Car Crash

Sooo, I'm terrified of driving.

Always have been. This possibly stemmed from having a crazy mother who drove a shitty little mini that was prone to breaking down in the middle of the road pretty much every day. Or it may have stemmed from the fact that I actually understand statistics*, and realise that a) most people are stupid, b) most people drive, c) most car accidents are caused by stupid people, and d) the chance of you being in a car accident at some point is pretty ridiculously high. Or it may have been some combination of the two.

I've never considered it a phobia as it wasn't an irrational fear. As I've just explained, cars are fucking terrifying and that's a perfectly rational, logical thing. What's less logical is me trying to train myself out of this fear and trying to make myself trust people's driving skills. I'm thinking that was a bad idea.

See, last night we were driving along a country road in the dark and the rain. This is partly because the dual-carriageway we would normally take was closed and the satnav refused to recalculate in any way other than continually trying to get us back onto that dual-carriageway by forcing us down country roads every time we got turned away from the turning we wanted to take by traffic cones and shit; partly because we'd driven all the way down from Manchester and were only 3 miles away from Rambo's Dad's place (our destination) and weren't gonna be stopped by a little bit of rain and/or dark when we were that close. Nor would we be stopped by the road being closed.

What we would be stopped by, apparently, was a tree.

I can't really tell you much about the situation leading up to this tree collision as, being utterly terrified of this whole driving thing, let alone this extra-terrifying driving-in-the-wet-and-dark thing, I had my eyes firmly shut and had resolved to do keep them that way until we got there.

Then I heard a 'shit' from Rambo, opened my eyes, saw a tree, thought 'Oh shit we're ACTUALLY going to hit that' (as opposed to all the other times I opened my eyes during this drive to see something or other that we were in no way going to hit and thinking 'oh shit we're going to hit that' before promptly closing my eyes again and telling myself to trust Rambo), heard a bang, felt some pain, and kind of sat there taking stock of my various joints to make sure they were all in place whilst Rambo shouted at me to 'Get out of the fucking car!' - surprisingly, all joints remained firmly within their various sockets at this point.

After being yelled at twice by Rambo and once by the person whose house this tree was in front of to get out of/away from the car, I figured 'screw it' and got out and away from the car despite my aching leg and lack of shoes (because shoes are evil torture devices and having had to endure them all the way TO the car I will immediately take them off until we reach our destination), managed to hobble over to the garden steps of the woman-whose-house-this-tree-was-in-front-of (aka; the-woman-we-woke-up or even the-woman-who-called-the-ambulance-and-police), and sat there in a state of terrified shock and pain until Rambo fetched me the wheelchair out of the boot so I could sit in a state of terrified shock and pain on something that wasn't wet and muddy. Then woman-we-woke-up-who-called-the-polica-and-ambulance's neighbours came out with an umbrella for me and some tea for Rambo (I think they offered me a mug but I was busy being in lots of shock and pain and mayyy have snapped at them to stop asking me questions - if so I apologise for that, lovely people who offered tea and whose umbrella I accidentally stole).

Eventually, round about the time when I was getting rather sick of shock and pain and was moving on to boredom, the police and an ambulance got there. Lovely paramedic asked me a bunch of questions - some of them repeatedly, because he refused to believe that I hadn't hit my head at all and needed to keep checking. Then wheeled me into the ambulance, helped me transfer onto the bed/stretcher/thing/(what is that called?) in there, got annoyed with me for having no conditions that he had actually heard of or knew how to spell, made me laugh, got told off for making me laugh as my stomach hurt (note - I had my laptop on my lap in the car as earlier I'd been using totally-not-scary-because-it's-not-moving traffic to write (totally blame NaNo curse for this) and airbag jammed it into my stomach quite badly), offered opiates, got more annoyed with my awkwardness when I explained they didn't work on me, then gave me laughing gas** and proceeded to spend the rest of the journey making me giggle without being told off, and telling me over and over again to take more despite the fact that the reason I kept stopping was to answer the questions he kept asking me.

Theeeeen we got to the hospital, and lovely paramedics had to go away and take my nice laughing gas with them. Hospital staff refused to give me anymore, and instead offered me paracetamol and some bullshit weak opiate that I was long past bothering to try on even my normal pain. Without the laughing gas my pain rose to an 8 and then steadily up to a 9, at which point I started crying uncontrollably because that's what I do at a 9. Then they made me lie around waiting for hours. I'm not sure why. An hour or so later a nurse tried to take my blood, failed, got another nurse to try it who also failed (they both tried on both arms so that's 4 unnecessary holes in me). The second nurse came to the conclusion that stopping me from shivering with cold (remember how I'd walked on bare feet through the wet a couple hours ago and then sat in the rain for ages before the ambulance got there? Yeah, nobody thought to get me a blanket or anything (except Rambo, but as he got me that in the rain it was then soaking wet and got thrown on the floor of the ambulance)) might be a good idea. Then they left me alone under warm blankets for another hour or so. The warm blankets don't stay warm that long and I was freezing again after only ten minutes, but nobody came back for another hour.

Anyway, hour later and finally got to see a doctor, who asked me where it hurt and then, completely ignoring me crying hysterically and pleading with him not to, proceeded to press down extremely hard over pretty much everywhere I was bruised. I may or may not have screamed. I'm not sure. Everything goes a bit blurry when the pain hits a 10 and I'm not precisely aware of anything but the pain. I do know that he spiked my previously-considered-to-be-at-a-9 pain even higher after he'd stopped. I had to re-evaluate my scale a bit to be able to call this a 9 as I sobbed uncontrollably (different to crying uncontrollably - that's a normal reaction to a 9 for me but usually involves no sobbing whatsoever as if I'm at a 9 then sobbing will do nothing but make it worse...which it did, but I still couldn't stop). Then presumably due to possible-screams (still not sure on that - will have to ask Rambo), a nurse brought me some morphine, despite it very clearly saying on the notes the doctor had been handed by paramedics that opiates DO NOT WORK on me. I had the morphine, doctor did an ultrasound on my stomach while I sobbed a lot and couldn't speak, then told me I could leave once the morphine kicked in.

...

Yeah, once that thing that doesn't work on me works I can leave.

...

So anyway, an hour later Rambo finally manages to get a hold of someone to ask them what the fuck they think they're doing, and doctor comes back and basically tells me to gtfo***. Nurse apologises that she can't give anything else to help with the pain. Rambo tries to explain that I cannot physically get up because the pain in my abdomen means I can't bend, and the subluxed ankle and swollen shin mean I can't walk, and I have no shoes on, and I don't have my wheelchair there. Doctor says we can take a wheelchair out to the taxi ramp outside, and once again basially tells me to gtfo.

...

By this point the back pain of being in a hospital bed coupled with the pain of being poked and prodded and subluxated by various doctors and nurses has me pissed off, filled with adrenaline, and most importantly ready to get the fuck out of there so I manage to transfer into a hospital wheelchair despite the dizzying-nearly-black-out-ness of the pain level 10 that creates, and then do the same again at the taxi***, and the same again when we get to Rambo's Dad's.

Long story short: I'm stuck in bed at Rambo's Dad's (where I have no air machine because he wouldn't approve). I can't sleep, because lying anywhere but on my back bumps my pain up to a 10, and trying to sleep on my back causes my brain to think I'm falling for some reason and jolt me awake with a start which hurts like fuck. I can't eat because I can't sit up properly, and because my stomach hurts like fuck. I am managing to drink small amounts of watery squash but probably not enough to combat the dehydration from not being able to stop crying. I can't get out of bed unaided, and have nearly passed out 4 times already from attempting to go to the toilet. Every single part of me is screaming from being stuck in this position but trying to move out of it puts me back in that state of complete unawareness of anything but pain that is my 10.

I'm finding it rather hard to believe that they let me out of hospital, to be honest. Let alone insisted against both mine and Rambo's wishes.

(NOTE: Rambo's fine, by the way. In case anyone was wondering. Lucky fucker got off with a graze on his arm and nothing else. And has managed to both eat and sleep since then.)




*Don't start arguing with me about this. I don't have numbers to back this up and I can't be arsed to go looking. I'm in a lot of pain, you douche.

**It's pretty much exactly like sucking on my air machine, except it doesn't last longer than 10 seconds after they take it away from me, whereas air lasts me hours.

***No not in those words. I can't remember the exact words - everything is a pain-addled haze. I just remember the gist and no matter how politely it was put, the gist was 'get the fuck out'.

****Quick sidenote - Mr. Taxi Driver, I don't care how interesting the car crashes you want to talk about are, you do not talk about them in front of someone who has just come out of hospital from a car crash and is already absolutely terrified of the fact that she's in a car, and has politely explained this to you and asked you to fucking stop it already.

I ran out of words

...but it's okay, because Rambo understands me anyway.

Me: Sugar?
Rambo: What?
Me: Su...gar? *holds out mug*
Rambo: Okay, I'll go put the kettle on. *takes mug*
Me: Sugah!
Rambo: Do you need me to put some words in this?
Me: Sugar? *headtilt*
Rambo: You want words in your tea, or are you just low on blood sugar?
Me: Sugarrrrr.
Rambo: Well, you seem to be down to your last word, so I'll put some words in this.
Me: Sugah! *smiles*
Rambo: (to Moxie) Do you have any words for your Mommy?
Moxie: *shakes self*
Rambo: So that's a no, then?
Me: NO! SUGAH!
Rambo: *laughs, and goes off to make tea*

Evil Genius

Couldn't sleep last night. Too much pain. Went downstairs to get a snack but couldn't manage to make it back up the stairs. Tried curling up on the sofa with a book but Moxie wouldn't leave me alone. Took cushions, blankets, snacks and book into the hall where I could shut the door and hide from the dog. Made nest of blankets/cushions, read book until I was so exhausted I was dropping off. Managed to get back up the stairs and collapsed in bed.

Rambo woke up in bed with me, as he had been when he went to sleep. Went to work, on the way discovering a nest of cushions and blankets in the hall, with the door open and the books etc put away on a table.

He spent all day thinking Moxie was an evil genius who built herself a nest to sleep in. I was loathe to disillusion him.

Rambo Sucks Sometimes

I was trying to be organised on Thursday and get some things sorted out. There are a LOT of things that need sorting out and I have a craptastic memory, so I made a list and then showed it to Rambo saying 'We need to do these. Preferably today.'

He thought I said 'YOU need to do these' and was quite happy about that, saying it was no problem and he could do everything on the list today. I was a bit miffed - I'm not THAT demanding and it's a bit bitchy to give him a huge list and expect him to do it all. I didn't, but the fact that he's so unfazed thinking that I did that upsets me in a 'how could he think that of me?' kind of way. I explain that I said 'WE' need to do them and he goes 'oh okay' and we start discussing what I can and can't do on the list.

One of the points involves a phone. Specifically, calling the bank about getting a new bank card as Rambo lost ours (it's a joint account, but he lost his card, then repeatedly stole mine because he couldn't be bothered to get a new one, then lost mine). I, due to social anxiety and brain foggy cock-ups with conversation and asperger-like problems, really really hate phones. Really. I'm sure I've mentioned before that just the act of picking up the phone and trying to dial a number often sends me into panic attacks and tears. I can't deal with phones.

This always pisses Rambo off, because while he's quite understanding about my physical problems, he's not so good with the mental. His entire family is of the 'mental illness is a sign of weakness, anybody can overcome it just with willpower' way of thinking. He tells me at times, when I'm upset, that it's my fault for choosing to feel that way and nobody can force me to be upset, it's all down to me.

So when I try to get out of doing that particular chore on the list, he gets quite mad about it. Despite being quite happy five minutes ago to do EVERYTHING on the list, he now thinks it's incredibly unfair for me to not want to phone people. I offer to do other things instead but this just makes him madder as the things I'm offering to do instead will hurt me physically and he thinks I'm choosing to hurt myself. I try to explain that the phone will hurt me mentally so I'm not choosing to hurt myself over not hurting myself, just choosing the hurt I find easier to cope with. He's still mad about it, and starts telling me that surely I'd recover from the mental hurt easier.

Then we started arguing over other points, one of which was writing a letter to certain benefits people. I explained that I have a lot of difficulty with writing and asked if he could do that one, and he explodes in an angry rant about how writing is what I DO for God's sake. I can't get a word in edgeways for a while but when he eventually shuts up I tell him that that's all well and good and if he got me a printer I could write as many fucking letters as he likes, but until then I still can't physically put pen to paper. He concedes and tries to write the letter, but fails so miserably at having legible handwriting that I have to take over. And end up in tears from the pain.

Anyway. I do all my chores. I (half-)write the damn letter and walk the dog and put some laundry on and put clean dishes away and collapse and can't do much else because I'm completely out of spoons. Rambo washes some dishes and ignores the rest of his chores to play video games.

He didn't even wash the things I needed to make dinner. Siiiiigh.

INVINCIBLE

So I was watching the latest House and (OMG SPOILER!!*) his patient's daughter is all crying and telling her dad 'You can't die! You're my daddy!' and Rambo gets very confused and starts telling me that that logic makes no sense whatsoever.

I quite loudly and vehemently told him that it made perfect sense because DADDIES ARE INVINCIBLE and my Daddy can't die because he's my daddy.

Rambo decided that daughters are weird. I explained that it's not just daughters; Moxie knows he is invincible because he is her daddy. He didn't seem convinced.

Hrmmm.





*EDIT: I say spoiler even though it's perfectly common knowledge that House's patients are pretty much in constant state of 'terminally ill' and anyone who's ever watched an episode of House would know that - and anyone who hadn't wouldn't care - because occasionally people from TLR read this blog and there's been super-lots of drama lately about the 'no spoilers' rule.

Hint: It's common knowledge for anyone who's ever watched ANY episode that House's patients are in fear of dying. It's not common knowledge whether they actually die or not in any given episode. You don't sit there at the start of the episode and go 'oh I've seen this one! She dies!' do you? Well, maybe you do. If so, you're a bastard.

Along these lines - it's common knowledge that Harry Potter is a wizard. It's not common knowledge what happens at the end of the last book, no matter how long it's been out for. WHY CAN YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THIS!? COMMON SENSE. (and courtesy)

WTF

Moxie's not quite house-trained yet. This is partly due to me not always being able to jump up and take her to the newspaper/outside when she needs me to and partly due to Rambo just watching her when she wees on the floor and going 'Ohhhhh Moxiiiieee...' but not actually doing anything about it so she thinks he's condoning it. And then not cleaning it up so the whole fucking house smells like a toilet to her.

I'm doing the best I can, when I'm able to, and cleaning things up when I see them, but I can't do it alone and I need his help. But every time I tell him that he goes 'Help? HELP?! You want me to do it all myself! That's not me helping, that's me doing it and you helping!' Because apparently he's incapable of seeing that I do things.

Anyhow, she's getting there slowly. She mostly goes on the newspaper and she won't go on carpet or furniture at all - just the kitchen and living floors that are easy to clean. She just gets confused about the rest of it. She's only three months old, I've known dogs take far longer to be house-trained, but it's pissing Rambo off.

So about last night...I had a dislocated ankle, was laid up on the sofa unable to move, and the house was pretty quiet. I worry about it being quiet when she's not in sight as it usually means she's found something out of sight to chew, so I call her. She doesn't respond. Rambo refuses to move because he's busy playing computer games*. Hour and a half later I get my ankle to stay in place long enough for me to hobble upstairs to bed, Rambo comes with me. We open the bedroom door to find a poor little puppy who managed to trap herself in there, tail wagging like mad as she's so happy to be free and have her people back. Problem is, as she's been stuck in there for an hour and a half, she's pood on the carpet. Not something she'd normally do and she was stuck for God's sake, but Rambo sees that, flips out screaming 'FUCKING DOG' at her and then KICKS her. With shoes on.

She yelps and runs to her mommy for protection, I scream at him, comfort her, and start crying. He cleans it up and storms off. Me and Moxie go to bed and I lock the bedroom door because people who kick puppies don't get to sleep in the bed with me.

...I then cry for hours, thinking about things. Rambo's always had a nasty temper and it's scary enough when he's just kicking doors and punching computer monitors and walls, but to kick the PUPPY? It's noon the next day and he's still not said a word of apology or to even acknowledge that what he did was wrong. I'm...not sure I can live with that. You don't kick dogs. You especially don't kick defenceless little puppies. What the FUCK was he thinking?

This is the first time I've actually seriously considered leaving him, and it scared the fuck out of me because there is no way I could take care of myself, let alone Moxie. I did it for that one week but I struggled so fucking much and I was only able to cope because I knew he was coming back and I could just ignore most things and leave it for him to fix afterwards. I can't go live with my Dad as there's no room. I don't really want to go live with anyone else as I'm pretty sure nobody else knows just how bad I am these days and they won't know what they're getting themselves into and I don't want to be a burden.

EDIT: He apologised, and promised to never ever ever do it again. He's not so great at keeping promises though, and if he breaks this one I don't think he's going to get another chance.






*Don't get me fucking started on that. He keeps starting up instances when he's in the middle of something like cooking dinner and then getting pissed off at me when an hour later I go '...weren't you cooking dinner? Shouldn't you check on that?' and shouts at me that he's busy, so I go check on the charcoal instead, get pissed off and make my own food. Now, I don't mind making my own food, but when he's cooking I figure I don't have to, and when he's cooking he usually makes the food that I can't which means I can't really take over halfway through when he decides an instance run would be more fun.

Yay

Rambo's home. Sort of. He was here for less than two hours before he had to go to work and now I have to wait until this evening to see him again.

It's alright though - he brought me painkillers and I am making cookies. I would prefer faster ways of ingesting painkillers but I really don't like smoking. I did just have a look at the bank account though and as most of the money in it is my DLA that just got paid, and as pain relief is a vital part of care, I just put in an order for a vaporiser pipe...and some seeds. Can't wait.

Monster-psycho-puppy has all kinds of energy right now though and is making it difficult to type this up, but it's pouring down with rain outside and she really wouldn't like going out in it - not least because there'll be no-one else out in it and the whole reason she likes the park is because of all the other interesting people and dogs there for her to play with.

Maybe the park will be more interesting now that she'll actually be able to walk around it? I've been limping to the nearest bench and then just sitting there for a half hour while she runs around greeting every person/dog who comes near us. I get the feeling she will like Rambo-walks a lot more.

I <3 Raspberry

I got a Tesco delivery earlier. I booked it for when Rambo went away to ensure that I had LOTS of ready-meals and easy-food around to sustain me whilst he was gone. I normally only keep a few in the house as a last resort but then I'm normally alright to cook...but then I normally have other people to help out with crazy psycho energetic puppy and other housework. I am so dead on my feet now.

Anyway, I got some comfort food in as well as I figured I would need it, and the damn people decided to substitute my raspberry sorbet for lemon. Who the fuck wants lemon sorbet? It's sour and horrible and most importantly - NOT RASPBERRY. I am sulking. Waa.

Also, Rambo called me about an hour ago to check how I was doing and I wanted to scream at him that I'm so not handling this very well and tell him about the subluxed rib and the psycho puppy and all the letters that I don't know how to deal with but I didn't. There's nothing he can do about it except come home early and I really don't want him to do that; he's visiting family in Derby because his brother's coming home for a week. His brother's been travelling the world for the last couple of years, living in Australia for the last year, and is only back for a week. He needs to see him.

I don't want him to come home early, and I don't want him to worry about me any more than he has to - there's nothing he can do about it. But I feel like I'm lying to him when he's asking me if I'm alright and if I'm sure I can cope without him and if I'm really alright and not just saying that and I say yes to all of the above. :/

Oshit

So, turns out Scouser's not coming as she forgot she had other plans that she'd already put deposits on. I am now officially alone. Until Thursday at least.

I am so fucking terrified that I have been in tears since Rambo left. I can't take care of myself, let alone Moxie as well.

I'm exhausted. I've not slept and I can barely move. POTS is flaring like mad and I've been coughing and sneezing for the last couple days so I figure I've got a cold (and a fever that's flaring my POTS.)

To top it all off, I just got letters through the mail saying:

1. Housing Benefit won't give me any more money until I send them the letter stating my ESA has ended. I never got the damn letter because ESA fails at their own bureaucracy and the only way I found out it had stopped was by phoning them to ask where the fuck my money was.

2. A new council tax bill for July-March stating I owe them £710, no mention of my Council Tax Benefit.

3. A letter from the estate agents saying they're going to be doing an inspection on Wednesday. When the house will be in a right fucking state because there is no way I can clean it and look after me and the dog - and if there's ridiculous amounts of puppy-related mess they may well change their minds about me being allowed a dog.

4. Finally got my new Choose & Book letter and once again the only appointment available is THREE MONTHS from now. I've not booked it and will just keep trying every day in the hopes of a cancellation I guess.

I CANNOT DEAL WITH ALL OF THIS SHIT RIGHT NOW.

Procrastination Is My Middle Name

I just realised that I can't actually remember the last spontaneously nice thing Rambo did for me. It's not that he doesn't do things for me, but I always have to ask and then feel guilty for asking; and it's not that he's not affectionate, it's just that I always have to initiate it.

I'm not really asking for much, just, you know, it would be nice if he went to make a cup of tea and would make me one as well, or at least offer. I make him tea when I make myself some. If I'm cooking food I'll cook for him too. If I'm getting myself a snack I'll get him one as well. If I'm putting a movie on I'll deliberately pick something we both like.

He just...doesn't seem to ever think about anyone but himself, unless prompted to. I'm not sure that that's not just normal for males, but it upsets me, as I'm nearly always thinking about him.

There wasn't really much point to this rant. He's just being male, and I'm not really worried about it - I'm just procrastinating because I'm meant to be writing stories about drop-bears and I need to do some damned research about Australia in general. Naughty me.

BOYS!

Feeling kind of excluded and left out of things. Rambo and The Music Man are spending all their time playing video games together and I'm stuck up here lying in bed because being out of bed just hurts too much. I'm so bored and lonely. I know, there's a whole internet full of lovely people to talk to*, but that won't cure my loneliness, that's not what I want. I don't want to talk; I'm not a very talkative person. I just want to sit with Rambo and cuddle for a bit, that's all.

I'd tell him this, but the last time I did that he told TMM and they just sat there laughing at me being girly. Rambo has no goddamned tact.

I'm sure there were other things that I wanted to say, but my memory really is that shitty that I can't really remember most of today.

Oh, wait, I know. Rent was due today. We can't really pay it. Rambo managed to lose £300 worth of cheques after I nagged him for a week straight to go down to the bank and cash them. Fairly certain they're in the house somewhere but been looking for a week and can't find them. I'm sure if he'd just clean the fucking house they'd turn up but even with £300 riding on it he'd rather sit around playing video games and going 'Eh, it's not that bad. We don't need the money. We pay rent late all the time!'

I've tried cleaning myself but I don't get very far before I need to collapse and then by the time I've got the energy to try again it's worse than when I started.

Again, who the fuck thought it was a good idea to live with two boys?

...I brought this on myself. I know it. But on the one hand, it's sort of a good thing - if I was living with girls, they'd shout at me for being untidy, rather than the other way around.





*Yes, I mean you guys. You're all lovely. <3

Everest

So, Manchester Ska Bar. Where to begin?

We wanted to buy some trading cards whilst we were in town, as we started playing with them again since The Music Man moved in. Made three stops trying to find some. Travelling Man - huge step to get in the shop, was quite difficult. They didn't have any of the cards we were after, told us to try Forbidden Planet. Forbidden Planet - huge step to get in the shop, was quite difficult, then the things we were after were downstairs so Rambo and TMM headed down, leaving me stranded in front of a Twilight stand. Thanks, guys. They didn't have any of the cards we were after but the guy downstairs said to try FanBoy3. FanBoy3 had an even bigger step to get in, and doors too tiny for the wheelchair to get through. More annoyingly, they had card tables set up inside, and a back room with a bunch of guys playing D&D. Apparently they have D&D games going roughly ten times a week. I've been looking for a D&D game to join, but that one just ain't gonna cut it.

Then we headed over to Ska Bar, Rambo and TMM slaloming me in and out of scaffolding and deliberating going up and down kerbs rather than ramps because they 'need practice'. Ugh. Ska Bar itself - huge step at the front entrance, tiny door; many steps at back entrance. Got out of the chair to get in there, and to walk down the two flights of stairs to the basement where the gig was. Didn't really mind at all at this point as I was actually capable of walking and had someone else to carry the chair down the stairs for me. If anything, felt guilty because I'm such a hassle and people have to carry chairs down stairs for me.

Met The Music Man's new band, they seemed pretty cool. Had a chat with them before gig actually started.

Rambo and The Music Man decided they were hungry, wandered off to Burger King, leaving me stranded and lonely watching over everyone's stuff. Came back without any food for me. What the fuck? Got shouted at a little bit as I'd expressly asked them for food before they left. Fuckers.

Gig starts. I try to sort of dance-where-I'm-sat, knee goes out. Won't go back in. I need the loo. Toilet is up three little steps but with a knee out I don't think I can handle those steps. Takes about half an hour to convey to Rambo that I need his help because he keeps buggering off or just plain ignoring me to talk to other people and I can't shout at him over the music and he's ignoring my puny attempts at poking and I can't poke any harder or hit him because my wrists are crying at me. Eventually get him to help me up the steps but wrench my shoulder out trying to lean on him because he's too damned tall. Get back to sit down, stretch my leg out carefully so my knee won't hurt, manage to pop the hip out doing that.

Now, as I'm sure I've explained before - when my hip is out, it can't take movement. No bouncing, no jiggling, no nothing. No fucking vibrations through the seat from ridiculously loud music at gigs. Slowly getting more and more excrutiatingly painful. No way to escape vibrations except two flights of stairs. Now I start to really, really, really hate the amount of stairs at the Ska Bar. Fighting back tears at this point but failing miserably - leaking quite consistantly down my face. Rambo eventually notices at about the point that I decide that the stairs will have to be mastered as I can't take these vibrations anymore and the gig's likely to go on for another three hours or so.

Takes me looooong time to get up those stairs. Many people passing me, keep having to stop while they do so as I'm leaning on both walls in order to get anywhere so take up the whole stairwell. Manage to thoroughly screw up both of my wrists by the time I reach the top.

Anyway, I then have to spend the next three hours upstairs by myself, bored out of my mind, listening to shite music whilst Rambo and TMM carry on having a good time downstairs. I'll remember to bring a book next time.

When the gig was over, Rambo and TMM refused to call a taxi because the taxi ramp at Piccadilly Station was 'right there', so we head over. Going up and down many kerbs and over cobblestone streets. With a dislocated hip. Taxi goes down bumpy roads.

I won't recount the Everest climb I had getting upstairs to bed when I got home. Needless to say, I had two dislocated wrists and the shoulder, hip, knee and ankle had all gone out on my right side. It took a long time, and much, much crying.

I really need a fucking bungalow. Or a flat. Or just a house with a downstairs toilet so I could have slept on the sofa and not had to go up the stairs at all. Or maybe even just some working painkillers.

...At least I didn't feel like a fraud for being in the chair yesterday though. It's a small upside to falling apart at the seams, but at least it's an upside.

Speedy

The Music Man moved in today. Took him out to the nearest shops and everything to show him around, and uhhh...teach him to steer my chair. I swear, between the two of them, TMM and Rambo are gonna break it within a week. They can't touch it without feeling the need to run as fast as possible and jump on the back. Two problems with that; one - it's meant to carry 18 stone max, I weigh 13 and I doubt either of them weigh as low as 5; two - it seems to reach a breaking point around 10mph where it goes from running really smoothly to shaking like mad with no warning. Oh, and three, actually - they don't fucking slow down for kerbs. Gonna break me doing that, let alone the chair. Gone flying out of the chair three times already and I've had it for two fucking days.

It's quite fucking scary not being in control of your own movement, you know. I flinch at everything.

That's not to say I don't love my chair; I do. Really. It's fucking awesome being able to go outside the house for longer than 15 minutes without needing to sit down and without having to collapse and nap when I get home.

...I just really wish they could calm down and act normal for a little bit. I don't mind them fucking around occasionally, but the majority of the time it's just scary and annoying and often painful. On my wrists, that is. I keep bracing myself every time I get jolted. I fall on my wrists when I get knocked out of the chair. Etc etc. So all the pain I've avoided in my feet/ankles/knees/hips/back has just been transferred to my wrists, heh. Oh, I also got my toes hit a few times before I learned to hide my feet behind the footrests when things got scarily close.

Maybe they're doing it to avoid the embarrassment of pushing someone in a wheelchair? I don't know why that would be embarrassing, but Rambo at least seems to find it so. It's been pretty bad for me but I've been pushing through it, putting a happy face on, making jokes, laughing at myself, and just telling myself over and over that there's nothing wrong with me being in the chair - I need it. But it's still pretty damned difficult running into people who've not seen me in the chair before and don't really understand, and even more difficult when I get out of the chair for whatever reason. I feel like people are going to start screaming at me for being a fraud. Fuck, they don't even need to scream, just the idea of them thinking that is enough to freak me out. Stupid goddamn mental scars.

I AM NOT A FRAUD.

^Just repeating that for my own benefit, not yours. I need reminding at times. So many years of having it drilled into my head that I'm faking it and there's nothing wrong with me and it's all in my head...hard to shake.

Uhmmm, I didn't mean for this to get depressing. This was all an aside. I was talking about The Music Man moving in. Yeah. Uhhh, what was I saying about that? Fibro fog distracted me. Fuck it, if it's important I'll remember it later.

Wheeeelchair

Postman brought me many things this morning. A bunch of clothes (including a set of pyjamas that had one top and two bottoms, tehfux?), a CD*, a zebra-stripe blanket and a wheelchair** to put it on! Immediately went out in the chair just to test it out, spent hours outside going all over the place and only got hurt due to Rambo's bad steering...but he's learning, bless him.

Was a tad confused as to what I was getting with the chair, as the item description said self propel and the picture was of an attendant chair, but they sent me a self propel so I, obviously, started trying to self propel in it as I couldn't resist the temptation. Hurt my shoulders more than my wrists to start with but I couldn't go more than say, 10 metres before I just couldn't take it anymore on my wrists, whereas the shoulders were only hurting as bad as they were when I started. Bit odd, that, but I don't really mean to go self-propelling it in so it's not really an issue. Just wanted to see if I could.

Despite being pushed around all day though, I am running severely low on spoons as The Music Man's moving up tomorrow and we've been in the process of moving rooms for the last few days as the Sister had the big room all to herself for some reason whilst Rambo and I squeezed into the smaller room (I may be exaggerating there, it wasn't really a squeeze.) Anyway, Rambo seems to feel the need to take an hour-long gaming break for every 10 minutes of work he does and when the cripple is doing more of the work than the perfectly-healthy boyfriend I think he might be taking the piss a little bit!

Still a little behind on FFM (two days, now) and tomorrow's challenge is a 'Celebrity Cameo' which is going to be awkward. I know shit all about celebrities. This is going to require research, no matter who I pick. Eww, research.





*Fighting Evil is Cool! - awesome ska band formed by some of my best friends, who made me pay for the CD as they've not made money to pay off printing costs yet. Boo. Friends should get free copies!

**Pictures will follow later, probably when I've dyed the blanket purple.

Feeling Very Happy

*WARNING - Post may contain mature content*

I eventually got around to making Rambo read The Spoon Theory last night. That's something I've wanted to do for a long time but I always feel as if that would constitute me whining about it, y'know? I hate complaining, and I try my hardest not to even mention it* unless I physically can't do something and have to ask for help. But uhh, we had a bit of an argument the night before about the fact that I seem to always be talking about it, which kind of felt like a slap in the face as, like I just said, I make a huge conscious effort to not complain or even mention it. I had a bit of a rant to the folks over at BYDLS about this and we came to the conclusion that the problem was that he just didn't understand that I can't just not talk about it ever because it's always there and it doesn't just take a break because he's sick of hearing about it.

So I linked him The Spoon Theory, along with some rather depressing writings of mine from the past year of me trying to come to terms with this, to try and let him know how I feel as I utterly suck at explaining things to people. I wrote those to no-one in particular, just for the sake of writing them, and therefore didn't have a problem writing them down. It was difficult even linking them to him, but I was upstairs on the laptop and just linked them over msn then went to bed so I wouldn't have to talk to him about it, heh.

Couple hours later, I'd still not managed to get to sleep due to worrying about how he was going to react and whether or not he was just going to get annoyed with me for whining and for making him read such depressing stuff, he comes up to bed...and tells me that he was going to bring all the spoons in the house up to bed for me but he thought that would maybe a bit over the top. Then I cried at him, because I was so happy that he would actually take the time to read all of that for me, and not tell me off for whining, and we stayed up talking until five in the morning, about everything. About the fact that I need a wheelchair, and screw all the people and the reasons that I'm feeling so freaked out and embarrassed and anxious and downright fraudulent about it. About the fact that a Tempur mattress would be incredibly awesome and pain-relieving for me, but they're ridiculously expensive. About the fact that sex hurts and quite often breaks me, and how much I fucking hate that because I hate having to say no to him and I hate not knowing whether or not it will be fine or if it will dislocate my hip and leave me in utter agony and unable to do anything for the whole next day and I hate the fact that I quite often get ridiculously horny when I'm too broken to do anything about it. He told me off for that, because he said that he should be able to do something about it even if my hips were too bad for actual sex, but I explained how that hurts as well and just leaves me sore due to the fibromyalgia problems and we talked about vibrators and why the hell I didn't have one (mainly due to feelings of guilt on my part that Rambo should be good enough for me and I shouldn't need one). Then we discussed various positions and how we could possibly do things without breaking me, which involved trying all of them out. Found a fairly good position, and had the best damned sex we've managed to have in years.

He also insisted I buy the wheelchair I've been looking at and agonising over whether or not I should buy it for the past couple weeks. So this morning I ordered myself an awesome purple wheelchair...and a vibrator for when I'm broken but still horny. Very eagerly anticipating deliveries now.





*I meant IRL, not here. Blogs were made for whining!

Rambo is a Sweetheart

I complain too much about Rambo on here, and I fear you guys only ever see the bad side of him. So, as he was being incredibly sweet yesterday, I feel the need to share that with you now as well.

He was at work, as he always is on a Friday afternoon/evening*, but hanging around on msn for me to talk to him as he's been doing ever since I got him a smartphone a few weeks ago**. Which is very helpful when I'm feeling depressed and ranting, but not so helpful when I need food. Which, needless to say, isn't easy for me to make as the easy to make stuff disappears rather quickly. So anyway, Friday afternoon. I'd not had anything to eat all day as I couldn't make myself anything and he only woke up in time to go to work, not in time to make me food first. I was starving. Had a good hunt around in the kitchen for something I could make - found something. A tin of soup. Right at the top of the cupboard. I'm a short-arse, by the way. Just over five foot. Can't reach the top cupboards properly. But I thought I would try anyway as Rambo wouldn't be home for hours and I was starving. Reached up for it, fingers just barely brushing it, straining myself reaching this far as is, try harder, manage to move tin slightly, push it towards myself, meaning to catch it with my other hand, hand fails at catching. Tin of soup lands on the counter underneath the cupboard that is, rather inconveniently, covered in dirty dishes, which proceed to fall onto the floor and smash, some of them landing on my feet. Ow.

I run away and have a bit of a cry at this point as I get a bit overwhelmed and frustrated with myself when I fuck things up like that and I have no idea how I'm going to go about fixing it. Eventually decide 'fuck it, there's not much I can do about it' and figure I might as well get myself some food. Now, I don't know how many of you people reading this know me that well, but me walking around near broken glass is a sure-fire recipe for disaster. But I thought I could avoid it long enough to make a tin of soup. Oh how wrong I was. Cut my feet up a bit, despite my best efforts to avoid the glass, cut my fingers wiping off the glass that was stuck to my feet, managed to spill the tin of soup I was trying to cook all over the oven as I was having a bad wrist day and they were both weak and spasming and apparently not up to holding a tin of soup, let alone opening it.

At this point I give up, and run away crying again, to the laptop. Where I proceed to tell Rambo all about it and cry at him and tell him that I'm stupid and useless and can't do anything and everything I touch just goes horribly wrong and I don't even want to try fixing things because I'll just make it all worse.

This next bit is the sweet bit, by the way:

He replies to that with 'and sometimes when you touch things you make them the best they've ever been', then proceeds to take his lunch-break from work early, and use it to come home, clean up the kitchen, make me food, get me a blanket and pillows to lie on the sofa with, and order me not to try and do things again tonight and he'll fix everything I want/need when he gets home again. Then goes back to work, without any food for himself.

*He got a part-time job so that he would be at home to look after me most of the time, but they shifted his hours around soon after him getting it and he's been working 1-8pm Thursday-Saturday. It may be part-time hours, but I can't cope with him being gone seven hours at a time! Need his hours to be a bit more spread out!

** £15/month for a free phone, unlimited internet, 300 minutes and 300 texts. And he's absolutely loving it. Best thing we've bought in a long time.

OW

MOAR BLARGH.

Woke up this morning in aching agony for the first time since I bought myself a full-body pillow (that thing has been AWESOME, by the way. Highly recommended for anyone suffering with muscle or joint pain). I got used to not waking up in more pain than when I went to sleep. I don't like it. As I have no painkillers I thought (stupidly) that I might make it go away by releasing some endorphins in time-honoured natural fashion...

...Whoops.

Left hip's been out of place since this morning. I think it might have trapped a nerve on its way out as it hurts worse than any dislocation I've ever had before. I can't walk properly, had so much difficulty getting up to go to the toilet that I was seriously considering pissing myself. I am in ridiculous amounts of pain today and once again, have no working painkillers as they still haven't fucking legalised medicinal marijuana for me*. Got Rambo to bring me a laptop in bed and take care of me and he's mostly being wonderful but a bit earlier I accidentally let out a rather loud (yet still muffled) groan of agony. I do that sometimes. It helps to let it out and make me feel a bit better. But apparently it pisses Rambo off because he hates being reminded that I'm in pain. I got a bit 'wtf?' at that. I didn't mean for my pain to be so upsetting for him...jeez. If it upsets him that much I just won't do it anymore. *rolls eyes*

Then I cried at him. And he was all 'I didn't mean it like that...it's just that I don't like how you define yourself by your pain. It seems that all you do lately is talk about your pain.' Maybe that's because all I do is be in pain lately. It's been extra-super-duper bad for the last month or so and I thought I was doing a damn good fucking job of hiding it to be honest, but apparently I should suffer in silence more. For God's fucking sake. Fucktard.

Guys, listen closely, there's a lesson in this: DON'T FUCKING TELL PEOPLE OFF FOR ACTING LIKE THEY'RE IN PAIN WHEN THEY HAVE A DISLOCATED HIP AND CAN'T FUCKING MOVE. DICKHEADS.

Sorry for all the swearing. In case you couldn't tell, I'm in a lot of fucking pain today and not dealing with it particularly well.

*I don't give a shit if a few people abuse it. They could just as easily abuse the (much stronger) opiates they prescribe that do SHIT ALL. It's a huge fucking symptom of Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome: PAINKILLERS AND ANAESTHETICS DON'T WORK AS THEY SHOULD. Marijuana does. For every single EDSer I've talked to that's tried it. Give us some fucking legal painkillers damn you.

Ranting

(WARNING: Incoming depression/aggression rant. Don't take it to heart, I'm not always this emo/angry.)

Rambo makes me feel like such crap for daring to ask for help sometimes. I was rather broken last night, due to the combination of still being broken from the night before and making the stupid mistake of showering myself* and subsequently was unable to make myself any food. Partly because Rambo had done no washing up for days and I can't do it, and partly because he likes to eat all my ready-meals out of laziness. I fucking hate when he does that. I hate that I have to buy expensive ready-meals anyway but he doesn't have to make it worse and then leave me hungry! Oh, we also keep a box of pre-grated cheese in the fridge so that I can make my own sandwiches when things get like that, but he doesn't like to actually fill that up for me. He'll grate exactly enough for whatever he's making at the time and then leave the rest of the block as is. Literally, as is, he won't even cover it up with cling-film and then it goes all hard and horrible. While we're on the subject, I got myself a nice easy-cup kettle** so I could make myself tea but I still can't fill it up as the top where you pour water in is ridiculously small so if I try and do it with just a glass of water at a time I just make a huge mess. He keeps using it out of laziness and not topping it up for me. Then I can't make tea. I'm English, I need tea!

Anyway, point is, no easy-to-make meals left that didn't require a saucepan, no clean saucepans, and I was starving. I figured 'ok, that's not so bad, I'll get Rambo to quickly rinse one for me and then I can make soup. Yumyum soup!' So I asked Rambo for a bit of help...and he sighed and got stroppy and told me he was in the middle of something and he'd help me in a bit. I go 'ok' and sit down to watch some TV. An hour passes, I ask if he's done yet, he tells me that he's doing an EVE mission for God's sake and I should know those take awhile. I go 'ok' again, go back to my TV. Hour passes, I get bored of TV, ask Rambo if he's done yet, he gets really stroppy and snaps at me to quit bothering him, he'll let me know when he's done. I got pretty upset at this point, as I'm only asking him for two minutes of his time to rinse a saucepan for me. So I sit and cry quietly for a bit, cause if I cry loudly at him he'd get stroppy at me for getting upset over nothing. He carries on playing EVE and doesn't notice my crying.

I eventually got my soup, four and a half hours after first asking, at two o'clock in the morning. I kind of wanted to go to bed before that, but I'd had nothing to eat all day and figured it wasn't healthy, so I waited.

You know, he gets annoyed with me when I don't eat too. As, for the last couple months, as my wrists have been a bit worse, I've been pretty bad at getting myself food and have generally been eating one meal a day because usually once a day people will make me food and the rest of the time I just choose hunger over pain. I wish I had some working painkillers so I could make food regardless. I wish I had enough money coming in that I could afford take-aways when Rambo won't help me. I wish Rambo wouldn't eat all my fucking easy-to-make food, and drink all my easy-to-get drinks, and buy drinks in 2ltr bottles so that I need his help for anything other than water.

BLARGH!

(...on a side note, I ranted at him a bit earlier today when he wasn't busy and he apologised. But I'd already started typing this up and figured I should finish it. I had nothing else to write about. *shrugs*)

*Please, if I'm ever considering attempting this, talk me out of it. Every now and then I get the stupid idea in my head that 'it's not that bad, it can't possibly be as bad as I remember it, I've been overplaying it for sympathy, right?' WRONG. I do this with washing up too. Oh, and changing the bedclothes - I can't lift the mattress to tuck the sheet under and I need to stop thinking I can! Damn my desire for cleanliness!

**You know, the kind where you just have to press a button, put a mug under it, and it will dispense hot water. Yay for not having to lift the kettle!