#but again from personal experience of literally everyone i know with chronic pain that seemingly has no source no natural beginning

[andragoras-in-vanity]

Most recent research into fibromyalgia points to immune dysregulation and autoimmunity/high overlap with connective tissue disorders which we know are a good predictor for susceptibility to post-viral syndromes/virally mediated autoimmune disorders (ME, MS, etc.), it's got nothing to do with trauma and the narrative that it does has done immeasurable harm to furthering research.

okay dumbass, you want to tell me you think its not stress that triggers fibro in adulthood? nowhere did i say trauma is the only reason it manifests, just that its part of chronic pain like fibromyalgia but keep showing off how oblivious you are! fibromyalgia is the body going into fight or flight and getting stuck there, feeling pain in the facia of the tissue because it doesnt know what to do with itself. its like your body tensing every day for the rest of your life. whatever you seem to have read is several years outdated. the pain manifests, physiological changes happen, when the right qualifiers like autoimmune disorders are smacked in the face with stress, anxiety, depression, and any other external trauma, most commonly cptsd.

fibromyalgia, specifically, isnt able to be tested for in bloodwork or anything of the sort, they dont know what causes it or how but stress weakens the immune system. if that stress is prolonged--just like ptsd or cptsd--of course youre going to develop physical issues.

now, im fucking exhausted and likely have a broken foot. if you want to be an adult and discuss the points you like to leave out by all means message me, but if youre only wanting to show off that you read one statistic once three years ago, by all mean bugger off and away from me. stop only telling half the story and talk to people who are actually experiencing things, years ling medical studies dont need to be done in order to see the proof of how people live.

im anti psychiatry too, but what youre doing by idlgnoring this aspect of chronic pain conditions that have no reasonable source is so fucking biased and YOU are the one doing harm by ignoring it. maybe, just maybe, if some of us got treatment at the time for what we were going through, one bad day wouldnt have triggered life long agony. but you know youre wrong, you couldnt even message me to have a discussion, you hid behind the anon mask.

TO BE CLEAR: im saying that your research is 100% correct (as of the information we currently have) but fibromyalgia is latent, perhaps occasionally hereditary, but it WPULD NOT ACTIVATE AND BECOME PAINFUL if not for external stressors!! perhaps in two segments, once as a child and then again in adulthood since most people who develop it are in their late teens early 20s. if you werent stressed the fuck out, you wouldnt end up with fibro, you could go your whole life not knowing your body is predisposed to HURT. LOOK PAST THE END OF YOUR NOSE AND PUT THE PUZZLE PIECES TOGETHER BASED ON THE FACTS YOU HAVE, INCLUDING THE ONES OUTSIDE OF MEDICAL TEXTS THAT ONLY WANT TO TREAT SYMPTOMS AND NOT CAUSES.

[soranis-sunshadow]

Why it’s not ok to compare Wrong Hordak to his defective brother.

It doesn’t sit right to me when someone pits two abuse victims against each other based on their coping mechanisms because their circumstances are never the same.

Wrong Hordak was immediately adopted by people who slowly de-indoctrinated him and offered him a supportive environment for all of that growth and healing to happen. When the BF squad kidnapped him, he was ardent about his service to Prime and he only followed them because they deceived him in believing they were servants of Prime.

By providing clear irrefutable evidence of Prime’s fallibility, deceit and the squad’s moral support throughout this moral crisis, they were able to wean him off of his programmed behavior and offer him a new onlook and an informed choice.

Hordak was a defective clone that was sent to die on the battlefield, in essence he was abandoned by his maker for being worthless and deflective. This is why his own disability is such a source of crippling shame and self-loathing, it made him unlovable in Prime’s eye, the person he was literally programmed to worship, love and blindly obey.

For all intents and purposes, Prime is the horde clones’ God. He appears to be all-powerful, omniscient, omnipresent and he is their literal creator. Through doctrine, clones are taught that all creatures are beneath Prime, only His light and His love is relevant. (Prime is that much of a narcissistic monster)

 Even while stranded on an alien planet, cut off from his Maker, it makes sense for him to prove his worth through the only means that he was ever taught (worship and conquest), perhaps, that way, he may repent for his failure of being created defective.

It makes sense for him, a brainwashed cultist, alone and stranded on a strange and hostile world to try and bring it into Prime’s light. He didn’t know that he could have been free of Prime if he chose to integrate with the natives. Every time he detected Light Hopes’s portals on the surface of the planet, he went to investigate, hoping Prime had come for him. That is how he found Adora after all.

Of course Hordak was brutal, brutality was all he had ever been shown. Of course he conquered in Prime’s name, that is why he was created. Of course he condoned the training of children to become soldiers once they reach maturity, that is how he was made after all, he didn’t know any better.

It's important to note that before Entrapta, Hordak is essentially a recluse. He hides away in his laboratory and he doesn’t directly interact with most of his underlings who avoid him. In many of his appearances he clings to the shadows or is only shown on a monitor. 

Instead of proving his worth to Prime, he seemingly fails at all of the (impossible) tasks he had set himself to accomplish in gaining his God’s favor: He doesn’t conquer the planet (it’s a whole damn planet), he can’t treat his defect (it’s gotten to the point that he’s an emaciated sickly wreck dealing with crippling chronic pain and is immobile without his prosthetic armor), his attempts at making a new body for himself have failed (he is defective, any clone made from his genetic code would also be defective) and he can’t even open a portal to go home (the planet’s magic does not allow an exit from the different dimension it is in). After decades of failure after failure, that he blames himself for, he has grown bitter and hopeless.

That is why Entrapta and her message is so important to him. She teaches Hordak that he has inherent worth as an individual. His imperfections do not mark him as something lesser, to be discarded, to her, he can be beautiful just the way he is. This is when he starts considering  to stall the portal project, a project that has been his purpose for years, and considers staying on Etheria with her. "There was even a time you wished I would not come for you." - Prime

When he is told by Catra that Entrapta "betrayed” him, he doesn’t want to believe it at first but his own self-loathing plays a huge part in why he buys the lie. He is after all a defective and worthless failure. Catra’s lie is so much more plausible than anyone ever finding worth in him. As such he comes to reason that another person he has dared to get attached to has abandoned him.

Whereas Catra believes that everyone leaves her, when really she pushes them away, Hordak genuinely has had everyone important in his life "leave" him, as far as he knows. This is why we see Hordak in his most evil during season 4 when he has the arm cannon and he is sacking Salineas. He's completely fueled by insecurity and loss, he has something to prove again, to Entrapta and to Prime. He was eager to face her and show her, on the battlefield, that he can be worth something (affection).

When Double Trouble reveals that Entrapta was sent to Beast Island, Hordak believed she is likely dead after so long. He thinks his gullibility has cost Entrapta her life, another failure to add to the long list of sins.

When he is teleported on Prime’s ship, he is terrified of him. He tries to appease Prime in whatever way possible. His body language, his meek, scared tone of voice, and the terrified expression on his face coupled with the fact that he is literally shaking in fear convey the fact that Hordak himself knows he will not be shown mercy. In order to adapt to Etheria and further his goals, he had committed unforgivable blasphemy, he had taken a name and shown initiative. Prime violates his mind and erases him.

It comes as no surprise that once his memories of Etheria resurface because of Catra’s presence, memories of abject failure, of loneliness, of grief and of betrayal, he submits himself to erasure once again. (in season 4 he had actually let Catra in, he trusted her, they had started a tenuous friendship that weirdly enough went both ways. She too was glad to see a “friendly face”)

Once he finds the crystal Entrapta gave him, he starts remembering her. Her memory is so dear to him that he actively tries to hold on to whatever fragments of her he can hold on. He even hides this from Prime (his only lie in the whole show).

In the final confrontation, while still linked to the hive mind and in the presence of his god, he chooses Entrapta, not because Prime was proven to be wrong or evil or fallible but because Entrapta found worth in Hordak despite his imperfections. He goes against his creator still believing that Prime is all-powerful, omniscient, omnipresent because he cared for Entrapta that much.

This is why Hordak's defiance against Horde Prime has so much impact, at least for me personally. Hordak is a character who never really got a choice up to this point. Arguably, it was less a decision and more of a last resort to protect Entrapta in whatever way he could. And even this choice was a zero sum equation. He either killed the one person that has ever shown him unconditional kindness or he turned against his God. It was a loss either way. The inescapability of Prime and the magnitude of his control over his clones is underlined by his possession of Hordak after he had declared his individuality and tried to kill him. In the deleted extended scene, Hordak himself is horrified at the fact that he had shot his Brother. His conditioning and indoctrination is still there. He never learned that Prime is a narcissistic monster and that he used his little brothers as chattel and had been consistently lied to.  He just wanted not to hurt Entrapta, this one choice is his first step towards individuality and freedom. This is the first time he actually exerts his own will and not Prime’s. He’s even making this obvious by saying "I am Hordak." I am someone, I exist.

I think Hordak is actually one of the best written characters in the show, and not because he's a sympathetic villain, but because he is very realistic to how a lot of children that experience neglect or other forms of parental abuse behave as they grow up. They only know anger and rage, never being shown love because they hide themselves in the shadows. Only when someone breaks down those walls can that person begin to heal.

Hordak and Wrong Hordak may be identical clones but their circumstances are anything but and it is wrong to pit them against each other. They are both victims of severe abuse. The comparison is not a fair one since one of them had all the means necessary to break conditioning while the other had all the circumstances necessary to enforce it. Despite what Hordak has done, he deserves to live and he deserves a chance to rebuild what he has destroyed in Prime’s name. Some of his victims may never forgive him, that is their choice. Nobody should have to forgive him. That is not how forgiveness works.  Etheria’s justice system is focused on rehabilitation, not on punitive vengeance.  Hordak too deserves a chance to heal after all that has been inflicted on him from the moment he was created. He deserves a chance at redemption.

I am open to more discussions on the subject if anyone is willing.

[transamorousnetwork]

How To Get Your Ideal Trans Partner In Bed

The easiest, most fun way to find yourself in a rewarding relationship with your ideal transgender partner is by becoming a match to your ideal. You do that by telling positive stories about life.

Speaking practically, telling positive stories creates positive life experiences. Consistent positive story telling creates momentum. Momentum held long enough, will draw your ideal partner right into your bed, guaranteed.

Simple experiments prove this. One need not understand or believe metaphysical or spiritual explanations for why this happens.

Think about it: if you want that beautiful, smart, confident, strong, capable courageous, proud and powerful transgender woman, and you are not beautiful, smart, confident, strong, capable courageous, proud and powerful, you’re not a match to what you want. You get what you think about, what you “be” about, i.e. what you tell stories about.

The stories you tell become who you are. From there, your life experience literally erupts from you, creating experience, people and events matching your stories. Everyone does this all day every day. Most don’t realize they’re doing it.

Why does life work this way?

Positive stories cause human senses to filter out anything not perceived positive. Again: our senses filter experience all day every day, allowing only experiences consistent with our persistent stories. Many transgender women, on balance, are fairly negative, so their life experiences match that.

Same with trans-attracted men’s stories about themselves, about life, probably and about transgender women. If one’s beliefs about trans women aren’t consistent with the trans woman one wants, guess what kind of trans woman one meets? If ones stories about themselves aren’t empowering, inspiring, positive and joyful, one gives off “vibes” consistent with disempowering, uninspiring, negative stories. It’s simple.

You may ask: What about people who seem positive? Why do they have seeming random negative events happen? Someone once told me a story of a trans woman they believed was always positive. She even practiced “the power of positive thinking”. Yet, someone murdered this trans woman.

The thing about creating reality is, one best knows what reality they’re creating in two ways: how they feel, and what shows up in their reality. It’s near impossible to tell what another has in their collection of stories by watching how they behave, or what they say. It’s much better watching how their life goes.

A lot of people who appear positive and happy, are not. They are insecure, lonely, they feel vulnerable, afraid and judged. Many seemingly successful and happy people exemplified this. Robin Williams, Freddie Prinze, Anthony Bourdain, Margaux Hemingway, Daniel Lee Martin, Philip Seymour Hoffman and many others struggled with pain and depression, finally taking their own lives when they appeared on the surface as “successful”.

So people usually have both positive and negative stories going on in their heads at the same time. Their lives include events exemplifying both.

Random negative experiences, such as getting robbed or raped, hit by a bus, or assaulted for being trans aren’t random. They come from long-term focus on negative stories or mixed stories with a negative ones outweighing positive ones.

The benefit of emotions

Often people can’t hear stories they’re telling. That’s why humans come equipped with emotions. Negative stories feel like “fear”, “insecurity”, “worry” or “victimhood”. Told often enough such stories become the person.

From the person then erupts experiences, people and events consistent with stories they’ve become. That’s why people get robbed, raped, hit by a bus or assaulted for being trans.

The same things happen for shame-filled trans-attracted men. Their negative stories about their attraction matches them to trans women who share similar (although not identical) stories. In other words, such men meet trans women who are not beautiful, smart, confident, strong, capable courageous, proud and powerful.

Often such feelings get past one’s perception because one focuses too much on what’s happening outside their head. Focus works best when it predominantly focuses on what’s happening inside one’s head first, since everything happening outside one’s head springs from what happens inside one’s head.

Negativity owes itself to positivity

Very few people chronically tell positive stories. There are many people, and a lot of trans women telling negative stories though. Everyone’s life matches their stories.

But even negative story tellers from time to time experience positive experiences. They do because a little positivity overwhelms tons of negativity. It does because negative “energy” isn’t an energy. Negative “energy” is what happens when positive energy gets diminished.

In other words, negative “energy” owes its existence to its relativity to positive energy. It has no substance, no independent existence of its own. It is defined by a lack of positivity.

What’s more, a chronically negative person still is, at the core, pure positive energy. That energy, no matter how obscured it may be by negative focus, still can overcome its overshadowed state when the negative-focused person drops their guard.

When he’s not paying attention, asleep or doing something “mindless” such as driving a car, taking a shower or experiencing something fun, positive focus’ power eeks through. That’s why a negative person can sometimes experience positive experiences.

Positive benefits feel fun

When I’m positive and excited by my positive stories, when I’m enthusiastic and eager about what I’m up to (or planning), I open up. I’m open to possibility, I see things consistently negative people can’t.

The world is full of delights.

Staying positive I produce results easily and fast. More important, on the way to those outcomes, I enjoy life more. That means life experience becomes more entertaining, more fun, more positive.

“Happy accidents”, what some people call “luck”, happen often for people telling positive stories. It’s not luck, but who cares what it’s called? Through such events problems solve themselves faster compared to focusing on the problem, trying to find a solution or trying to make a solution work.

When negative, one sees more negativity. Such focus turns things into “impossible problems.” When someone filters life through negative stories, the sheer enormity of bad things in the world overwhelms awareness. Every Transamorous guy becomes a “tranny chaser”. Every trans woman is a potential victim, every trans woman a guy meets ends up being a skeezer, working girl or gold digger.

A lot of people stand in such negative stories. Yet no such experiences need happen to anyone.

That’s incredibly naive

Someone reading this may not believe a bit of it. The majority of people believe negative situations described above are just natural parts of being trans-attracted, transgender or human.

I know, and my clients know, this is NOT NATURAL. Anyone well-practiced in telling positive stories discovers this.

A Positively Focused person knows her life experience springs ongoingly from her, not others. So she focuses on the one thing that really matters: her focus, not what others say, do or believe. Which is why my clients sometimes find their old friends getting on their nerves. My clients become so positive and their old friends’ chronic negativity so obvious, they become like oil and water: intolerable of each other.

Here’s the critical thing about being negative: It’s very hard to turn that train around. A life-long “realistic”, pessimistic or negative person may feel right about the world they experience. And they will be right.

They’ll be right because life experience springs from their stories. That doesn’t mean an alternative experience, one in which all desires fulfill themselves, including desire to have their ideal partner in their bed, doesn’t exist.

Momentum is momentum though. It takes a lot of work initially reversing negative-focus momentum. Since lives full of fulfilled desires are possible for everyone, that work pales in comparison to benefits derived, making the effort worth it.

Desires fulfilling themselves. It’s a life available to anyone, because everyone at their core is positively focused. It’s worth it. It’s fun and it’s everyone’s birthright. Even for trans and trans-attracted people.

Not living one’s birthright, in my opinion, is living. But just barely. Wanting that ideal woman in your bed is no fun if all you have is an empty bed.

But your bed doesn’t have to be empty.

[cannabisrefugee-esq]

(via The Welfare Gnome! It's Like a Sock Gnome Except This One Can Actually Kill You. Ft. Joker (Again))

The Welfare Gnome!  It’s Like a Sock Gnome Except This One Can Actually Kill You.  Ft. Joker (Again)

Cannabis Refugee, Esq.

Advertising / Media / Cultural Conversation

Capitalistic Patriarchal Medicine

Crohn's Disease Stories

Euthanasia / Suicide

Law / Legal / Benefits

December 20, 2019

According to the internet, a “sock gnome” is a mythical creature that pilfers socks.  Presumably it lives in or around the dryer where you put an even number of socks in and get an odd number out.  Sometimes it gets tricksy and spits out an even number but the pairs don’t match (meaning it’s pilfered one from more than one pair) but the usual evidence that you’ve had a sock pilfered by a gnome is that there is one left over that doesn’t have a mate and the missing sock never reappears ever.  This is a real thing (if not a real gnome) and everyone knows what this means.

Well, there appears to be a similar creature that lives at Social Services and pilfers sick and poor people’s applications for welfare benefits.  Or something, idk.  I assume these creatures are related but maybe not since this gnome doesn’t play games: it’s goal seems to be to drive you insane before it literally kills you.  I wrote here before about an application for benefits that went missing, along with a half a dozen other boondoggles that have wasted my spoons and left me scrambling to repeat some administrative process I was barely able to complete survive the first time.

Because while a sick person’s literal inability to jump through bureaucratic hoops is actually the best evidence that someone is extremely ill, someone has decided that only those who are well enough to sing for their supper (or pursue benefits) deserve to eat, as it were.  The first application that went missing was for food stamps, while today I found out that my application to get on a 4 month waitlist to see a doctor went missing 2 months ago and has not been since heard from: although my disability advocate hand-delivered it, the application was never received.

I didn’t know it had never been received since I was instructed to wait for 2-3 months for a phonecall from them whereupon they would then tell me that I had to wait another 4 months to see a provider.  Now I get to start the whole process over again.  Of course, the clock starts, again, from zero: 2-3 months for the application to be processed and another 4 months before I will be seen. And as both Crohn’s disease and high functioning Autism are untreatable and incurable, the only reason I’m even trying to get in to see a doctor is that I need up to date records of medical compliance (not actual therapeutic medical care since none exists) to support my claims for disability.  As if sick people have the time and energy for that.

Just “apply for benefits” then keep applying indefinitely or forever!   Just get showered, dressed, don’t eat or drink anything though because Crohn’s, get somehow transported across town, pretend to act human for a several hours while you are being humiliated, interrogated, starved and otherwise tortured in public, then somehow get a ride back home.  And do all of that without “acting” sick.  Easy peasy.

And truly, bureaucratic incompetence (or a welfare or Social Services gnome) isn’t even worth writing about and I wouldn’t bother writing about it except that it had an unsettling effect on me: I literally wondered, if only for a second, if I had hallucinated the whole thing and therefore wondered if my new disability advocate who had hand-delivered the applications himself, Dave, was even real.  Jesus Christ that was disturbing.  Around Halloween of this year, Dave had helped me complete numerous applications, some online, while he mailed some hardcopies out of town and hand-delivered the rest; the 2 applications that were both hand-delivered were supposedly never received.  One would be understandable, if not acceptable, but both of them?  I was shook.

Very shortly thereafter I realized that the only proof I even have that Dave came to pick me up several times, completed applications for/with me and took me home again is that one application we did online was actually received and has his name and information on it.  Much to my chagrin, they initially returned that “online” application to me in hardcopy to review, sign and return (WTF) but as it turns out, that bit of bureaucratic fuckery actually saved me from something awful — a literal break from reality — and was the only proof I had that Dave and our interactions were even real.  Also, my old disability advocate told me about Dave in front of another person and they both remember it.  (!)  So yeah, I’m legit losing my mind by now but at least I’m not delusional (that I know of). Everything about this is fucking terrifying.

Wait.  Is Dave even real?  Let’s review.

  At some point, I know my readers are going to get sick to death of hearing about this shit and I wouldn’t blame them.  Hearing about how the system truly victimizes people is unpleasant and predictably leaves those who don’t have to deal with it (yet) with the strong impression that disenfranchised people are “victims” experiencing “victimization” which is always, always read as a character flaw, or it is eventually, especially if it goes on for a long time and it often almost always does.  And this material is about as appealing to read as…idk, a book of vintage recipes where the first and second ingredients in every dish are Jello and fake mayonnaise?  Maybe.  There’s a trainwreck quality that’s hard to look away from, it’s interesting (at first) to see how all the various parts fit together (or ultimately don’t) and I suppose it’s possible to have compassion for the vintage cooks who were trying so, so hard to be resourceful and whatnot.

But eventually that person’s judgement will probably come into question and the blame will fall squarely on them if they consistently choose to participate in such insanity, in that case, preparing and serving Spaghetti-Os and sliced hot dogs suspended in savory Jello, or a canned ambrosia Yule log.  (I just watched a video of someone making a canned ambrosia Yule log from a vintage recipe, you can watch that here). Or in the case of a vulnerable person seeking benefits, choosing to consistently be relieved of their dignity and even being (seemingly) willingly neglected and abused. ��The comparison is kind of a reach but what I’m getting at here is that it’s not pretty.  The things I discuss on this blog aren’t pretty.

So do I have an actual point?  Actually I have 2.  The first point I will make via another anecdote and is something I learned as a young attorney who was becoming seriously ill: I had been seeing a chiropractor/nutritionist for months to attempt to treat what was becoming unbearable chronic pain and GI issues when my health insurance company started denying his claims.  The “doctor” wasn’t being paid but I was still in disabling pain and his treatments were working.  Kind of. Until they stopped. We had to have “the discussion” which drew out our competing interests: my interest in continuing treatment without a lapse versus his interest in being consistently paid.  (Really, this is where the myth of the compassionate Western healer is always undone: the issue of money.  But that’s a post for another day.)  This discussion is never pleasant and as I learned, is absolutely meant to be ugly.

As a seasoned provider with decades of experience in the insurance game, the “doctor” calmly explained to me that part of the game is to pit the doctor and patient against each other so that they can’t provide a united front against the real enemy: the insurance company.  The goal is to have the doctor and patient part ways angry so that there is no reason to pursue an appeal and the treatment — whether it’s medically necessary or not — simply ends.  From the insurance company’s perspective, the problem (of exposure to liability) just goes away: if the doctor and patient part ways it doesn’t have to expend resources reviewing appeals and no further claims will be made, their exposure drops to zero, and they win.

Get it?  Bad guys 1, good guys 0.  And this, I think, is the dynamic playing out when people get fed up (and fired up) with hearing about what sick and disabled people go through — regular, relatively powerless people blaming and judging other regular, relatively powerless people for being “victims” instead of providing a unified front against our common enemy.  In this case, against our corporate and governmental overlords who spend billions if not trillions annually on “corporate welfare” and destructive black budget programs while reducing, eliminating or otherwise making inaccessible benefits that real people need to live in this shithole they created, not us.  And Big Medicine torturing sick people and deliberately (or leastwise predictably) making us worse.

We all have a choice, don’t we, to pick the correct side and to not fall into this deliberate trap set by the elite, to not go against our own interests, to decline the invitation to support our oppressors while undermining ourselves and our ilk, our own people.  Choose correctly.  It matters.

My second point is this.  I can only speak for myself when I say that I absolutely never wanted to be a “victim” and I spent my entire life and literally everything I had to try to ensure that didn’t happen.  I have written about that before if anyone wants to revisit that part of my journey, but what I haven’t directly said is this: once I had exhausted every resource I had accumulated over a lifetime (which wasn’t much), after I had asked everyone I knew for help and they all declined, after I had failed to cure myself of an incurable disease, I knew what was coming for me because I had spent my entire life trying to avoid it.

My experience as a benefits attorney only underscored what I already knew, which is that there is nothing there to catch most people when they fall, and there is no bottom to the abuse and neglect one will suffer, and literally endless opportunities to be victimized, once anyone, especially an unresourced, unsupported female, is no longer able to control her outcomes and sick women can no longer reliably control their outcomes.  I knew the benefits system would be inaccessible or inadequate, I knew I would be abused and neglected by doctors if I let them, I knew I could end up sick and homeless at the same time, I knew I could end up sick and homeless and raped and pregnant at the same time if there was nothing I could do to stop it, and I knew that once I got sick there was, in fact, little or nothing I could do to stop it.  I knew there would be no end to my suffering as a sick woman under capitalism and patriarchy.

I saw this coming a mile out, and to avoid that outcome I knew I didn’t want and knew I couldn’t handle (and shouldn’t be expected to) and to fulfill a lifelong promise I had made to myself to never “allow” myself to be victimized in this way, I attempted suicide.  4 times.   Four fucking times I took action against myself that was so incompatible with life that by all rights I should have died at least once if not every time but I didn’t die.  Each time I woke to this nightmare that won’t end and I had to go on, dealing with the same shit and with the same hideous constraints only even more sick and even more traumatized than I was before if that was even possible.  And it is possible, isn’t it — it is bottomless.  There is no end, there is absolutely no end to how bad this can and will get for me and for everyone in my position.

And to be clear, I started this blog after what ended up being my final (well, most recent) suicide attempt which was 2 years ago by now.  Get it?  Every single post on this blog was written after that and therefore was very nearly not written at all.  What I am documenting here, I think, is a fairly common experience that is almost always lost to time and tragedy: what it’s actually like to be this seriously, hopelessly ill, how “the system” works against sick people and sick women at every turn, and what it really looks like to have no options.  And while this surely happens all the time, every force in the universe, it seems, is working against most people actually knowing about it.  In fact, the most relateable thing I’ve ever read, the only thing that I have ever seen address these points and describe an experience nearly identical to my own was left behind by an activist/writer/seriously chronically ill woman in a suicide note.  I wrote about that woman, Anne Örtegren, and her suicide note here.  

In my own case, and this is the only reason you are hearing about it, I happened to be a seasoned researcher and writer with a specialized interest in dissecting the insane system of patriarchy, I had a preexisting platform on which to advertise this project and an audience that was open to hearing about it, and despite my best intentions and efforts, and those of everyone and everything else for that matter, where those intentions and efforts were not compatible with life, my life, I didn’t fucking die.  Not yet anyway.  I suspect that many women who experience what I and Anne Örtegren and others have experienced go down for the third and final time before anyone even hears them scream.  And if any of this sounds a little crazy to you, that’s only because it is.  It is completely, completely insane.

[justiceforvictimsoffocus-blog]

Review of Focus Treatment Centers of Chattanooga, TN

My Google review was too long, so here is the whole post: (Yes, this was important enough to me to start a whole tumblr page just to raise awareness. It took me over a whole day to figure out how too make this work. Also, it helps bring me peace for such a horrible/traumatic experience. Also, please excuse any typos or weird wording. Tumblr did not copy and paste accurately for some reason. Not even close. So I literally had to word for word compare this post to the word document where it was saved and fix all the weird stuff it did)

(This is part 1 of 3 of my review) If I could give this place 0 stars I would. I have been to multiple detox and mental health facilities and this was the ABSOLUTE worst experience I've ever had. This place is TOXIC and should be shut down. My 7 th point is the most significant, FYI, if you decide to skip the rest.

Ok, so maybe if you have "stereotypical" body image issues with anorexia, bulimia, or binge eating disorders and do not know what's causing them, maybe Focus can be helpful. BUT what a lot of these sick people have yet to realize apparently, is that there are MANY forms of eating disorder that don't include those three disorders. (Specific example: My friend's 4-year old son has what doctors have called an eating disorder, because he has a hard time eating certain textures, etc. He's not over eating and he's certainly not undereating because he’s concerned about his physical appearance. He is in therapy for it. ALL eating disorders deserve help.)

I digress.

1.) I went to the facility to seek treatment for alcoholism and eating disorders. It took me three tries to get into this facility because they kept rejecting me on the basis that my BAC was too high. Ya think? I know I needed help and I was more than coherent so it's not like I was passed out drunk or something. By my 3rd attempt I could not even sign the documents because I was shaking/withdrawing so much as a result of getting my BAC low enough so quickly for acceptance.

2.) They consistently left me in the dark. They did not give me or my husband any information about the program, aside from financials (money hungry much?). They did not give me a tour of the facility. They did not explain how anything worked or where anything was. I didn’t even know where I could have gotten more water to drink. Yes, I could have asked, but I was shaking and so sick because I was also detoxing that I thought I might have been seizures, because they gave me basically nothing that helped me with my withdrawals. I was suffering so much and they blamed it on me for not eating. Well, no shit. I was having severe alcohol withdrawals and loss of appetite is a common symptom. Not to mention the food that they offered wasn’t appetizing at all. I already have difficulty eating, hence the reason I was in the eating disorder department in the first place. Not because I'm afraid of getting fat. I'm happy with my weight and trying to gain more weight actually. Their solution was to give me Gatorade.

I have a history of alcoholism and have never experienced any withdrawals like this in my life. (and I drank much more heavily for much longer the other time I went to detox) They gave me medication that seemingly had no effect on me. I explained the medicine did not really do much, but all they did was up the dosage which still didn’t do much. In comparison, the last facility I went to years ago gave me a medication that actually worked for me. I never felt sick the whole time I was there after that first dose. (I also wasn’t overly medicated and they lowered my dosage each day, not increased it) I have also weaned/detoxed myself off the alcohol with no drugs and still never experienced any withdrawals like what happened at Focus. (Part 1/3)

(This is part 2 of 3 of my review) 3.) They absolutely refused to speak to my husband on the phone. Maybe for some that’s the best approach, but my husband is my rock, my foundation, my everything and we have never spent a day in 12 years where we have not at least spoken on the phone and 99% (98.8% I literally did the math) of those days we are together physically. I told them I wouldn’t be able to make it if they didn’t let me speak to him. I told many people who adamantly refused, which is ridiculous, because I was going through the most difficult sickness of my life and I just wanted to hear his voice. Just for a minute, so I could find the strength to keep going. I made it very clear how important this was to me. My husband had even spoken with the facility and explained that he was afraid I’d suffer separation anxiety and wouldn’t be able to make it without his support and asked if an exception could be made to best provide for my mental health. They wouldn’t allow it and couldn’t accept that there was not "one right way" for everyone. 

This facility needs to be more accommodating to the exact needs of specific individuals. DO NOT LET THEM MAKE YOU BELIEVE THAT THEY KNOW YOU BETTER THAN YOU KNOW YOURSELF. And as I mentioned before about being left in the dark, there was an EDA (eating disorder anonymous) meeting THAT evening which my husband could have attended. If I could have just waited a few more hours I could have seen him. But NO ONE told me about this. They told him, but of course he had no way of telling me directly and asked them to tell me to give me hope, but of course they neglected to do that.

4.) They could never give me clear answers on when I would get to see the doctor, therapist, or nutritionist. It was always just "well, you'll get to see them soon". It was so much uncertainty which is so difficult when I was in such a fragile state. As a side note, they told my husband I’d see the therapist the same day I checked in, but I only got to see her the next day AFTER I declared I needed to leave because the place was just too toxic for me.

5.) They wouldn’t let me brush my teeth. The nurse said it might make me vomit. Um ... I guess I don’t know about the average person, but having a clean mouth is going to make ME considerably less nauseated, so I had to sneak away to go brush my teeth. Something so simple and also important because I have a history of teeth issues. 6.) They go through your suitcase when you get there, which is understandable, but they took things out without telling me they took anything out at all. One of the things they took out was something called a Plexis Wheel. It's similar to a foam roller, just google it if you don’t know what it is. It helps pop, massage, and straighten out your back. First of all, why the fuck was I not allowed to have that? It's not dangerous in any way and I NEED it. I have chronic back pain from fractures I received a few years ago. Like 24/7 pain. They also took my yoga mat, because you know, that's dangerous. That's what I would have used to use the plexis wheel on, so I was in a panic when I realized I could not find them in my suitcase. I have so much pain and anything natural I can do to help with my pain I do it. (I don’t take any drugs or anything for it) A nurse also took away my fitbit off my wrist, because it "counts steps", which she assumed meant I was going to use it to lose weight, I guess. I was almost in tears, because I NEED know the time and date to stay in touch with reality, having this information keeps me sane. I don’t even pay attention to the number of steps most of the time. That was the worst nurse I had. She was such a pushy bitch. I wish I remembered her name. (Part 2/3)

(This is part 3 of 3 my review)  This brings me to my last and most significant point. At one point during my stay I was asked: "Have you done any of the following things recently?":

· Had suicidal thoughts

· Had homicidal thoughts

· Binging

· Purging

· Restricting

· Exercising

So of course, I said "only exercising". She asked if I had exercised since I'd been there. Obviously not - I was lying in bed shaking and dying. I could barely walk much less do any kind of exercise. I exercise, because 1.) my stretches, yoga, and exercise are the most significant things I can do to fight my chronic back pain. When I tried to explain this, they basically rolled their eyes and asked me sarcastically how working out/exercising could possibly help my back pain. I explained that it strengthens muscles, improves posture, etc. It was literally suggested to me by my orthopedic doctor as the only thing that can be done to help my condition. In addition, building muscle helps gain weight and increases your appetite, (which I'd been telling them the whole time that I’ve trying to do, not lose weight, but again they didn’t believe me, because of stereotypes. I even have to wear my wedding ring on a necklace, because it won’t even fit my finger anymore because I’ve successfully gained weight.) The nurse gave me a look like "ok, yeah, whatever". They just could not comprehend how working out could help my pain and the fact that I was actively trying to gain weight. 2.) Exercise is good for you emotionally, as everyone knows it raises endorphins. And 3.) I HAVE OSTEOPOROSIS. Google anything about it and it will tell you that the most important thing you can do to strengthen bones is to do heavy weightlifting. Who normally has osteoporosis at 28? PEOPLE WITH EATING DISORDERS. A facility that deals with people with eating disorders should know the benefits of this. I can’t explain my eating disorders (besides the fact that my mouth gets really dry and my teeth hurt and if I don’t like the food enough, then I don’t salivate enough, which become painful and therefore causes stomach problems from not chewing it properly) and I would have liked to have gotten help in figuring out ways to combat it, but obviously they are not educated enough for my complex situation.

Needless to say, I had to check out after about 24 hours. This was one of the worst experiences of my life. And the fact that they left me sick even though I told them the medicine wasn’t working (and certainly not the Gatorade). However, as sick as they said I’d be if I left after just one day of detox, and as many times as they told me that once my meds wore off I was going to be really sick again and that I might have seizures and/or die - That same evening I was home and sober with my husband (who got me food I could actually eat) and my kitties and plexis wheel and I felt great. I just think the stress the nurses were causing me was just exasperating my withdrawal symptoms and lowering my appetite. Again, that place was just extremely toxic for me and I'm SO glad I left when I did and will certainly never be back. I suggest you take all of this into consideration before admitting yourself because this is a neglectful facility that honestly could have been sued for malpractice, because I could have died. (I didn’t eat anything the whole time I was there, which was very dangerous in my given situation)

Whoever from the facility/company is reading this, one size does not fit all. I was SO optimistic that your program would have been able to help me, and I'm very disappointed and discouraged that it ended so poorly. It's facilities like yours that give mental health care to bad reputation, which in turn discourages people from getting the help they really need. (3/3)

I have been to hell and back just trying to post this review using 3 different emails address, 3 different browsers, 5 different devices, multiple IP addresses (with no success) and hours and hours of my time. I have never put this much effort into posting something online. I say all of this to say, this has not been a quick endeavor, but again this experience was so significant to me that it was THAT important to me to make others aware and also for my own mental peace. Thanks for reading.

[bowan-deflorentine]

1. What’s one experience your character had that made them very afraid? Just because I can't ever imagine Bowan of all people being afraid of anything!

HOO BOY SON get ready to be very disappointed because Bowan is actually a gigantic ball of stress and sleepless anxiety thinly veiled behind gallons of coffee after this fun little incident that took place a little over two years ago.While working with some old friends in an undercover intelligence organization called the Eastern Shadow, the group ran into some shady Dread Pirates doing Bad Things. After being forced to retreat from the confrontation, the whole incident was so odd that Bowan took it upon herself to start Investigating to find out who exactly the pirates were and what they were up to. That was the worst idea possible because word quickly made it back to the Dread Captain that someone was asking too many questions about the crew (that was purposefully kept very mysterious and hidden) and these questions were actually bringing Bowan very close to discovering some major Dread Pirate secrets. So, the Dread Crew sent someone to follow her home, learn who she was and where she lived and who she was close to. This all happened unbeknownst to Bowan, who thought she had been sly enough to evade detection throughout her investigation in Booty Bay and Stranglethorn coast towns. WRONG. Some scrappy thugs “randomly” showed up on one of her patrols in Elwynn to try and kill her, and they aaalmost managed to but ultimately failed. So then the Dread Crew sent their top assassin Deathbreathe (who can best be described as human!Father Gascoigne with a metal jaw and a deathrattle-like chainsmoker’s voice) who showed up in the middle of the night, when he knew Bowan was alone in the office and still injured from the thugs sent before him. He killed several guards outside before flushing her out into a raging thunderstorm and giving chase in a very fucked up game of cat and mouse. He caught up to her in the back alley she took to escape and shot her twice before leaving her to bleed out alone. Which she actually did. She was found and revived the next night by the Eastern Shadow friends through some very questionable and unhealthy shadow magic means (which we’ll get to later). The next year was a very painful adventure of healing both physically and mentally from the attack, letting everyone she loved think she was dead for a few months while in hiding, and trying to piece together what the heck the Dread Crew was and how to defeat/escape them. There were several spooky key events with the Eastern Shadow that brought them somewhat closer to finding more out about Deathbreathe (who had seemingly disappeared the night she was shot but she could feel him watching her) and the Dread pirate, but nothing solid enough to work with. In the meantime, any of her Eastern Shadow friends who dared try and investigate the attack themselves were also hunted down and attacked, which only made Bowan feel extra horrible because now she felt like them getting hunted down was all because of her. She thought more than once about turning herself in to him just to ensure no one else got hurt. Sightings of both him and the Dread Crew dwindled to nothing after awhile so she thought it was safe to come out of hiding. Again- WRONG. It wasn’t long after her tentative return to Stormwind that he found out she was alive, setting off a few mysterious “appearances” where he literally just followed her down the street a few times or showed up in windows and in dark places out of the corner of her eye in some creepy mind/intimidation game. She was so afraid that if she asked anyone for help that they would become targets too, and so afraid of trying to confront him alone again. She eventually confided in Timira and Vy in the Cavaliers about the whole story, and they agreed to try and find a way to stop him, but he proved too hard to pin down. This escalated to him sending several incredibly threatening messages about killing her friends and son, and finally he came after her again (after offering her a chance to actually turn herself in, which she heavily considered). He seemingly showed up out of thin air and caught her with two friends, Timira and Drahs, shortly after one of the Legion attacks on Westfall. Instead of targeting her this time, he shot the others, just to prove he wasn’t kidding about killing everyone she cared about before getting to her last. While Bowan was distracted with the shot/bleeding friends, he just … disappeared. The friends thankfully survived, and Bowan was left to spiral into another deep pit of paranoia and fear because now he was coming after her again and she STILL didn’t know how to stop him and couldn’t just up and hide again like last time and it was only a matter of time before someone actually died. Now oocly the story gets a little fuzzy here because of some OOC issues BUT ULTIMATELY only a few weeks later, Deathbreathe was confirmed dead via unrelated means through some secret Eastern Shadow spy network. So she got to calm down somewhat and focus on other stuff finally, like the Legion trying to destroy literally Everything. But ever since, Bowan’s been prone to chronic nightmares and intense insomnia. Layer a generous heaping of paranoia and anxiety on top of that and you get the general gist of her mental state. She won’t go on patrols alone, refuses to be in the office alone at night (usually Jeán or some “background” cavaliers are around) and obsessively checks the window and door locks. She can’t put her back to open spaces without checking over her shoulder constantly (but subtly, as to not be obvious) and if she does ever go out alone at night, she’ll go undercover and assassin’s creed stealth parkour the entire way instead of walking like a normal, stable person. She hides it really well, clearly. During the day and / or around groups of people she’s much calmer, but she's plagued by a constant fear of being watched. She’s literally a rogue that’s afraid of the dark now, because it can hide anything.((I promise any other asks won’t ever get this long, its just hard to summarize two+ years of very intense, detailed RP)) 

[sarahburness]

The Upside of Illness: 3 Powerful Life Lessons I Learned from Getting Cancer

“It is health that is real wealth and not pieces of gold and silver.” ~Mahatma Gandhi

Cancer.

I’ll never forget the moment the words fell from my doctor’s mouth. In one fell swoop, the “perfect” persona that I’d spent thirty-plus years carefully constructing received what would ultimately become a fatal blow. Following that fateful day of demarcation, my life would never again be the same.

But let me back up a bit.

By the time I’d arrived at my early thirties, I was cloaked in all the trappings of outward success: a lucrative career in the high-paced, high-stress world of high-end commercial real estate; a swanky West L.A. apartment filled with pretty things and a closet full of designer clothes; and a perfect size-two body that I’d finally learned how to punish and deprive myself into maintaining.

At that time, I was what I would now refer to as an expert in applying “Band-Aids.” Desperate to avoid confronting anything uncomfortable—whether in the realm of my body, mind, or emotions—I numbed myself with a creative array of distraction techniques.

High-carb, sugary desserts were my go-to for suppressing painful feelings—and, soon after, toxic processed foods, diet pills, and eventually drugs became my go-to for managing the resulting weight gain.

When work became too stressful, I’d buy yet another new outfit, round up my crew of girls, and throw back a few cocktails to drown out my day while rocking the dance floor late into the night.

If I could hide the not-so-pretty painful stuff behind some slim fit designer jeans, a fresh highlight and a smile, I thought, all would be a-okay. That I had no energy, got sick all the time, and generally felt like crap most of the time seemed acceptable, even normal.

I had a collection of Band-Aids to mask those symptoms, too.

A few weeks after I heard the c-word fall from the mouth of my doctor, I found myself staring up at a bright white light as the doctor cut an incision down the bridge of my nose.

I felt nothing, but I knew in that moment that my life would never be the same.

I just didn’t realize at the time how it was going to change. The significance of surgery on my face did not escape me.

This was not on my ankle, but instead front and center where everyone would see it. My bangs were not going to hide this scar. Nothing could hide this outward reflection of my inner disconnect.

The truth was there was no more hiding from anything. I knew my body was speaking to me at a whole new level. This was my wakeup call; it was time for the Band Aids to come off.

Wake Up!

My body had finally captured my undivided attention, and I had questions: Why was this happening to me when I was so young? What was I doing wrong? How do I make sure this doesn’t happen again?

I had been worrying for so long about outer appearances that I had completely forgotten about my inner being. In an attempt to right my wrongs and heal my body, I started researching foods and other natural remedies to effect a deeper healing for all of the little ailments I’d been masking for years.

I emptied out my freezer of all its frozen dinners and snacks, started eating whole foods, and began taking a few key supplements. In the beginning, these changes were no picnic; I had embarrassing gas, a rumbly tummy, extremely smelly armpits to the point that I had to get rid of all my shirts, and worse skin outbreaks than when I was a teen.

But even though I felt utterly terrible, I was equally hopeful at the same time.

It turns out that when I stopped applying Band-Aids that only concealed deeper imbalances, my body became free to heal and excrete all the physical toxins along with the toxic thoughts and emotions that I had been holding onto for decades.

It was quite the experience.

Think of a long-term smoker. While they are still smoking they may have only a small hacking cough, but once they quit, they will start coughing deeply all of the time. This is because once the exterior assault has ended, the body is actually able to start clearing out the damage and repairing tissue from years of daily abuse.

That was me—the girl that had metaphorically just quit smoking and was now hacking up a lung in more ways that I care to admit. It was a heartbreaking, difficult, beautiful, painful, and everything in between.

I bow at the feet of the human body. When I gave mine half a chance and a little support, it became a healing machine.

I Am Awake!

Changes started happening in my body. I began to have more energy. The detoxification became easier.

My body felt better and the tinge of depression that I thought was just part of my personality began to fade and make way for a much more joyful existence. It was crazy how good it felt to actually feel good. But the thing I never expected when I started to heal my body is how much of my inner truth would fly up in my face.

The voice of my inner truth became so darn loud that it pushed me right out of the type “A” designer life I had created and into one that was much more hippy-esque, loving, and accepting.

I started to see life in new ways, I began to dislike things that I thought that I loved, and at times I barely recognized myself. Of course, this didn’t happen overnight, but it happened pretty quickly, and I knew that I could never go back to the self-punishing way of life that I had been living. Things had changed because I had changed from the inside out.

In the ten years since c-a-n-c-e-r provided a catalyst for my own awakening, I have realized three powerful gifts that I received from this seemingly tragic experience.

1. The truth heals.

We human beings do a lot of crazy things so we don’t have to feel uncomfortable emotions or to run from ugly thoughts.

We elude ourselves so we don’t have to admit that our relationship sucks, or we feel so painfully insecure that we need liquid courage to go out at night. We tell ourselves stories so we don’t have to face the deepest truths that lie under the surface and yet; those hidden truths are exactly how we heal.

Cancer gave me the biggest opportunity in my life.

It woke me up to deeper truths that I had been running from most of my life: Running from the pain of my parents’ divorce when I was ten years old; running from the twenty pounds I gained as a result of eating my feelings; running from the sadness of being a “bigger” girl, and never feeling good enough at anything even if I excelled at it.

My overachieving size-two designer life was never going to fix these hurts of the past. You can’t run fast enough to escape the truth.

It is always there whether you choose to acknowledge it and no matter how many Band-Aids you apply in an attempt to escape the inescapable.

The running, the avoiding, the lying to myself had finally manifested as an illness and it was going to kill me either literally, figuratively or both. And I don’t know which one is worse, actually dying or just feeling dead inside. I am glad I never had to find out.

2. Listen to the whispers of your soul.

I never would have thought twice about the way I was eating, taking care of myself, or the way I was living my life until illness rattled my cage.

It caused me to pay attention, to seek new learning and to evaluate my life.

Sometimes we all need a wake up call. No one wants it to be a diagnosis, but I have come to realize that I had been given so many mini wake up calls, but I refused to listen.

I was always catching colds and flus, but kept living on fast food and frozen yogurt. I continued my upward climb in a career that gave me anxiety and stressed me out to the point of not sleeping well and having chronic stomachaches. I was having pre-cancerous lesions burned off my legs and arms every time I visited the dermatologist, but I paid no attention, made no adjustments, asked no questions.

My diagnosis had been building under the surface for years, quietly gaining momentum, and I ignored it all.

I now know that it always works best to get the lesson at the point of a whisper, but for some of us we just don’t listen until our door gets kicked in. At least that was my experience and now, I have learned to get quiet.

To listen early on and to make little adjustments as need be. To sense the subtleties, create the space for peace and quiet, and to live in a way that honors health.

3. Build an authentic life.

I knew deep down inside I was living a life that was not really reflective of who I was—or of who I was becoming. I knew it.

I wouldn’t have admitted it, but I knew it.

Occasionally, I would get these little whispers from my soul that I should make some changes, but my ego won out time and time again until I was diagnosed and I began to reset, re-evaluate, and reconnect to myself, to the true me.

The person I was before I built this persona. To the little girl inside of me who just wanted to be loved and accepted.

I found my way back to her and started to build a better life. One that actually felt good inside. It is never too late to discover who you really are, to continually seek to understand yourself better and allow yourself to evolve.

You are always being supported to return home to you and live an authentic life.

I have come to realize that we are all here to evolve, and every realization—even those that come about on the heels of illness, loss, or upheaval—is designed to support us in discovering and reclaiming more of our truth and getting used to owning it and expressing it.

It takes courage. Oh boy, does it take courage.

Life has its way of pulling you in all kinds of directions, but when you get quiet, when you connect to your soul, you know—you simply know—and all you have to do is muster up the courage to follow that knowing, one step at a time.

And if you follow it, you will find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow—or better yet, know that you are it.

It turns out, the word cancer was not the end of my life; it was the beginning, a gateway to a higher way of living that I may never have found, or even thought to look for, otherwise.

It was a soul whisper that became loud enough to command my attention, and, as soul whispers always do, it led me right to the perfect place.

While it was impossible ten years ago to fathom all the ways I would evolve and expand, or the many insights that would open up along the way as my body healed, I now see that this entire experience lead me to a truth—a truth that is so powerful, it heals all.

When we are willing to listen, illness can be our greatest teacher.

About Shana Ekedal

Frequency alchemist and personal coach Shana Ekedal helps women heal body and mind, clear unconscious patterns, and access inner guidance to create a powerful life. Grab her free Crave: No-Guilt Junk Food Recipe Book and enjoy your favorite treats made with healthy goodness.

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from Tiny Buddha https://tinybuddha.com/blog/the-upside-of-illness-3-powerful-life-lessons-i-learned-from-getting-cancer/

[soovaryit]

I have been RAGING at my body as of late. As I’m sure other chronic pain and illness suffers will understand, I dramatically switch between the inner monologues of ‘I love my body! I’m going to be kind to it and fill it with nutrition and goodness!!’ to ‘I want to forget that I have a body, eat junk food and be drunk 99% of the time’.

This is all tied up in mental health and pain levels of course, but it can often be a reaction to the way in which others treat your pain. I’d love to pretend I’m positive and level-headed enough to not let peoples actions affect my personal outlook but nope. I’m a human being and a fragile one at that and every negative interaction I have around my illness feeds into a negative view of myself. Shout out to my therapist for that line, thanks Lyndz. Today I want to vent about common misperceptions and assumptions around endometriosis and chronic pain in general because they fuck me off and I’d rather address a general audience than have to explain this to individuals that I encounter. Maybe I should just walk around wearing a t-shirt with these on. It would have to be a very big t-shirt. Anyway.

First up – let’s tackle the big one. That endometriosis is a ‘women’s problem’. Problematic on several levels. First of all, endo affects 1/10 people with a reproductive system. This does not mean that they identify as female. They could be trans, non-binary and/or not use she/her pronouns. It’s exclusionary to adopt this kind of universal female rhetoric around the disease. I am guilty of this too but it would be nice to see a shift in the gendered language around endo that doesn’t exclude anyone who isn’t cis or female-identifying. The second way it is problematic is that society doesn’t care about ‘women’s’ issues. The more it is labelled as such the less it is thought of as a HUMAN disease that affects HUMANS. Please, lets start making this a human issue. Yes, it’s ‘taboo’ because it’s about periods and ovaries and all those yucky things that even modern medicine doesn’t want to acknowledge. But imagine if this wasn’t a gendered disease. I can guarantee you there would be extensive research and treatment on a condition that can glue your organs to one another and leave you with trapped internal bleeding and scars all over the inside and outside of your body. Not to mention ruin your mental health and fertility. Which brings me to…

All endometriosis sufferers want babies and that is their number one concern in the world! Who cares about your health and sanity when our sole purpose is to breed!! (I really hope you’re getting my sarcasm here).  It is an undisputed fact that during your journey with endo, (generally male) doctors will comment on your ability to have children without asking. This has even made me, a person who would like children, uncomfortable as it’s often information given to you based on the fact that you have the capability to produce a child, never mind if you have asked about fertility or stated that you want children. It is an irritating assumption that many doctors will offer you as a ‘cure’ when it absolutely isn’t. It’s misinformed, misogynistic bullshit that could be ended by the simple question of ‘are you concerned about your fertility?’ before launching into said bullshit. It also prevents doctors from performing hysterectomies to younger women as there is a ludicrous assumption that they will change their mind later in life and thus any agency around their body is taken away based on one doctor's opinion. I'm sure this is different country to country but in the NHS it is notoriously difficult. I was left with very little information after my lap other than ‘it hasn’t affected your fertility’. Yay for me but will there be any less pain? Who knows! Better crack on and get myself pregnant with my non-existent partner and stop hassling poor doctors over my quality of life. *

Number three is my fave go-to criticism from ‘healthy/able-bodied’ people (I find both of those words irritating but never know what else to say). That raising awareness for chronic pain is attention seeking or asking for a pity party. I think I am safe in saying that literally no one with a disability of any kind wants your pity. I can only speak for myself here but phrases like ‘you poor thing’ and ‘how do you cope?’ ignite a certain fury in me, especially when accompanied by a head tilt and simpering voice. It makes me feel pathetic. It makes me feel like you think I am pathetic, which could not be further from the truth. When I write blogs and share photos of my experiences with pain it is because I want to show people the reality of it. I want to end the misconception that any of my conditions are something to be hidden or ashamed of because that is how society keeps chronically ill people down. I want you to recognise the strength that it takes to live with pain every day and I want you to feel the frustration that suffers feel when they are not taken seriously or believed. Is it attention seeking? Yes. I want everyone’s attention when I explain how overlooked endometriosis and chronic pain are and how medicine is steeped in gender inequality and a disregard for complicated conditions. So there.

And I’ll finish with.. you’re just a hypochondriac! Okay let’s go there. In what world would any human being relish the idea of going to doctors and hospital appointments that cost them money and valuable time, only for their time to usually be wasted by medical professionals that don’t understand or have much of an interest in helping you?** Why would ANYONE want to spend their lives in bed feeling isolated and alone and depressed and waiting to feel well again when they’re not sure they will ever feel well again? Why would I want to spend my time making up pain and illnesses when I could, ooh I don’t know, be making the most of the degree I’m paying £51,000+ for? Or doing normal 25-year-old things like enjoying dating, going on holidays, working? Everything I do has to be a careful calculation of how bad I will feel after and it is exhausting. Some days I don’t want to step foot in my bedroom because it reminds me of miserable, seemingly never-ending bouts of pain and depression/anxiety. I would like to be a ‘healthy person’, whatever is that is but I will loudly shout about every condition that holds me back because we live in a world that doesn’t value people with long-term health problems. So I hope I have got your attention, but I don’t want your sympathy. I want your empathy and understanding. And honestly, I hope people do feel an element of discomfort when they read posts like this because chronic illness sufferers sure as hell don’t feel comfortable ourselves and I am happy for the world to know about it. Now a couple of disclaimers bcos that was a big ol’ rant and some things need to be made clear.

*Did not want this rant to discount the horrendous struggles of infertility because that is an unimaginably awful thing for people to go through and solidarity with you <3 

**There are also lovely, lovely caring medical professionals in the sea of incompetent ones like my doctor who is aptly named Dr.Peacock because he is a beautiful, understanding creature and please keep trying until you find one, you will find one.