Gentle readers I beg your patience while I rant for a bit. The last few days have not gone well and the next few aren’t looking great either.
I’m having a major Fibromyalgia flare up. For the last three days I’ve had a muscle spasm in my back so bad that the pain has gone through excruciating and into exquisite. I’m taking Tramadol, Paracetamol and vaping CBD and I still can’t bend without screaming. There is no comfortable way for me to sit, stand or lie. Part of the spasm is over my left kidney and if I started pissing blood it would be a relief because a kidney infection can be treated, kidney stones pass, even kidney failure can be managed.
Fortunately that’s distracting me from the sudden appearance of a hole in one of my back teeth. I think a filling might have fallen out. Or maybe a bit of the tooth has cracked off. I already had a dental appointment this week so that’s lucky. I’m trying really hard to believe that it’s lucky but it’s hard to think straight over the screaming pain from my back.
I’m still not back on my usual eating plan because of difficulty getting the shopping sorted. Between trouble with deliveries and the problem with my back and my spouse’s anxiety being too bad to do the shopping for me I’m having difficulty sorting out a coherent meal plan.
I’m having trouble getting anything done. I started this weekend with a book I’m wanted to read, a film I wanted to watch on Netflix, a film I’m trying to see in the cinema before it leaves a podcast I’m trying to catch up with and a novel that I’m trying to finish writing. In all I managed 15 pages of the book, neither of the films, 3 episodes of the podcast and about 2,000 re-written words of my novel. That’s pathetic.
And the worst of it is this feeling that my life is slipping away from me. Time is passing and I’m not doing anything with it. Precious seconds of my life are ticking by and I am variously paralyzed by pain, or depression, or indecision, or just lack of basic organisational skills.
After a very active weekend during which I had a couple of days where I ate less than half my allotted calories I have lost a whole 400g (just under a pound). And I’m in agony. And feeling like shit.
But at least I survived a 3 days of my Mum insisting that I should have a biscuit because they’re only small. She did make sure to tell me that she’s super proud of me for losing weight. It’s nice of her to say so but it doesn’t change the fact that the weight loss is meaningless.
Tomorrow (as I write this it’ll be yesterday by the time it posts) I have an appointment at the leg ulcer clinic. I don’t have a leg ulcer. I assume this is my Doctor trying to get me compression wraps. I predict that I will yet again be sent home with nothing but we shall see.
[Edit: I was not sent away with nothing. I got an actually useful referral. Yay!]
Last update. Diet Page
So the CBD oil that I’ve been talking about in previous posts here and here is definitely working.
My background levels of pain have greatly reduced and it’s now easier to deal with breakthrough pain. However my right knee has clearly decided to be a horrible bitch about things. It’s swollen and it’s grinding and it won’t reliably bend and it hurts whenever I do foolish things like stand up or sit down or roll over in bed.
And something else has decided to flare up. Something really painful. Something that I really need to see a doctor about but I was too late this morning to get an appointment and I have stuff to do tomorrow that can’t be moved and if I leave it till Friday to see the doctor then I will have reached my own personal defcon 10 of pain.
That’s not 10 out of 10 on the pain scale. That level of pain is just screaming until it stops. Defcon 10 is out of my mind with pain, distraction and frustration. It’s a result of having to just put up with a level and type and location of pain that no-one should have to put up with. Defcon 10 is dangerous because it makes me want to knife 40 people at random. Hopefully the CBD oil will help with this kind of pain.
If anyone is interested I will post links to the kind of vape pen, cartridges and oil I’m using.
A few days ago I wrote about my feelings of guilt at not working hard enough towards my writing goals. I wrote about how I’d been playing a lot of World of Tanks rather than writing. I said it was fun but it wasn’t taking me anywhere. Turns out I was wrong. It was taking me in the direction of pain.
One of the problems caused by Fibromyalgia is muscle spasms. Sometimes they come on without an obvious cause but they can be triggered by any repetitive activity or maintaining a the same position too long. Apparently when I play World of Tanks I grip the controller too tightly with my right hand (I use the right stick to aim and the right trigger to fire).
As a result my right arm is now, to use a highly technical medical term, fucked. I can’t feel my fingers, my hand is tingling, my forearm feels like it’s on fire and my bicep feels like I’ve been arm wrestling Thor. My typing speed is a quarter what it usually is and I need help to brush my hair and put a bra on.
It’s so bad I’ve had to break out the painkillers. Let me put that statement into perspective. I have a chronic pain condition. That means I’m always in pain. There’s no point medicating the pain all the time because I have to rely on synthetic opioid painkillers and the more you use them the less effective they are. My aim in using them isn’t to kill the pain but to reduce it to a level that isn’t a constant distraction. Thus I don’t bother with pain medication at all unless the pain is consistently worse than standing on a Lego brick.
To summarize: I’m too sore to write, too high to do chores and I can’t distract myself with video games because that would only make the problem worse. I would really like it if my life could stop sucking for a bit.
I have no faith. I don’t mean religious faith though I have none of that and haven’t for years no matter how I try. I mean that I have no faith that good things exist far less that they’re ever going to happen to me.
I have no faith in my writing. Nobody wants my stories. They certainty don’t want to publish them. No one will ever want to read them far less pay to read them.
My work will never be finished. It will never be good enough because its mine. There’s no point doing anything with it because no one wants it.
I have tried to not be a writer. I’ve tried not writing. I’ve tried to forget any ambition or desire to write. I’ve tried not to care that my stories are worthless. None of this has worked. It hurts to call myself a writer when I am so clearly not one by any meaningful measure.
It’s like there’s a wall in front of me and I can’t see any way over it. I know that in theory people finish novels and then publish them or get them published. I know that there’s no obvious reason why I can’t be one of the people who does that. But the published authors are all on the other side of the wall. All the advice I see either assumes that I’m on the other side of the wall or that the wall doesn’t exist.
I’m so tired. I’m in so much pain. I have no faith that I’ll ever get over the wall. I have no faith that there’s any point in trying. The only reason I haven’t given up already is that I have literally nothing else to do with my life. I have no purpose or value. There’s no point in chasing happiness or success because nothing is ever going to make me happy and I have zero chance of success.
I recon I’m about 6 weeks away from printing my novel off, binding it by hand and then smacking people over the head with it till they agree to read it. That just seems a lot easier than the alternatives.
I’ve discovered a cool new diet specially for those of us suffering from chronic pain disorders. It’s the “I hurt too much to get food” diet. I’m going to lose so much weight.
All the food is in the kitchen. I am currently not in the kitchen. I’ve already taken the maximum dose of painkillers and the pain is still bad enough to make me feel nauseous. Hobbling through there so I can stand for a while on a leg that thinks it’s got an axe sticking out of it so I can prepare food that my stomach thinks I can’t keep down doesn’t feel like it’s worth the effort.
There’s probably a creative solution to this but the problem with taking the maximum dose of painkillers is that now I’m too full of synthetic opioids to think clearly. Also my face is numb but my fucking knee still hurts. How is that fair?
Bloody knee. I’ve had enough of its bullshit. I didn’t fight off two eating disorders just to fall back into one of them because my knee is a drama queen.
I’ve written before about having chronic pain. Today I want to talk about the uncertainty of chronic pain because that’s the bit that you don’t usually hear about.
Everybody knows that chronic pain sucks. Even if you’ve never experienced it you know that pain is bad and that having it around all the time must be really bad. But a phrase like “chronic pain” also sort of suggests that the pain is not only constantly present but of constant intensity and location and, sadly, that is not how things are. At least not for me.
I’m now 3 days into a major pain flair up in my left leg. It might be the Fibromyalgia or it might be Osteoarthritis. I’ve got no way of knowing and it’s not like there’s a treatment for either of them. But there is a difference. If it’s Fibromyalgia then the pain will probably reduce or move at some point. If it’s Osteoarthritis then it’s not going anywhere. Ever.
If it’s Osteoarthritis then it’s just the new reality of my life. That would really suck because this is bad. This is extreme pain even by my standards and I have a list of the things I’ve been through that hurt worse than childbirth. This one has the potential to confine me to the house. This is me too sore to load the dishwasher or stand at the cooker even long enough to make an omelette. About the only thing going for it is that it’s not going to stop me from writing.
But maybe it’s not Osteoarthritis? Maybe it’s just the Fibromyalgia? Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that and it will have faded or shifted and I’ll be able to do my chores again. That’s the uncertainty. I never know until I move which parts of me are going to hurt. When they start hurting I don’t know how long they’re going to hurt for. When they’re working fine I don’t know how long that’s going to be for either.
I’m also dealing with a deep sense of betrayal. Because it’s usually the other leg that pulls this shit. Dammit, Leftie, I thought I could trust you. I thought I could rely on you.