse, putting her face in mine, asking me dumb questions, leaning her hand on my back, making it even harder to breath.  I felt like crying. I didn't know what to do.

When the ambulance finally did arrive, they slowly sauntered over to me as if I was suffering from a minor boo-boo and proceeded to ask me questions like "what is the matter,?" "what's your name?" "do you know where you are?" etc etc - all of these questions and they still hadn't even touched me.  I stopped trying to answer their stupid questions because I felt like I was literally drowning - I couldn't get ANY air.

So then they put an oxygen mask on me, which was not emitting ANYTHING.  I tried to tell them but they didn't listen.  I took the mask off to look at what might be the issue and the place where the oxygen is supposed to com out was covered by some kind of plug.  I tried keeping the mask off of me because it was making it way way harder to breath, but they kept putting it back on me.

At this point, I was pretty sure I was going to die.  They were taking their time.  And they stopped trying to put my mask back on.  But I didn't want to die, so I started trying to beg with what little air I guess I was getting (no idea how) - "please help me!" "I can't fucking breath," "please, you don't understand!" And the EMS guy was quite annoyed by this point, and just barked back "this is our job - we know what we're doing!" 

THEN they give me an epi-shot.  Get me onto the bed thing (whatever it's called), and proceeded to take their time.  I started clawing and thrashing out of desperation (not at anyone, just the bed thing) the same way one would if they were underwater drowning - it's an instinct - even if you want to die, your body automatically tries to fight it.  I got yelled at again.  I've never begged that hard or desperately in my whole fucking life. 

At that point, I just accepted I was gonna die and tried not to fight it anymore - next to impossible.

So they had me lying down flat on this bed, and for anyone who knows about asthma or breathing problems, you know that's the worst possible position - sitting up and/or turning on your side makes it easier to breath for some reason.  So I tried my best to wiggle to my side, which was next to impossible  cause they had me belted in so tightly.

They finally put me in the back of the ambulance, where I was half in the bed, and half leaning against some kind of glass cabinets.  The didn't touch me again.  Just left me alone, and I actually started to be able to breath a tiny bit, laying on my side, which was so relieving.

We finally got there... did I mention they didn't even turn on their siren until we were just about to arrive?  They rolled me into the hospital, into a room, where there was about seven staff.  The EMS still hadn't touched me - in fact the one guy told them in a very annoyed tone, that I had no idea who I was or where I was, etc.   WTF.  Yes I did.  I just couldn't breath, motherfucker!

They placed me onto the bed in the room, and put an oxygen mask on me that actually had oxygen coming out of it!  From there on I knew I would live because they were all there giving me what I needed as if it was an emergency.  I got two more epi-shots, an IV with Saline, Magnesium Sulfate, Prednisone.  They gave me ventolin, lots of oxygen... hooked me all up with electrodes and basically made it so I could actually breathe again.  And they were nice to me, too.

Brian came - walked at lightening speed from downtown to the Jurevinski hospital - first time I'd ever had someone at my bedside at the hospital.  Felt odd but good.They continued treatment and monitoring for several hours until they were sure I was stable and okay. 

I was exhausted, and in so much pain: one particular nurse, who I'm sure meant well, kept squeezing and poking my arm, not sure why but I think she was hooking lots of stuff up to me.  I kept saying ow because it fucking hurt like a bitch, and finally I said "I have Fibromyalgia" and they were like "oooohhh, okay" - I don't usually complain when stuff like that happens, but it was too much.  At least they understood why it was hurting me so much when I volunteered that information.  It made me realize the importance of letting people know so don't hurt me inadvertently.

This same nurse, when the moved me to another room when I was stable, came in and slapped my leg "affectionately" asking how I was doing.  I screamed because it felt like she just dropped a ton of bricks on my leg.  Sigh. 

Yesterday was not my day.  But I lived.

So a bit of background: as I said, for the past two years or so, I get hives so easily, just from a tiny bit of sweat.  They usually start on my chest and can stay for a quite a while.

Then about a month or two ago, I started going to the YWCA to use the treadmill, which I'd done many times before and never had an issue.  One day I came home and almost immediately broke out in hives all over my body, itchy, sooo itchy.  I was itchy inside and outside - and I felt myself swelling up - my face, eyes, lips, basically my entire face, so much so that you could still see the effects of the swelling two days after.  The scariest thing though, was that my throat was beginning to constrict. 

So I laid down in bed, put the fan on my full blast, and concentrated on relaxing my body, and breathing, paying attention to the swelling so that I'd know if it got serious enough I would call 911.  The only reason I knew that it was a serious thing, is because since I was a little girl I have been allergic to fish, so much so, that even to touch the juice of it sent me into severe antifilactic shock - my eyes would swell completely shut and my throat would swell and cut off my air completely.  I had twenty minutes then I'd be dead.  When I got a bit older, they shortened my time of death to three minutes - scary stuff.

After that exercise incident happened, I went to the doctor and told her about it: she set up an appointment with an allergist and gave me a prescription for an epi-pen.  She also told me to take allergy pills before doing any exercise, just in case.

Well we found out yesterday that ODSP doesn't even cover an epi-pen - something that could save your life quite literally.  I thought that was ridiculous.  Brian brought the perscription in to get filled and they handed him a form - not an epi-pen, and told him I have to go back to my doctor to have the form filled out.  If I had had that epi-pen yesterday, things might have turned out quite differently.  Luckily, the nice doctor who took care of me yesterday was awesome and filled out some form for me to take to the pharmacy to make it so I can get it covered.  A hundred dollars is what it would have cost.

He also prescribed me a new inhaler since I used it all up trying to breath in the value village yesterday, and three days worth of prednisone.

So, I went into antifilactic shock yesterday, so bad that it almost killed me.  And just from my own perspiration, apparently.  What's that about?  My throat closed up, and I couldn't breath.  That was the scariest thing I can think of that I've gone through - I find it really upsetting to think about so I've noticed I've been trying to stuff it inside so I don't have to deal with it.

I know I have been quite judgmental in this post, mostly regarding the EMS people, and it's quite possible they were doing everything they were supposed to do and it just didn't seem like they were because I was so desperate to breath that I couldn't help feeling that way.  I realize this - I just really needed to vent it all.

I've had to call 911 various times in my past due to asthma attacks and every time, the ambulance arrived quickly, acted quickly, gave me oxygen right away, took me to the hospital asap.  So I just don't get what they were doing yesterday.

Also, I'm extremely grateful that I had the brains to call 911 - my pattern has always been to avoid calling them at all costs until I knew I would absolutely die if I didn't.  I'm not sure why I have been this way except maybe that that's what my mother has always done, or because I didn't want to "waste their time" unless absolutely necessary, or I just didn't care about myself enough.  Or maybe all of that is why.

So all I know is that I am somehow alive today.

What scares me now, is that this could happen to me again at any time, any place, any day.  It has been easy with the fish allergy because I just had to avoid fish.  It would seem now I have to avoid sweating too much (until maybe the allergist can figure out what's going on), which is really impossible since it happens just when I make dinner, and not to mention summer is just about here.  I'm scared.

Not sure if anyone will read all of this since it's a pretty long post, but for those who do, thanks.


<3 M

Too Afraid

And I'm not sure how to change that.

I know how to change my social anxiety and I'm sure that will help, but this seems to be something else as well.  I hadn't really thought about it before now, not sure why, maybe I wasn't ready for the truth?

If I get excited about something, I will talk myself out of going for it.  There are dozens of reasons I give myself to rationalize not doing something.  This is what I've been living like.  And now look at my life - I'm not living it.  I mean I'm not experiencing and pursuing things and that makes me feel stagnant, useless, and pointless.

But enough about what it has done to me.

I don't want to focus on the problem - the problem has had enough time to thrive.  I want a solution.

Last night on Facebook, I saw the Hamilton Conservatory For The Arts was giving classes.  I thought about taking the beginners photography class because I've lately discovered taking photos is kind of enjoyable - don't know why I never felt that way before, but anyway...  I thought it would be a good thing for me to do to expand my horizons, learn some things, meet some peoples, etc.  The place is really close to where I live and the money isn't a problem.  Aside from the fact that I don't think I have the right kind of camera, there was nothing stopping me from going for it - except of course, myself.

I didn't know what happened in that moment between enthusiasm and deciding against it, but I believe it kinda went something like this:

Me: ooh exciting!
Myself: scary.
Me: It's close by!
Myself: Still far enough.
Me: I can learn a lot and have fun!
Myself: You're not a photographer, you have more important things to attend to before you go taking classes on subjects that won't even help your livelihood.
Me: This would be really good for my social anxiety exposure therapy.
Myself: That's too much to handle right now.
Me: I never do anything.
Myself: you can't handle it.
Me: okay, I guess you're right.

*Sigh*

I've been "disabled" for basically my entire 20's.  My issues changed me and the way I live my life tremendously.  But unfortunately, I allowed it to define and devour me.  Being enveloped in health problems for long periods is a great way to neglect every other thing in life.  I wasn't able to do so many things I wanted to do or used to be able to do so I guess somewhere along the way I stopped trying and reinforced the belief that I can't handle things, even though I consciously know/or at least think I can handle many things, I block myself from living the life I want to live.

Sure, I have some challenges that make it hard to do everything I'd like, but that doesn't mean I can't at least do some.  I'm afraid of social situations but I can fight through that.  I am way too easily overwhelmed... so I don't have to do everything all at once... I am in pain a lot of the time... so take it easy?  So why doesn't "myself" understand that?

And I know I have a lot of fear about being really far out of my comfort zone, and imagining that discomfort can be enough to make me do nothing.

How can I change this pattern? (not a rhetorical question).


<3 M

Pride & Prejudice

This writing was inspired by something a friend wrote...

I'm a 30 year old disabled girl.

When you look at me, you might see a very overweight 30 year old girl but you will not see anything to indicate disability.

I'm one of the lucky ones with the invisible disabilities: I don't look sick, ya see.

I don't look sick, but I do look fat and out of shape.

And when you don't look sick, people come up with their own explanations of why you can't do a lot of physical activity.

And when you don't look sick, but you're over weight, people come up with even more fun explanations of why you can't do a lot of physical activity.

To many, fat = lazy. It's a judgement. And it's one I am paranoid about because I'm a prime target of such thinking.

I believed that about myself for some time too.

When I started to get sick, I was a slim girl. My disabilities and my weight both went up together for various reasons.

I was only moderately active before I got sick. Now I struggle to do the simplest things. Some days it's almost as if I'm perfectly healthy and other days I can barely get dressed. I never know which I will get.
 Most of the time, it's somewhere in between.

But the judgement that I am just fat and therefore lazy is sad and untrue.

If I were slim right now, i would still be disabled. I would still have days where I could barely move. The only difference would be less weight on my joints but as I've found out, that only helps to a point, it does not cure anything and it has no bearing on my Fibromyalgia.

It took me a long time to learn some important things and you know what? It isn't about weight, it's about lifestyle.

A skinny person who eats horribly and never exercises, is not healthier than a fat person who eats horribly and never exercises.

A skinny person who eats horribly and never exercises is not healthier than a fat person who eats well and regularly exercises.

It's about lifestyle and biology. My mum has Fibromyalgia and Osteoarthritis (and Borderline Personality disorder for that matter), and I was lucky enough to inherit these things by the time I hit age 20.

The reason this topic is heavier on my mind right now is because, after waiting a really long time because my ego was too proud to give in, I got a walker.

Without anything to aide me, I can walk extremely short distances and not without being in a lot of pain.
Because my lifestyle has been like this for the good part of ten years, the lack of physical activity has made me out of shape, which is a contributing factor in the pain I feel when walking.

With the aide of a walker, I will be able to actually go out and walk somewhere. I will not be so trapped. It will change my life. And it will get me walking, which will help me build up some strength.

My hope is that after a while of using it, I will be able to walk longer distances WITHOUT it, thus getting me into better shape.

I want badly to be stronger. I hate so much feeling trapped in this limited body. I hate having to plan so meticulously how I'm going to get somewhere just in case I'm caught stranded. I hate feeling left out of certain activities because my body won't cooperate.

But I was really afraid of getting a walker. I was afraid it would mean I was somehow giving up. But I know it is actually the opposite.

I was, and still am, afraid of the judgements: I am a 30 year old, overweight girl using a walker. People will look at me and think "that girl is so fat she needs a walker to help her move." But they have no idea. That's why judgements are so dangerous - you just never know.

Anyway, I'm gonna try to use the darn thing as much as I can. Hopefully the part of my brain that just doesn't give a fuck what others think will kick in more lol.

P.S. Judging is bad, mmmmk?

<3 M

Random

I'm at Brian's place right now: he's gone to take D to her mum's for the weekend and then doing all kinds of other stuff.  I'm staying home and making him a speshul dinner :-)

Our three-month-aversary was on Wednesday... it feels like a hell of a lot longer than that, but in the good way.  I'm still 'getting used to' this whole being in a relationship thing - it's a completely new experience for me.  I've been in, what you could call, relationships before, but none of them were actual relationships.  Needless to say, I'm a very happy girl, life is grand.

Well, mostly.  I seem to be having a hell of a time with the pain thing.  There's my usual pain, and then there's the pain I've been having for the past few months or so.  It seems to be easing up somewhat, but let's just say this masochist is in need of a safeword O_O

Most other areas of my life are improving: I'm seeing a lot of the fruit of my past labours and can see it wasn't all for naught.

Like I said, I'm still getting used to being in a relationship.  He lives all the way across the city and is a full time dad, so working out my scheduling and transportation has been an issue.  I need to figure out how to fit everything in, fit in seeing my friends, my family, that sort of thing.  I wish I drove sometimes.

 I am, what they would call, a Borderline in recovery.  What that means is, I still have all the same emotional disregulations and hyper-sensitivities, and whatnot, but I have the skills with which to cope.  This is quite the miracle, for anyone with BPD knows the hell your life becomes with this disorder.  If I keep up on the skills, I should be okay.

I am also, it would seem, a rapidly recovering body-hater.  I have been struggling with body image issues for years, even when I believed logically that there is no reason to feel down about my body, the filters of society and everything I've always been told to believe/think have won out.  The influence is too strong.  Most everything we're told and shown regarding our body size, shape, etc. is bullshit, but how are we to know the difference if that's all (or the majority) of what we've experienced through media and society?

I did a few things, sort of theraputic-type exercises in hopes of changing my stubborn beliefs about my body.  Some of these seemed to have an effect.  Then I attended an eating disorders group where I was taught the science behind weight gain/loss, etc.  It was a life-changing experience.  Why was this information not out there in our society?  It was so eye-opening, I'd never heard these things before.  I felt lied to, and regretful that I had not known these things before it was too late.

Among all the things I learned, one of them was acceptance.  After knowing what I now knew, I had no choice but to accept things as they were, accept myself the way I was, right now.

It sounds depressing for someone who hates their body and has spend most of her life trying to, or stressing out about, losing weight.  Waiting for life until I was the right weight.  Putting things off until I was 'done my diet.'   Not wearing what I really wanted to wear because 'when I lose weight, it will be too big and I don't want to waste money.'  And when the struggle to achieve the impossible inevitably failed, again and again (no wonder we end up hating ourselves) the cycle just continues, getting worse and worse.

 Well, it was depressing.  Incredibly.  But then some things started happening.  I would go shopping and look at all the clothing I wanted to wear, knowing I could buy it now and not have to wait for a later date that would never come.  This was fun, relieving, and very empowering.  If I accepted myself at the size I was at right now, I could stop waiting to live.  Finally.  Sounds dramatic, I know, but it kinda is.

After a while, I noticed I was not getting down about my body nearly as much as before.  This was happening less and less.  I noticed that I had stopped obsessing.  This was a huge deal, like a ton of weight lifted off my shoulders. 

Many other things happened.  I began to notice an increase in confidence.  So did others.  And it's so true what they say - once you start to believe you are beautiful, so will others.

I still have some major issues, but like I said, it's a work in progress like everything else. I'm just very proud to be able to add that on to my list of ginormous life accomplishments.  Most of the things I've been working on endlessly for the past decade and seemingly getting nowhere with have been shifting in big ways in the past year or two.

One of my biggest issues in therapy, oddly enough, was problem solving my inability to follow any sort of routine or schedule.  To do anything productive on a consistent basis.  Much of this had to do with the fact that I've been out of school and work for so long and haven't had to be very responsible and the fact that I have very black/white - all/nothing thinking. 

It seemed like I would never be able to do it, I would never be able to control my life!  I am very easily overwhelmed.  But in the past, I'd say, six months or so, I have been slowly, by trial and error, getting somewhere with this problem.  It is very slow progress, but it is a very big thing to tackle and I am doing it!

Of course there are other areas in which I'm making headway... I just don't give up.  So like I said, life is grand. 

I still have plenty of problems to deal with, but they are a hell of a lot easier to face when many of the other ones are under control.

I better go start dinner n' stuff now... this chair is killing my back :-/



Love M

The Summer Is Tricksy

I don't like the way my body/mind plays tricks on me during the light half of the year: what I mean is, every spring I start to 'come back to life' - I wake up from depression and low energy, I start to feel good and I start to really live the way I try so hard to live throughout the entire year but never seem to be able to during the dark half of the year.  This is, of course, wonderful.  The bad part about it this particular year is that never before have I worked so hard on improving myself than I have this past year and things are starting to really come together for me, slowly but surely.  My worry is whether or not it is only because it's spring and not because my hard work is paying off.  If it's only because it's spring, then I'm bound to fall once again when November comes around and that would really really suck because I'm so sick of the struggle.  But if it's not just a coincidence, well then that's a huge deal for me.

After severe anxiety, worry, and fear I finally FINALLY started going to the YWCA to exercise.  I almost passed out from panic just going there to sign up.  But something strange happened when I actually went to the gym to work out - as I was working my poor neglected muscles/body, I came to the realization that I was actually enjoying myself... I've told myself my whole life that I hate exercise, that exercise and I never got along, that I was born that way.  This is true in a way: I was, since birth, a very sedentary person, preferring to live in my head rather than do much moving.  But now I realize why I thought I hated exercise so much that it was making it next to impossible to start and keep to any kind of regiment: I have osteoarthritis and fibromylagia - both of those diseases are about pain, pain, and pain.  I'm in constant pain.  So whenever I've tried to exercise, it hurt like a bitch!  No wonder I didn't want to do it.  Turns out though, that if I stay away from the high impact stuff (cause that damages my joints and makes my disease worse) and make sure I'm not hurting myself in the "bad way," then it's actually enjoyable!  It still hurts, but it hurts in the way that it's supposed to hurt, the way exercise hurts any normal healthy person, that wonderful burn that tells you you're making your body stronger.  I actually like exercise, who knew?

I'm very eager now, I want to do so much, so I'm having to force myself to take my time so I don't overdo it and hurt myself or set myself up for failure.  I wish I had discovered this years ago, but you can't change the past.  So far I'm spending an hour at the gym three days a week.  Next week I'm going to start adding swimming (like aqua therapy, water jogging, etc) to my routine.  Eventually I want to be working out at least five days a week and I'd like to do some of the yoga and pilates classes they offer as well.  What a huge breakthrough for me!

I've been terrified for quite a few years now of starting any kind of routine in my life because in the past I have always failed and after so many times failing, you start to feel defeated and hopeless.  I haven't had structure in my life since I was in high school, and even then it wasn't very structured so I'm having to relearn how to do it in almost every aspect of my life.  I have severe "all or nothing" thinking, so that poses a challenge all on its own - it's like learning to live from scratch in a way.  But I have a kick-ass therapist and she suggested having a plan for failure: a simple concept yet I never thought of it.  I always thought I should just be able to pick up and start again if I failed, but it's not always that simple, and having an actual plan to follow is such a great concept and makes me feel more secure in being able to succeed.

So there's that.

In other news, I love plants.  Every single spring for years and years I attempt a garden on my balcony and every single year I kill my plants.  In the past I always thought it was because I end up neglecting them when I get depressed (which is true too), but this year I've realized, sadly, that I kind of don't really like gardening, and I'm kind of not very good at it lol.  I wouldn't say I have a brown thumb, but I'm having to accept that I should stop trying to have a damn garden and just buy the organic produce from those who know what they're doing.  I have a few plants out there now so we'll so how those do, but after this, I'm gonna go steal Sunny's tomatoes ;o)

What else is going on... my best friend is moving to another city :o(  This is really hard for  me, really really hard.  A  year ago I would be in bed crying all day and night planning my own demise over this, but I've grown a fuck-tonne and I will be okay.  It's going to be hard though, he's more than just a best friend, if that makes any sense.  And I guess after a year and half I should meet the girlfriend...  I'm kind of proud of us though - we managed to stay close friends after all the turmoil and heartache and through such difficult circumstances when it really would have been easier ultimately to go our separate ways, we knew the value of our friendship and chose the path less traveled in order to keep each other in our lives.  Who knew it could be done?  The hard stuff is still not over yet, but I think the majority of it is definitely behind us.  Here's hoping the future rewards us!


Love M

Baby Got Back

K I feel like writing so here we go.

On the subject of FAT...

 I am.  duh.  I was a chubby little girl until I hit puberty, at which point I naturally thinned out.  To tell you the truth, I didn't really notice: as far as I know, I thought I was the same size the whole time (chubby or even fat, even when I was not).  So anyway, I thinned out and was pretty damn hot (looking back, of course you never realize it at the time - don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got till it's gone?).  I still thought I was fat though, not huge but definitely "big boned," which is why dieting was always in the back of my mind, always always always.  Looking back I can't beleive how sick that was, that I thought I was fat when I was so not: I was damn fine and healthy too.  Nonetheless, I remember putting a picture I'd cut out of a magazine on the fridge of a super skinny model - inspiration to lose weight, I said.

So then what happened?  Well, first of all, at some point along the way ( think I was either thirteen or fifteen but can't remember at the moment) I "discovered" emotional eating.  Well I didn't know that's what it was at the time, but I discovered it nonetheless.  Luckily it wasn't something I did too often and it didn't effect my weight too much, probably because I was still somewhat active and healthy.  It's no coincidence that this discovery of emotional eating came around the same time as I was becoming unknowingly depressed.  I won't go into what was going on and why that added to the depression but just that it was something I was unaware of, I just thought I was weird and super sensitive (I am both those things, but I was also depressed lol).

What's weird about being depressed in my house is that every single person in my family has some mental disorder or another (usually various) but no one said anything to me about possibly being depressed, nothing.  Not sure why, but I've always been a bit bitter about that.  Back to the topic.

Now, when I was somewhere in my mid teens I fell disgustingly deep in love with a good friend of mine.  This caused me a lot of turmoil and inevitably ended in heartbreak for me.  How badly was I hurt?  Let's just say I only just got over it a few years ago, and I am currently twenty-eight.  I got so depressed (still didn't know I had depression btw) that I eventually left my job and school (on the same day) and slowly but surely began shutting the world out, becoming a hermit, pretty much.

And this is where that wonderful thing called emotional eating came in handy.  I embraced that coping mechanism, consciously knowing that I would probably gain weight and not caring (because what's the point in looking and feeling good if you don't see any hope for the future?).  With the mixture of inactivity and emotional eating, I, of course, did start gaining and I still didn't care.  I'm sure I cared on some level but at the time I was too depressed to care.  That's how hopeless I felt.

I eventually got to the point where I started to suspect there might be something wrong going on and made an appointment with the doctor.  This is when I found out that I did indeed have depression.  They diagnosed me with bipolar (because I would go into deep deep depression and then mania) and anxiety and gave me some pills.

By this time I had a full-out eating disorder and was discovering that even though I didn't want to gain weight anymore, it was starting to become out of my control (that's the best way I can put it I think).  And I was still depressed. And I didn't know how to get control of my eating again, I just thought I was weak and pathetic.  I kept gaining weight.

Then, in my early twenties I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia and osteoarthritis.  No wonder physical activity was so hard, I thought I was just lazy.  Try and lose weight when you're severely depressed, have an eating disorder, and have physical disabilities.  Right, sounds fun eh? 

So I became double the size I used to be - the size of two of me.  And trying to lose weight the whole time by dieting dieting dieting and trying to exercise.  The dieting wasn't so hard as the exercise, for obvious reasons, but the mental turmoil one goes through when struggling with body image issues is a sickness I wish upon no one - yoyo dieting, all diets that are extremely unhealthy, for years.  None of them worked.  Diets don't work.  I knew that, I knew it had to be a permanent lifestyle change, but by then I was so deep into the cycle of punishing myself for failing by starving myself, then inevitably binging out of starvation and comfort.  I now understand that this becomes a mental disorder that only gets worse.

And so I kept trying and the harder I tried, the more weight I gained.  I know that doesn't make any sense, but if you're in such a sick cycle it just keeps making you sicker and making things more distorted and eating away at your self-worth and that forbidden comfort food becomes no different than a drug addiction.  The only difference is that you have to eat, which makes it harder to avoid.

And that's why I'm fat.  Mind you, I don't think being fat is necessarily bad - we all have some amount of fat on our bodies, it's just when you have too much that it can take a toll on your health.  If I were able to lose weight (let's hope so!) I wouldn't want to be skinny, I'd want to be pleasantly plump, as they say.  That's just me.

There are many judgments about fat people, and I can understand why: it's a simple scientific formula - burn more calories than you consume and lose weight.  Unfortunately, when an eating disorder develops, when there's severe depression going on, when physical activity is limited, this simple formula is moot.  Don't tell a fat person to just stop eating because you never know if they're like me and get anxiety attacks just walking into the kitchen because they don't want to have to eat but know they need to.

Ultimately I'm not trying to make excuses for myself because that does no one any good, I'm just explaining how I got where I am and why I'm here.

Some days I feel absolutely disgusting, nothing but a blob of grossness that no one would ever want to look at.  In fact I've stayed in many times because I thought no one should have to look at me.  Sick, no?  Some days I actually feel kinda hot, like yes I'm fat but I'm still damn sexy bitches ;o)  Both of those are true depending on who's looking.  So what others think doesn't really matter.  There are plenty of men who love fat chicks, it turns their crank, but at the end of the day, it's me whose opinion matters and I'm not comfortable being as fat as I am.  This goes for aesthetics as well (and especially) health.

While it's true that you can be relatively healthy and fat, there are still things going on inside your body that are not good - things have to work harder because of the extra weight and that puts stress on important processes, resulting in adverse health effects.  Thinking about what my body is going through makes me sad, I want to be healthy.

I was at a level weight for a few years, but in the past year I have gained a lot more weight (yes, another severe heart break by a man I love) and this has accelerated my distorted thinking about eating and my body and all of that good stuff.  But some really good stuff has happened in that time as well:  I finally started seeing a therapist (I know, after being depressed most of my life you'd think I'd have gotten one sooner, but that's a whole other story of woe) and she is fucking awesome.  I've been in a DBT group (Dialectic Behavioural Therapy) as well, which has helped me so much.  And in about two weeks, I will be starting in an eating disorder program at the hospital.

If this doesn't help me, I don't know what will.  I recently went to an information seminar for getting gastric bypass surgery, determined that this was my only hope, I fully intended on going for it.  But after the information session, there was no way, I was really disappointed at finding out what it's really like and that the only thing getting that surgery does is help you lose a bunch of weight really quickly (the way you would on a fad diet) and you have to change your lifestyle by eating right and exercising anyway, the same way you would without the surgery.  There is no difference, well, except for all the serious health risks and permanent sacrifices, etc.  I could get the same results going on a shake diet for a few months and then dieting and exercising - I think I've already tried that lol.

Just learning DBT skills in the past six or so months has already helped me immensely with how I deal with food.  I'm hopeful that the next six months, plus my therapy, plus the next year in an eating disorder group will be just what I need to get healthy.  I'm tired of everything being about my weight.  Just the fact that I would never tell anyone the number on the scale tells me how shameful it makes me feel, cause as some of you know, I'm not the most private person, I tell all! lol  I would like to think, after being rejected by a man, that it's because of my horrible personality and not because I'm fat :op  There is some truth to wanting that, trust me.

I've learned a lot through the  years of being in a fat body...

I've learned the importance of not judging someone by their looks.  I've learned that it's still okay (socially acceptable) to say hateful things to or about a fat person, to discriminate against them for how they look.  I've learned that the media is disgusting.  I've learned that people can eat well and exercise and still be fat.  I've learned that they should stop making polyester/nylon clothing for plus size women because it's the most unflattering, worst possible fabric for anyone with curves, lumps, or bumps.  Oh, and I've also recently learned that there are ingredients in most of the food we buy, such as high fructose corn syrup and MSG that actually effect the body in a way that negates the scientific formula of natural weight loss (calories consumed/calories burned) - it is really sad to find this out because there are some people who try so hard to lose weight and they are unknowingly consuming these additives, not knowing it is likely making their struggle pointless.  I've learned a lot more, but I think I'm about done writing for now.

There was no real point in writing this, I just felt like talking about it so thanks for indulging.

P.S. Fat people need love too please :o)


Love M

Planning For My Thirties

April is here: month four - a quarter of the year passed.

This year was to be the year of 'Marylin' - the year where I stopped moaning and actually acted on life. Because when last new year's came around and the question of "what are your resolutions for 2009?" started popping up, I realized that the resolutions I had were the exact same resolutions (for the most part) I'd had every year for pretty much a decade.

I am twenty seven years old. I cannot go into my thirties with the same energy as I've been spending in my twenties. I just can't. I know I wasted a fucking decade - I can't do it again.

It's not that I've done nothing, it's that I've done a very small fraction of what I have the potential and drive to do/achieve. I've only lived a small fraction of the life I've wanted to live.

Over these years I have made some progress. I've realized a lot of the limitations I was fighting against were not as controllable as I thought. Once I stopped fighting certain things, so much stress and sadness was taken away.

All my life I've suffered from sleeping problems, which have caused a lot of problems for me regarding school, work, appointments, and even socially.

I've strived all these years to take control of my sleep patterns, thinking I just wasn't trying hard enough.

Finally, a few years ago I had an over-night sleep study done that revealed I had what's called Delayed Sleep Phase Disorder.

The doctor explained to me that trying to fight it is fruitless because it is a neurological problem, it's just the way my brain works, and that I should try to work with it if I want to be happy. One of the best things for someone with DSPD is to do a job where you can set your own hours, like writing, for example.

Great! I thought. I am a writer! This just gives me another reason to justify writing for a living.

So after this new information was made known to me, I slowly stopped fighting against the sleep issues and that has made a world of difference. I don't feel guilty or stressed out anymore about it. This has made me a happier person in general.

Ask me how my writing career is going.

Well, just take a look at my ISBN collection and that should answer your question.

Isn't it funny what excuses we can make for our lack of productivity? Mmmhmmm.

Another obstacle that came about right when my twenties started was being "disabled."

Yes, I was about twenty when I couldn't take the pain and fatigue anymore. That's when they diagnosed me with the osteoarthritis and the fibromyalgia.

I can't even begin to talk about how weird that is/was for me. I've never been a very active person, so it left everyone baffled as to why I would get osteoarthritis, and so young too. I got the fucker all over the body too. The fibro is a little more understandable, my mum has that too, but still, at twenty?

Suffice it to say, these have factored into my life substantially. It is quite hard for me to walk very far, let alone do much rigorous exercise. It makes me an outsider to my peers, who sometimes don't quite understand why we can't take that twenty minute walk to "insert place." It's embarrassing, especially because I've never been very vocal about my issues, so it just makes me look really lazy to people, since you can't see my disabilities just by looking at me.

It's also hindered my ability to lose weight. Not only is exercise difficult, but the fibro effects your metabolism and also includes depression as a side effect, which I already suffer from. (But I'll get to the weight and the depression as well.)

I don't feel sorry for myself about my physical disabilities. I'm okay with adjusting my life because of them. I just still can't bring myself to accept that I can't exercise the way other people can and I know my refusal to accept this is only because of my desire to lose weight and be healthy.

I've finally accepted that I can't be as active as most of my peers, and I've been working on being more vocal about it, but I still have shame, and I hate that I have that shame, hence more shame. I don't want to be a pain in the ass ya know?

Anyway, I have come to a place where all those feelings of shame and of trying to fight the illnesses have lessened a great deal, which means, again, that I am a happier person with a lot less stress.

Then there is the mental catastrophe to talk about.

I honestly think I had depression as a child when I look back, but there's no way to know. What I do know is that when I hit my early teens, I had it. I had really bad depression and I didn't know it was depression, I just thought I was a really sensitive person lol. A misunderstood teen.

I didn't realize I might have a problem till I was nineteen, living in a bachelor apartment that I'd rented with no employment to speak of, where I spent the majority of my time filling binders full of get-rich-quick ideas and reading tarot cards over the phone for Miss Cleo (without payment).

If you don't remember Miss Cleo, let me refresh your memory:



Three months later I found myself unable to get up from my futon because i was "inexplicably" paralyzed with depression. But this was before I started hallucinating and being afraid to go outside...

The worst part of it was that my entire family suffers from a cornucopia of lovely mental illnesses and not once did anyone in my family suggest that I might also be afflicted - they all just thought I was the "normal" one. The one who would actually go somewhere in life.

Anyway, so I sought help and was diagnosed with bipolar and anxiety disorders. The little pink pill (paxil) they gave me made me feel better for about a year, but when it stopped working, things were a lot worse and this coincided with the worsening (and discovering) of my physical issues.

Since the initial diagnoses, I'd been seeking proper help in the form of therapy to no avail, and ended up being switched to effexor for a while (this made me worse), and then to celexa (which helped a lot and which I still take now) by a family doctor who I all but reported for malpractice for so many reasons.

I was monitoring my own meds and recieving zero therapy due to long waiting lists and a bitch of an ex-roommate who failed to deliver a very important phone message to me.

It wasn't until late last year that my name finally reached the top of a waiting list and I got myself a proper therapist, working under a psychiatrist.

The official diagnoses was Borderline Personality Disorder (which I knew) and they are keeping an eye out for signs of bipolar, which is tricky because you can have both, but it's hard to tell since people with BPD usually exhibit a lot of similar traits as people with Bipolar. Either way, I'm sick in the noggin'.

The good news is I'm finally getting help. There's a program that people with BDP can go through called Dialectic Behavoural Therapy that I'm on the waiting list for. This is supposed to help drastically with my issues and help me deal with things in my life.

As for what I can do to actually fight my mental issues, I 'm really not sure. Trying to fight them in the past, as if they weren't a reality, usually proved to create more guilt and so the cycle goes. I've learned that if I don't take my illnesses into consideration, it will lead to unnecessary disappointment.

The problem is that until I do what I need to do/learn what I need to learn therapy wise, I keep going through the same mental issues as always, and as always, they take me two steps backwards. It's always a matter of keeping my head above the water, and after so many years, that is very tiring and makes it more and more tempting to just let go, to give in, to drown.

My mental illness is the strongest force in my life - it paralyzes me and I can never get used to it, because if I did, it would mean being satisfied with not improving myself or my situation.

This is the obstacle in my life that fuels the other obstacles, the obstacle that prevents the other obstacles from being removed.

If the plant continues to grow, it's kind of hard to prevent the leaves from coming back, season after season.

I'm overweight because I was so depressed that I didn't care. I'm still overweight because I'm still depressed and I use food as a drug because I don't know how to manage my emotions properly. I'm still overweight because I have osteoarthritis and fibromyalgia, which fuck up my physical activity and metabolism.

I'm overweight, which makes the physical disabilities worse, because my poor joints have to carry all that extra weight, which makes physical activity even harder, which makes losing weight even harder.

I'm overweight, which makes me depressed because I'm not happy with my body, which has given me a low self-esteem, which has effected my social life, which has made me more depressed and withdrawn, which has made me want to eat more...

It's all mental though. My own mind has created my own misery and what will happen if I can't change my mind? I wish it was more of a choice. I wish I could just buck-up and get on with life. But it's more complicated then that. I can buck-up, but it's only a matter of time before it catches up with me again and the fall is always so hard.

I feel like a whiny baby complaining. But this is my reality. I wish I were just a whiny baby, so someone reading this could slap me in the face and show me my own stupidity, and then I could move on.

So this is my reality.

I have osteoarthritis and fibromyalgia that I receive disability for because I can't work. I have this delayed sleep phase disorder that prevents me from keeping a normal schedule, which is okay, because I don't work anyway. I don't work, which allows me the opportunity to actually write and follow my dream of being a successful writer.

All of this seems to work itself out... it almost seems like the universe planned it that way for a reason.

But my reality includes this debilitating mental illness, which seems to be THE obstacle standing in my way. It scares the shit out of me to think that I'll be this stagnant and unable to escape when I'm thirty seven. I can't deal with that, I have way too much potential for that to happen.

They're playing with meds (carefully) and I'm seeing a really good therapist on a regular basis. I should be getting into the DBT program thingy quite soon according to her, at which time I'll still be seeing her.

Aside from trying again and again and not giving up, I'm really counting on the program and the therapy to give me a lot of what I need to improve the way I live my life.

And it will be completed before I turn thirty.

Something else I'm starting to consider is gastric bypass surgery. I've obviously considered it many times before, but was always against it because it's unnatural.

But now the pros are really beginning to out-weight the cons: this surgery would make me lose weight, which would take stress off my joints, which would allow me to be more active, which would improve my overall health and lessen my general pain, which would make me more generally happy. I would not be so disgusted with my body, which would make me feel more confident, which would give me higher self-esteem, which would make me happier and improve my social life, which would make me happier as well.

It would be a huge thing to not have to worry about, which would free up so much energy. It would drastically effect my mental state and level of self-love.

I'm not saying that losing weight would solve my problems. I'm naive but not that naive. I just know that it would be a gigantic step toward improving my life.

The only concern I have is that getting such a surgery would not change my eating behaviours in itself, so I would definitely need to get help on that part of the deal.

So those are two gigantic things that will be happening before the big 3-0 (not sure about the surgery yet though).

I'm so tired right now that the usual momentum I'd have for "trying again, but this time better" is not showing itself. The thought of listing all of the things I need/want to accomplish is so overwhelming that I think it's best if I just try to keep it simple until I'm more capable of pondering more. Even the simple things are making my heart rate a little jumpy.

1. Take good care of myself.

That's my first job. I'll go from there.

I'm actually not done writing this entry, but my eyes are getting a lil' tired so I'll end it for now.

If you've read all this, well, you're a trooper! Thanks :)


Love Marylin.

Bored Is The New Busy

I'm sitting here surrounded by candlelight, the girl who claims there are never enough hours in the day, and I'm bored to tears... bored. I don't know why. I have a million things I could be doing but for some reason I don't feel like doing any of them - I am bored. I am.

My head is all over the place today, maybe that has something to do with it - should meditate or something but, I'm too bored.

It was a freezing day, a hot earl gray vanilla tea day, a snuggle under the covers with George and read more 'Water For Elephants' day... and a day to light candles in hopes that will help warm the place up a bit more.

Hmmm, it's the winter thing: I hate winter! The moment I step outside, the cold creeps into my skin and burrows its way into my muscle and bone and I turn to stone. I can't move. I'm in pain! I'm miserable and to top it off, I can't breathe.

So I end up hibernating mostly, which I've come to somewhat enjoy, but god-damn it I want to go out! I want to take a walk... somewhere, anywhere, because I'm bored. And I find myself wishing for summer again and I don't want to do that - I don't want to always be waiting for something to make things better, but for god's sake, the season eats up at least half the damn year and as much as I love to live here, I'm so tempted to pack up and move to California or somewhere nice and sunny all the time.

A proper winter coat would likely help, though.

I'm having a love/hate relationship with Facebook these days. It's a great rolodex and has some great networking capabilities, but it IS like high school and even if I'm not the one participating in the retarded-ness, I am still somewhat effected... there are things I just don't need to see or be reminded of and facebook has a funny way of making that happen. Stupid facebook. Oh well, thicker skin.

P.S. Mark Ryden is good shit...



-Love Marylin.

Oh Lord Won't You Buy Me....

Soy yogurt kicks dairy yogurt's ass! Seriously it's so yummy.

Anyway, I need a pantry/cabinet type thing! I've been looking for one for a while with no luck. I've tried people I know, Kijiji, and Freecycle. I neeeeeed one people!

Something like this or similar:

Today's the full moon - good stuff.

I can't stand looking in my coffee cup to find it empty... it's such a disappointing thing.

Hmm I think I'd like to rant a bit...

My momentary topic of choice is a popular one for me: the health system! DUN DUN!

To make a very very long story short, I have (another) useless doctor who is being replaced. I'm very excited about this because there's always the chance this new guy will be decent and I can actually have a HEALER rather than a business person treat my health.

My last appointment with the useless doctor was around two months ago and she said we should have received a letter in the mail regarding her replacement. I still haven't gotten any letter and they were late two months ago. I obviously don't expect to receive one. How very professional. I called the doc's office about a month ago to see if I could schedule an appointment with the replacement doctor (since the current doctor would be gone) and they said no I couldn't. So I'm basically without a doctor (quite a familiar feeling actually).

Luckily, I don't get "sick" and am not dieing or anything, but I am disabled (fibromyalgia, osteoarthritis) which means I should be looked after on a regular basis to see how things are progressing, if I'm in too much pain, etc etc.

I've never had that. And to top it off, disability doesn't really care if I do, as long as I HAVE a doctor.

I just wanna be treated! By a professional! It's all well and good if I can treat myself (I'm not a medication fan) but I am not a certified doctor! lol There are things I don't know about that a doctor does (should) and I think I'm entitled as a Canadian citizen to have that, no?

I would really really like to see a Naturopath... they seem to be true healers as they treat the WHOLE person and not just try to band aid over the symptoms. But even though they have as much, if not more, education than an MD, the government refuses to cover the expenses of seeing a Naturopath. Oh my, those Naturopaths won't use our lovely chemical-licious drugs, they won't make us any money, screw them and all the people who would benefit from their healing.

May I remind people that the original medicine comes from the earth? The earth provides us with EVERYTHING we need. The only reason you have your disgusting drugs is because you twisted the earth's medicine into something you thought was better.

Doctors used to be healers. Not anymore. The more patients they can squeeze in, the more moola they make. The more prescriptions they dole out, the more money they make. They don't get bonuses for healing though.

You have a pain in your side? Here take two of these a day.

The pain pills are making you nauseous? Here, take these pills as well.

You say the pain in your side hurts a little less but now you're losing feeling in your fingers?

Anyway, you get the point. And the point is that the very reason you had the pain in your side is totally ignored. Aches, pains, etc are your bodies super cool natural way of letting you know there is something wrong with it. It is asking to be healed, not bombarded with chemicals that create even worse problems.

*sigh*

Yes it's a mess.

I'll stop - unless you'd like to read a whole book on it :P

So when and if I ever get to see this replacement doctor, he had better be good because my options are running out.

I will spend the money on a Naturopath, but I shouldn't have to... I really can't afford it, but what are my choices? Seriously, tell me...

Alright, enough of this, I'll leave you with a little poem for your amusement.

Fate Of The Muse

At my lap you sit and stare
In my hands you leave your care
And I extend myself to you
So in my thoughts and all I do
For you to grow and heal and thrive
It is your muse, I have arrived.
And through my love you grow to be
The person you've been trying to be

In my bed you lie and stare
Amazed of lust that is so rare
But you have grown and now you see
You cannot give your love to me
It must be false, the love you feel
And mine cannot be very real
There must be more than what I've shown
A muse must forever be alone.

-Love Marylin.

Just Some Awareness

I Cut Ma Brotherrr In Half

Hmmm so I finally started this new blog that I've been sitting on for like a year, so go check it out: The Thrifty Witch. I believe that's blog #4 that I write on.... no I don't have an obsession...

Actually, there is going to be another new one sometime in the future, all about books baby!

So what else is new...

I'm losing weight. Doing it the slow, healthy way so it stays off for good. I don't want to get skinny though, I'd rather still have a little meat on the bones, the way women were meant to be thank you.

The only part I have trouble with is the exercise because it really hurts! LOL I know you're saying "duh, of course it hurts!" but I have to contend with the pain of Osteoarthritis and Fibromyalgia which means it doesn't get much easier as I go along, it all depends on what my body wants to throw at me any particular day.

I'm trying to find out if ODSP will cover my transportation to the YWCA so I can go swimming, but with the way they work (under the government) I'm sure it will be quite the battle.

Anyway, while we're on the subject of weight loss, I might as well rant about the whole diet thing:

Diets don't work!

When someone goes on a diet, they are usually depriving themselves of a certain food group, taking some sort of pill, or doing some other thing that isn't good for the health.

If the said diet actually works and the weight comes off (that is, if their body hasn't had enough and they don't end up binging, thus repeating the whole diet-roller coaster that reeks havoc on the body) the person usually goes back to eating the way they did before and they will gain even more weight back because the body will want to store more fat since it's felt like it has been starved during the diet period.

It's a vicious cycle and it is abusive to the body.

The only thing that is going to work and be permanent is changing the way you eat FOREVER. That sounds scary, so the key to doing that is by NOT depriving yourself, because if you do, it just won't work.

The simple fact is if you want to lose weight, you have to use more energy than you take in. You simply cannot eat too much! Sounds simple so why do most people fail?

Because they're dieting! lol

The only weight loss plans I've ever heard of actually working working are calorie counting, and weight watchers - they are basically the same exact thing except with weight watchers you use points which I find makes counting a hell of a lot simpler and thus easier to do.

The reason you need to count the calories is so you can make sure you are not taking in too many, and so that you can learn more about the foods you're eating and know that in fact a bagel counts as two servings and a seemingly innocent bran muffin packs a ton of calories (and I'm talking sometimes around 500 or more!).



Keep counting and you will eventually begin to memorize a whole lot of it, making it easier to continue eating properly.

But remember, you cannot deprive yourself! That's just asking for disaster. The key is moderation and common sense.

You have to eat healthy. Make it more interesting and more beneficial by getting many different kinds of produce so you don't end up getting sick of anything - makes it more fun too.

Hell I'm doing it and I hardly ever eat salad, imagine that lol.

People eat too much. Once you start eating less, you'll probably wonder how you could have eaten as much as you did before you started.



Don't be an idiot! Know yourself. What are your weaknesses? I can't keep certain foods in the house because I just KNOW I will binge on them, so I just eat those foods outside the home, in moderation.

Pop is a culprit. Regular pop is loaded with sugar, which is very fattening, and diet pop is loaded with sodium and aspartame, which will bloat you and do all kinds of horrible things to your body. I refuse to keep it in my house so if I want some I have to go buy a can at the store and I won't drink diet so I really have to think about whether I want to waste those points/calories on a can of pop.



But if you don't eat things you like, you will regret it. You will eventually give in and probably binge because you've been deprived for so long. So the ticket is to eat what you like, but not all the time and in moderation.

I'm doing it right now and I don't feel AT ALL like I'm dieting. And I'm losing weight. Since I know it will take a very long time to lose all the weight I want to lose, I know what I'm doing is right because I feel confident that I'll have no problem eating this way for the rest of my life. It's just more satisfying over-all because when you eat right, you feel so much better and hardly ever crave bad foods.

I could go on about this subject forever so I'll just add a few more things:

You HAVE to eat regularly. This has been a huge problem for me in the past (and still sometimes now). But the fact is, it screws up your metabolism if you don't eat every few hours. If you don't eat regularly, you will not lose weight, plain and simple.

You cannot weigh yourself too often! This will just screw with your mind and make you obsessed with the numbers because the body fluctuates in weight all the time. I'd say once a week is your best bet.



Water is so important. We're made up of mostly water and the body functions at its best when we are drinking enough of it. Water helps you lose weight, it cleanses the systems, helps flush things out, and makes the body perform it's functions better.

Don't get depressed if you have a week of not losing any weight, or even gaining a bit of weight: it doesn't necessarily mean you're doing anything wrong so just keep at it and you'll probably see results next time. If the pattern keeps repeating though, you have to look closer at what you're doing and possibly make some changes.

Anyways, I'm sure that's enough ranting for now lol.

I'll close with an accomplishment =) I make these disgustingly delicious brownies that Don is in love with. They're just too good not to eat lol. So I made him a batch yesterday and whilst I was baking, I counted up how many points they were so that I could safely enjoy one for myself and know how much I was putting in my body.

This is what I'm talking about with being smart and moderation. This way you are fully satisfied and don't have to explain to everyone why you cannot eat dessert lol.

Alright, enough.

Happy mother's day to all the good ones out there, and especially my own mum who is the bestest and would give her arm and leg up for her children - I love you!!!

-Love Marylin.

Who Took My Spoon?

The Spoon Theory - a very accurate way of communicating my own illnesses.

-Fibromyalgia-
It's a pain
in the...
well, everywhere.

Love Marylin