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Mar. 10th, 2014 10:36 amOn one hand, glad my 9-day-late period finally started.
On the other hand, not so happy about it.
Overslept, which I actually dislike doing. I know I'm not feeling well and for myself that's the only time I'm really "okay" sleeping in so I'll let it slide but I'm still frustrated.
Right off the bat I'm feeling like shit today. But fuck that, I still need to get shit done and I am 1000% done with letting my body constantly and daily control what I can and can't accomplish. So I'm pushing past the pain/nausea/exhaustion/etc as much as I can.
And... I don't know, so far so good? Kind of?
Went to make coffee. While it worked its Keurig magic I took clean clothes out of the dryer and "put them away" (I still have no dresser so they stay in their also-cleaned laundry bag in the closet hidden away from bitter territorial cats). Switched wet clothes into dryer. So far so good. Then grabbed the next dirty load and... nearly put them in the dryer too. NOPE. Luckily caught myself and tossed them in where they belonged.
Went back to kitchen to make coffee. Grabbed a new K-Cup and sugar (well, Truvia). Blinked down at already full coffee mug. Glad I did not overfill it. Facepalm. Mix in milk (well, Lactaid). Drink.
Realize I have 16 push-ups to do. Figured I should pause in coffee and do them now before my uterus is fully awake enough to cramp me to death. Do push-ups... FUCK. OW. Okay so arms have been only a LITTLE sore through this whole thing - that's fine, it's clean pain. I forget everything is heightened once I start bleeding though. Winced. Let it fuel me. Finished the set.
It's... not my strongest start, morning-wise.
But fuck it. I shall finish this coffee. I shall find where the fuck I put the magical Midol Will bought for me last month. I shall try to get some art done if I can. And if I can't? Fuck it I'll find SOMETHING to do.
Because as I said, I am just... done... constantly being controlled by pain. I know to some degree I can't really control that. And limitations are there for a reason... I've pushed through pain a lot in the past and whaddya know I GET WORSE LATER. Pain is there for a reason. But I'm so sick of it. I'm sick of not dancing, not exercising, not doing chores on time, not planning anything outside of the house without having to ask about accessibility and how well a wheelchair can fit in some one's car etc etc. I am sick of it. And maybe some of that will never go away. I get that. And I get that even a month ago I was telling myself that I needed to find comfortable acceptance. But... I guess when I started to actually REACH that acceptance... maybe this is panic. Maybe rebellion. Because I am tired of looking at a bad circumstance and gritting my teeth and saying "it's okay. It's out of my control and I can make the best of this"... because yes it's out of my control. That's fine. But this time... what's "out of my control" IS MY OWN BODY. My LIFE. Maybe it's best to just lie down and accept things but I'm tired of doing that.
It's part of why I want a punching bag. It'd be easy enough to use that even on the days I need to sit down more. I need something, a focus. Something to tell myself, my body, and the world that I am not fucking done. I will fight this until I die. I may be in a wheelchair a lot but it won't stop me from fighting and being a complete badass.
... This post went in an unexpected direction. That's cool, I'll take it.
On the other hand, not so happy about it.
Overslept, which I actually dislike doing. I know I'm not feeling well and for myself that's the only time I'm really "okay" sleeping in so I'll let it slide but I'm still frustrated.
Right off the bat I'm feeling like shit today. But fuck that, I still need to get shit done and I am 1000% done with letting my body constantly and daily control what I can and can't accomplish. So I'm pushing past the pain/nausea/exhaustion/etc as much as I can.
And... I don't know, so far so good? Kind of?
Went to make coffee. While it worked its Keurig magic I took clean clothes out of the dryer and "put them away" (I still have no dresser so they stay in their also-cleaned laundry bag in the closet hidden away from bitter territorial cats). Switched wet clothes into dryer. So far so good. Then grabbed the next dirty load and... nearly put them in the dryer too. NOPE. Luckily caught myself and tossed them in where they belonged.
Went back to kitchen to make coffee. Grabbed a new K-Cup and sugar (well, Truvia). Blinked down at already full coffee mug. Glad I did not overfill it. Facepalm. Mix in milk (well, Lactaid). Drink.
Realize I have 16 push-ups to do. Figured I should pause in coffee and do them now before my uterus is fully awake enough to cramp me to death. Do push-ups... FUCK. OW. Okay so arms have been only a LITTLE sore through this whole thing - that's fine, it's clean pain. I forget everything is heightened once I start bleeding though. Winced. Let it fuel me. Finished the set.
It's... not my strongest start, morning-wise.
But fuck it. I shall finish this coffee. I shall find where the fuck I put the magical Midol Will bought for me last month. I shall try to get some art done if I can. And if I can't? Fuck it I'll find SOMETHING to do.
Because as I said, I am just... done... constantly being controlled by pain. I know to some degree I can't really control that. And limitations are there for a reason... I've pushed through pain a lot in the past and whaddya know I GET WORSE LATER. Pain is there for a reason. But I'm so sick of it. I'm sick of not dancing, not exercising, not doing chores on time, not planning anything outside of the house without having to ask about accessibility and how well a wheelchair can fit in some one's car etc etc. I am sick of it. And maybe some of that will never go away. I get that. And I get that even a month ago I was telling myself that I needed to find comfortable acceptance. But... I guess when I started to actually REACH that acceptance... maybe this is panic. Maybe rebellion. Because I am tired of looking at a bad circumstance and gritting my teeth and saying "it's okay. It's out of my control and I can make the best of this"... because yes it's out of my control. That's fine. But this time... what's "out of my control" IS MY OWN BODY. My LIFE. Maybe it's best to just lie down and accept things but I'm tired of doing that.
It's part of why I want a punching bag. It'd be easy enough to use that even on the days I need to sit down more. I need something, a focus. Something to tell myself, my body, and the world that I am not fucking done. I will fight this until I die. I may be in a wheelchair a lot but it won't stop me from fighting and being a complete badass.
... This post went in an unexpected direction. That's cool, I'll take it.
