circle queen

27 07 2010

I’ve been debating whether or not to write this.  Shaun says I should because I have to get it out somehow.  I feel more and more like the circle of people who understand what I’m going through is getting smaller and smaller.  If I were a Venn diagram, I’d be the only one in the overlap.

People who can’t squeeze infants out of their crotch gets a circle.

People with auto-immune diseases and/or fibromyalgia get a circle.

People who have adopted a sibling group from foster care get a circle.

It’s like the events of my life have conspired to leave me alone.  I hear from the kids’ therapists that the kids are worried about me.  I hear from my family that I was crazy to adopt kids with issues.  I hear from my mom that I violated God’s will by giving up on fertility treatments and having faith that I would squeeze out my own perfect little humans.

People my age are getting pregnant for the first and second times and I don’t want to be a buzz-kill.  I don’t want to open myself up to hurt and I don’t want to be outside the circle of “everything is perfect and we’re going to breastfeed and co-sleep” and blah blah blah.  My kids were fed meth and kool-aid as infants and they’re smarter and better looking than most every kid I’ve met.

Then again, I deal with issues other families will never encounter and never understand.  Yesterday LJ, after finishing his breakfast, walked back by Chickpea who was still eating and gave her a lap dance.  She looked as shocked as I felt.  I told him to go back to bed while I tried to figure out what to do.

An hour later, I got him back up and asked him to write an apology to Chickpea for what he did.  Then came the tantrums… the tantrums that have been getting more and more frequent.  He’s 10 and a few times I’ve wondered if the neighbors were going to call the police because it sounds like someone hid a grenade under his pillow.

Yesterday, after 45 minutes of screaming at the top of his lungs, he crawled into the top bunk of his bed and walled off the rails with pillows.  He shrunk down into himself and he looked like a homeless war vet that is reliving combat in his mind.  I’m not exaggerating when I say that I was watching him just to make sure he didn’t try to hang himself with his bed sheets.

At the group home he used to stay at, churches would donate tickets to Six Flags and all these other fun trips and places.  No matter he didn’t have a family and the other boys and  some of the staff used to regularly beat and rape him.  He’s mad that he doesn’t get the fun stuff here.  He’s mad that we don’t trust him to get on the internet or have his own cell phone or provide him with numerous violent video games.

We don’t get donations and Shaun’s been having to take off of work to help me through this medication change.  We’re a lower middle class family living paycheck to paycheck but we love each other and we have stability.

But it’s my fault.  If I weren’t sick, Shaun wouldn’t have to take the time off.  If I were able to go back to work we would have more money but we’d never see each other.  If I were more of a people person and not so fucking needy, life would be easier on all of us.  If I could keep my mouth shut, we may be able to find a church home.

I’m terrified of being alone.  I’m terrified of hospitals and I hate specialists.  I think everyone thinks I’m pretty much crazy and that I exaggerate everything.  How can I look like I’m doing so well and things be this bad?  My life exists of pills, crying, and trying not to throw up.

Where is my sense of humor?  Why are some topics suddenly taboo in my mind?  Why do the longer I live the less I believe in God but believe more in the fact that things happen the way they are meant to happen?  Why can’t I get the bad things out of my head?  Why do I feel like I won’t live to see 50?

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Things it’s not

29 04 2010

Note to the internet: this post is not going to be as awesome because I can’t find my humor folder.  Why?  It’s due to lupus.

Seriously.

The blood work that the doctor who does not suck did came back perfect – except for one thing.  Lupus ANA: positive.

We knew it was some sort of auto-immune going on but I had my money on rheumatoid arthritis.  Shaun and I had been joking all week that if it came back lupus we were going to shit bricks.  So, it came back lupus.

LJ ended up shitting the brick, though.  Seriously, the turd I had to save the toilet from was the size of an orange.  That’s bigger than my fist!  I’ve never known such huge turds could come out of such little people.

Crazy.

Anyways, yesterday I forgot my face care routine.  I got out of the bath and stood there staring because I knew I did something next but couldn’t remember what.  This is why OCD exists – it’s so that when your brain fuzzes out, you know where everything is.  Mess up the routine and you end up forgetting to tone then moisturize.

I had to postpone the cardiologist appointment (due to lupus) and the appointment person said “bless your heart.”  I wonder if she sees how cute that is, working at a cardiologist and stuff.  It’s probably good though.  It was starting to settle in that I may end up with a pacemaker (due to neurocardiogenic syncope) and I was starting to freak out.  MVP is the most annoying disease you’ll never die from, but that possibility is crazy.

My dad tried to tell me once that I was adopted and I just laughed.  I’m his daughter all the way from the beautiful but near-sighted eyes (our prescription are the same) to the places we hurt.  He’s had serious kidney problems since his early 20s, so now my mom is asking that he be tested for lupus too.  It may be good, again, I never had any genetic children.  I seem to be a genetic mess of problems.

So, what now?  From what I can tell, not much will change (due to lupus) except that now we have a new joke.  Take pills, lay down when hurting or tired, and do what I can on good days.  Read to take my mind off of the pain.  Grab life by the balls and live it.