Back To the Whinge-Fest

The good news: I had 2, count ‘em TWO!! remission days in the last week.

The better news: I’m pulling out of my months-long funk.

I know, I know… I keep saying it and then making a liar out of myself. That’s called wishful thinking smacking head-first into dismal reality. I kept having a slightly better day and then hoping it meant I could function again. I want so much to feel better!

It wasn’t until last week that at long last I started getting real signs that my body is FINALLY pulling out of my latest round of Covid. I’m pretty sure that’s what it was, because last November I got a very mild cold that just gave me a runny nose for a month and a half followed by weeks of migraines (although not as severe as last summer’s) and pernicious fatigue. I didn’t even go grocery shopping for a month (late December to late January) because I was too sick to get out of bed and walk around that long!

And some interesting things have been going on in this last year that took me forever to write about due to above aforementioned issues.

NO doubt about it… it’s been rough!

I have managed to “finish” back-posting all the way thru November if you’re interested. Far less happened in December and last month, but I’ll be catching those up soon as well. Meanwhile… I’d like very much to get back to my regular program here.

When I first started a blog on LiveJournal, I named it “Whine and Cheez” because that was about what I had to offer: a shit-ton of complaints about how my life sucked. I mean, sure, I celebrated when things ran my way here and there– but by far and away it was all about the slings and arrows of living a life that just doesn’t work for me most of the time.

Between bad health, a life of being a paranormal freak, and PTSD from horrible parents, bullies at school, and supernatural scary beings… I had quite a bit to bitch about! And I kept trying to do what I could along the way to alleviate the suckage– and it’s really fucking hard to improve your life when a chronic illness gives you little health or wealth with which to defend yourself and improve your life. I think I’ve done really well, all things considered, and I haven’t given up yet, dammit!

Lately, the thing that’s plagued my mind is how much rage-inducing crazy my mother’s bullshit has put me through. This next year means several changes that will essentially take away her power over my sister in as many ways as possible, and it’s clear she’s going to make me pay for it. This time I have a whole support system to back me and some of it legal and governmental, so… that means it’s a fairer fight for me for ONCE…

… and of course you know that means…

D~R~A~M~A!

And while drama pulls me in, as a Type 4, the truth is that it’s also really exhausting, and I just don’t have that kind of energy. A mere two months of active involvement last autumn just about did me in. Right after I finally got over my summer Covid months-long migraine festival of pain! I got a little better, then very quickly burnt out over the autumn dealing with my mother’s bullshit. Then– I got sick again.

I decided to take the entire winter off before attempting to deal with my mother’s shit again. I’ll be going down to Portland in early March for the next steps for my sister. I’m doing what I can to not get sick again for a while, so I’m one of those gloomy-looking people who masks in public now. Although, Cat uses public transportation, so I don’t know what good it’ll do me, but every time I catch a new version of Covid now, I seem to get a short-term long-Covid situation that is just breaking down my body. I have long Epstein-Barr, from MONO, and that combination of viruses on my body, is– uh… devastating.

It’s why I’ve barely been writing for so many months.

I’m really scared that this means I’m going to disappear for real permanently at some point because this issue won’t go away. I keep hoping for a miracle that gets my immune system on track to just… deal with it and move along like it does for most people. But to be honest, my fear about this is very real. My life is already so… small in so many ways. I don’t go out a lot, or work, or volunteer, or even DRIVE! But I etched out something despite those limitations, and I wasn’t unhappy for the most part.

Now this?

It’s created some monstrous DEEP DREAD in my mind.

At the very least, I can start my come back by whinging about THAT, amirite?