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More fucked up shit

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More issues

Venting

Loose update

We have been in Washington about 5-6 months, now. I have to say, I regret very little.

Three main reasons for the move:

It was time. Better job opportunities. Access to safe and legal weed, both rec and medicinal. Bonus, healthcare is better for me out here.

I must list some of the benefits I have seen since being able to smoke on a regular basis:

Because it is milder, we have our windows open at all times, but that’s really just a health benefit in general.

I can stay out in public longer- my limit used to be three hours.

I have an interest in going out more often, even thinking a little more in depth about the future; maybe a job at some point.

I have a fantastic sense of motivation, even if I don’t necessarily have the energy.

I feel my thoughts for my writing come more fluidly.For example, I can write several chapters in a day now. I don’t feel I have to try as hard.

Pain relief.

It’s helping me control my hunger, and to be more patient with myself.

I am listening to music regularly again. Many songs used to give me panic attacks, even ones I loved.

Less panic attacks.

So, do I believe in legalization? Absolutely.

Pseudocyesis

It’s easier to say something so tongue twisty and complicated than to say what it actually is.

Hysterical pregnancy.

 

It’s apparently rare, and experienced mostly by women who have been sexually abused, who suffer psychological issues and, of course, those feeling the pressure of Father Time bearing down on their wombs.

 

 

It’s a lonely and confusing time. For months, even years, this can be experienced. And this is my second one. Both times I was absolutely sure I was pregnant even though I was getting negative pregnancy tests. Hpt and hcg.

You worry with excitement. Absolutely positive you’re pregnant because you can’t stand the smell of raw meat, or you suddenly don’t want to eat anything but oranges and oven roasted vegetables or chicken with only salt and pepper. Nausea all day long. Napping at least once a day. Tired, peeing all the time, feeling and seeing signs of implantation.

 

It’s all there. And it’s all real.

But because other people don’t understand it, you suffer alone. The doctors are assholes about it, even if they do the exams or tests you ask.

The berate you and write you off, immediately sizing you up on a glance.

Fine. If I’m not pregnant, help me figure out why I think I am.

 

A conversation for the therapist no doubt. I like my new one just ok- she’s no dr.b

I just hate feeling crazy when something is so obviously happening. Even the bf had noticed I was off.

I don’t know. I guess from now on, until I’m pregnant the way society thinks I should be, I should keep my mouth shut.

 

 

We made it!

Finally got our own place!

Got most of my crap transferred from NC; gotta work on ‘scripts now.

Moving in has been a bit of an adventure, with all the cleaning, unpacking and buying new things; even qualified for food stamps.

Not ever have I regretted it so soundly as last night; there was a moment where we were those people in line that hold up everything. That put a link in the entire works.

Not that big a deal really (bf had left his wallet at home), and that wasn’t even what threw me into a panic. It was everything that happened after. It was the tremendous, goddamned, self-entitled bitch who still got in line after our sweet, understanding (she really was, I’m not being facetious) cashier told her, ‘sorry, I can’t help you. Go to another line.’

‘I just want a pack of cigarettes.’

‘You can get cigarettes through the other line.’

‘Well just give them to me here so I can go pay for them’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t. They can help you on 9.’

The bitch JUST STOOD there, and REFUSED to move. on my ass like a fucking leech.

So our cashier, as frustrated as I was, asked if it was OK that we just re-run the groceries when bf comes back. It really was about ten-fifteen minutes round trip for him to get it and return, but I said sure, I suppose. I didn’t really have a choice, did I.

And we really weren’t prepared for how busy that midnight trip run to the store would be. In NC, we were usually 2 of about 6 people in there around that time.

Last night, in Wa though? And not even in one of the more crowded cities, either. It was running pretty much like normal day to day activities, which didn’t help my anxiety levels.

The cashier though, saved all our stuff, got another cashier to help us ring out (for real this time) and had to leave, her shift was over. I think she knew I was having a panic attack, because she reached out to me before she left and sorta rubbed my back quickly in a comforting, unsure manner. Like she knew maybe she shouldn’t be doing it but wanted to make sure I was OK, and to tell me that it would get better and not to worry. Things that the bf usually (well, sometimes) does when he is there.

Also a special shout out to the sweetest little old lady with the cane and the flower hairbows in her hair; we’d been up to Walmart earlier and there were no driving carts. I had become angry and cranky because the day was rough already and I was in pain and just wanted to get our shopping done-

She went and asked one of her coworkers to be on the lookout for a cart for me and actually came to tell me so. Very sweet old broad. Tiny as can be!

So anyway.That’s how I came to once regret our decision to move.

Hunger pains

The worse thing about trying to control your hunger when you are trying to save money, and have no groceries yet, but can’t drive because the panic attacks you get are too horrible to risk anybody’s life; is, with my childhood…?

You start reverting to the self talk and self harm you had at ages too young to know such bullshit. You blame yourself for being a stupid fat ass burden and start to wish that maybe you were dead instead; or wonder who would use you, and how, just so that you can have money to eat. 

Granted I think my bitchy sister actually did those things for us… I was always too terrified to do anything. It was better to be invisible and to suffer silently. Grit your teeth, bite your lip. Don’t say anything until you absolutely have to. Especially when the person you tell sighs with anger, frustration and disgust.

As I’ve gotten older I’ve learned that it’s OK to say you’re hungry.

And that brings us full circle to my original point.

Your thoughts tell you that all you are is a burden and how dare you be hungry, you just ate yesterday.

Trying to find balance in that mindset is null. You have to wait it out.