Puppy Getting HEAVY

I just had a bit of a mental breakdown, and whilst I was sat there crying hysterically I realised that the monologue in my head* might actually make me feel a little better if I actually SAID it to someone, or typed it at least.

Anyway, here's what happened: (Not the answer to the whole 'oh shit what's wrong?' question, but the answer to the 'what little thing happened that made you start crying which then made you think of all the other shitty things which perpetuated the crying and turned you into a hysterical sobbing mess?' question. Which is a far better question. Why does no-one ever ask THAT question? I don't care if it's wordy; I like wordy.)

I got up to go to the loo. There was a puppy downstairs, but she's always intrigued by the noise of people moving upstairs, even if it's only down the hall, and there was an open packet of cookies on my bedside table. It wasn't within easy reach and puppy KNOWS not to EVER take things off of tables/desks/etc, but the cookies were too tempting. I should have known this because she stole one earlier when I got up to go to the loo***. I come back, see her with her head in the pack of cookies, shout at her (which hurts my throat), grab her (which dislocates a shoulder and subluxes a wrist), she squirms, I keep hold of her (subluxing the other wrist and an elbow) and throw her out of the room (not quite literally, but still getting the other elbow). Then close the door and collapse sobbing against it because both of my arms are just huge masses of PAIN and WRONGNESS and I have no idea how to go about setting them to rights when both of them are so completely dead and I'm so weak and ill and crashing and I'm already in so much pain and the stupid fucking thing about putting joints back in the right place is that you have to put yourself in MORE pain in order to FIX the pain and it's all just so ridiculous and overwhelming and I don't know how to deal with it and I HATE putting myself in pain and WHY exactly haven't people prescribed me any working painkillers yet? Then the hyperventilating hysterical sobbing hurts my throat and my ribs and I tell myself to suck it up and I fix all my joints because I know damn well that the longer I leave them the worse they'll hurt and the more likely they are to cause some sort of permanent damage so now matter HOW bad I hurt I can't just sit there crying like a baby; I have to be all grown up about it and fix it.

I fucking hate that. I want to be able to break down and CRY dammit. Except I don't, really. Want to cry, that is. Crying sucks. It's given me a headache and made my throat worse. What I want is to not feel so goddamn helpless that I feel the need to break down and cry like a baby. I HATE being so broken and I HATE being so fucking dependent on someone else to take care of me. And I was HOPING to be able to look after myself for the rest of the night until I'm able to fall asleep but I'm fairly certain my chances of that just went out the window and now I'll have to wait on someone else's fucking convenience in order to get drinks to soothe my goddamned throat.

I have no idea how I'm going to manage getting up next time I need the loo, by the way. All that sitting against the door seems to have killed my back, which doesn't help me with walking, and the crying made the lightheadedness worse, which also doesn't help with walking.

Fuuuuuck.

EDIT: Yup. Depressing moment there. First ever 'I need someone to help me go to the loo' moment. The shoulder that dislocated is none too happy about it, despite being fixed now, and I can't reach down with that arm, nor could I bend forwards without hurting my back and shoulder blade, so I couldn't actually pull my pants down myself. FML. Although, less FML than all the carer-less disabled people out there, who I'm feeling extra sorry for and depressed about at the minute. Because if it wasn't for Rambo...I don't even want to think about that. It's a horrifying and disgusting thought, to be honest. I'm going to go back to crying for a little while.






*I do that all the time. A constant attempt at explaining myself to other people from the rational part of my brain. Except it never gets said to said other people** and then I forget about it. And it's not explained and they don't understand and I don't feel any better for it.

**I'm sorry if I occasionally write confusing sentences like that. It's a poetic thing that creeps into my prose which I've always enjoyed because I have a thing for word-play, but other people like to shout at me about. Fuck off, I like it.

***My throat is on fire, so I've drunk about 10 cups of water today, and 4 or 5 cups of hot blackcurrant/lemon/throat-soothy-mediciny stuff. I have a weak bladder. I've been running back and forth from the loo all day, despite the nearly-fainting-ness that accompanies standing up when you a fever and POTS. I've not fainted. Yet****. Fingers crossed.

****Actually, now that I think about it, I don't think I've fainted once since we worked out what was making me faint. I still FEEL like I'm going to all the time, but I know what causes it now and I'm so much better at recognising the signs and forcing myself to collapse on the floor if I need to in order to stop me fainting. I mean, I end up on the floor either way but the first is by far the better option.