1. CHSH

    I haven’t been to CHSH in two and a half years. Three years? I have the money to go right now but I just got home after an eleven day vacation and, guys, I’m real tired. I’m tired and depressed and cannot fathom packing and traveling again.

    Also I think I only know about ten people going at this point, meaning most people don’t know me or about my train whistle flashings. I don’t have anything else to offer other than my willingness to get drunk and force my tits on unsuspecting people. I don’t even know how to meet new people.

     
  2. Yes

    Yes

    (Source: scarerants, via bluetallulah)

     

  3. She also stuck a huge speculum up my hoo, though, so it wasn’t all rainbows and unicorns.

     

  4. I hadn’t seen my GP, just specialists, in almost two years. I was afraid to go in because after all the bullshit I’ve gotten from smarmy specialists about how EVERY SINGLE THING that’s wrong with me — from kidney stones to nausea to anxiety — is only because of my weight (with no mention of my fantastic cholesterol levels, blood pressure, and insulin levels because those things seemingly didn’t factor into their “Your fat is killing you” diagnoses), I wasn’t up for another lecture.

    But she was awesome. We talked about managing my fibro pain and that Seroquel alone, since I have had no change in diet and exercise, is the probably the only reason for my weight gain over the past two years. She was super cheerful and happy to see me. She laughed at my jokes and reassured me that I didn’t have to feel anxious about coming to see her because she is here to help me and not judge me.

    Like, how fucking hard is it to be a decent, compassionate person? It totally changed how I felt about my body and health and actually made me want to try and eat even healthier/exercise a little more.

    I was dreading today and my doctor was amazing because she treated me like a person who also has health issues instead of just one more deathfat fatty mcfatterson who is ruining America with my fat — fat that is the cause of every single possible health problem I have or may ever have.

     

  5. Zen and the art of being crazy on vacation

    I grew up going on very energetic vacations. Skiing, hiking, snowshoeing, swimming, canoeing, mountain biking. My parents took me on thrice yearly vacations that would fatigue the average Outward Bound participant.

    When I became an adult, I still went on busy vacations, but they were more city-oriented. Lots of museums and monuments and shows.

    Since my bipolar diagnosis just over five years ago, I haven’t been on many vacations (having failing physical and mental health is expensive), and when I have they have sucked. I spent all day, every day, trying to fight my internal clock by getting up early and then booking my day full of things to do while off my schedule and out of my element. I wanted to pretend my vacation was also a vacation from being mentally ill, otherwise I feared I would be wasting my vacation time and this invalidating the entire experience.

    This time, we decided to approach vacation differently. We wanted to get out of town, see some city sights, then spend time by the ocean. We picked a couple very nice hotels and decided to plan one thing to do every day with the caveat that we weren’t going to stress about it if our plans changed.

    It’s been a fantastic vacation so far, since I gave myself permission to go easy on myself. Some days we’ve done two or three things, and some days we have done nothing but get room service and take a drive. I’ve tried to adjust my schedule by adjusting med times, and when it works, it works. When it doesn’t, well, that’s why we got a suite — so he can sleep while I stay up reading or looking out the window or watching food network porn in the other room.

    Getting sick and not being able to do what other people did didn’t bother me too much. Getting sick and not being able to constantly be the best version of myself. Old me could bounce out of bed after three hours of sleep and spend all day doing things, go to bed late, and do it all again. Doing that now makes me miserable and anxious — and that’s before it makes me manic and crazy.

    I’ve really enjoyed this vacation so far. Letting go of what I thought I should do and accepting what I actually can do has been incredibly liberating.

    Maybe I’ll try it when I get home, too.

     

  6. Spent all day walking around, saw Kate and Nicky, met Guille, ate delicious Vietnamese food, left my phone in the restaurant, drove back to get it, and now I’m taking off my pants and watching West Wing.

    Vacation is hard, you guys. All the food alone, Jesus. They are going to have to roll me out of D.C., and my fork hand is getting tired.

     

  7. Rush hour traffic: get there thirty minutes early or two hours late.

    Fuck.