FML...

       Ugh. This past week has been yucky...and I tried to be upbeat after the whole kidney thing. I was on cloud nine, actually, for a week. A whole week of joy.
      What can I say? Depression's a bitch. It hit hard again in early August, and I think I'm probably worse off now than before the stones. I cannot get it out of my head, you guys. The intense pain, the vomiting. Being too sore to puke without crying. That was the worst time of my life, and I probably have some nerve to complain now. But...yuck, I can't help it.

      Oh, ick. I've never been able to use "Down in the dumps" literally before. But in the past week or so, the toilet sometimes will refuse to flush. Gross. And I don't know what's worse, that, or what appears to be a spider infestation on our hands. Of course I'm the only one who sees the spiders and has any toilet trouble whatsoever. No, really... I keep asking and asking, and no. Everything's fucking perfect for everybody else. So now I want to shell out for a handyman only I think we need, I haven't slept in my room yet because I tried killing a spider and missed―oh, yeah, my aim lately is horrible and I've been having this whole big thing with my balance where every time I stand by the bathtub, I nearly fall into it. Goddamn, it's happened like five times this month! I mean, I missed the damn thing by a hair, he fell between the wall and my pillow, ew. And now I'm boycotting my bedroom because I don't want him crawling into my nose! I'm also freaking out every time I feel a hair on my skin. I was able to sit through two episodes of Lucifer on my bed, but only because there are spiders everywhere, it seems, so it doesn't really matter where I go, it seems!

      I'm used to being the only one who can see, and I swear, hear, the spiders. But god, normally there aren't this many. Two here, two there, one over there. Gah. Of all the phobias in the world, you know? I could have been afraid of sharp edges, or the moon, apparently. But no. Something I can't just baby-proof, something that can never leave the sky, something that has legs, maybe venom, something that's all over the planet, all the time, everywhere, never sleeping.

      I mean, obviously, I prefer this hell over the hell that was July. But why must I endure any hell? I ain't dead yet...and no, that doesn't mean I lost my mind and found gawd. Or, as my atheist group likes to wonder, Jod. Soft G.

      I'm just losing my mind over here. Both of my phobias right now are out of control. This toilet thing would be so much easier if everybody was affected. At least then we'd fucking discuss fucking getting a fucking handyman!!! I don't want to eat something disagreeable and then break the toilet. Oh, I'm squeamish just thinking about it. And in the words of a cartoon character I wish I could forget, "How can I not think about it when I'm thinking about not thinking about it?!"

      I think I'm just going to start my Sims 3 again, but even that's messed up. My brother tried doing a nice thing, hooking up a large monitor a friend gave us, but it was too big for me. I'm a hobbyist writer, not a good one, but when I started typing, the size 11 font was so big, I could see the reds, yellows, and blues in the text that normally just looks black. Gaming was awesome, but I enjoyed it just fine before the transfer and writing became an instant no-go. So we transferred back, but my game settings are now all screwed up, even with all the correct options. So, we tried instead to hook it up as a TV in my room. Didn't like the tinny audio, transferred back, and now my old DVD player makes noises it didn't make before.

      I mean, everything sucks. Hell, even my brother freaked out when he sat on the couch and a spider jumped into his lap, and he loves spiders. Keeps them as pets, but apparently this one was too big. Me, I freak out at a spider the size of a pinpoint, okay? I'd seriously rather die than see a spider big enough to freak him out.

      But I am in the process of writing more crappy books that no one gives a shit about and created more music that I can't finish, so, silver linings. Honestly, I am just clinging to videos of people reacting to Floor Jansen and buying treats, which is probably what gave me the stones in the first place. Live in the moment, right? Live each day like you'll die tomorrow? If I had my way, I'd be lying on a beach, listening to the waves and stargazing. That has been my happy place for many years. I've been to the pool a couple times in my childhood, but I didn't learn how to swim, so I'd just stay in the shallow end and hang onto the edge while I kicked my feet. Pseudo-swimming, I guess! And I've been to White Rock once, or at least, almost once. I was four years old, maybe two feet tall, trying to get past rocks taller than me. The beach seems a mile away and I'm holding onto the slimy hand of my nose-picking stepfather who never, ever, ever, ever, ever used soap! I could feel every yucky thing he ever touched all his life. That sound like a vacation to you?

      No...myself...it doesn't. But I guess there is kindness out there. Three times now, in almost nine years, a girl child has been polite to me! The first one held the door open for me and actually said "You're welcome" when I thanked her. The second one apologized to me in the sweetest voice for being forced to stand close to me on the bus because none of the many, many adults she was riding with didn't offer to put her in their lap where she'd be safe, so damn rude, that was in early August when I got my last stent out. And the most recent time was yesterday evening, when a little girl said hello to me as I passed by her family on the sidewalk.

      Throw in the boy who waved at me because he thought I was his friend, presumably a boy, thank you very much, and that has been my social life since...well, almost all my life, unless I count taxi and bus drivers. I probably will, just to make the list seem longer. Lately I have been walking a mile, rain or shine, bad boots or bad shoes, to sit on a bench and just people-watch. That's actually where the boy waved at me. And no, I'm not having romantic thoughts; he was a kid. What can I say? I'm short, and was hidden under my hood. Maybe I was sitting where they said they'd meet... I don't know.

      But yeah. I think I'm going to go to the pet store sometime. I haven't held a cat since 2009. She got run over, so no silver lining there. But animals are therapeutic, they say, and I'm so miserable I could...really stand to hold something I'm allergic to.

      I guess the best news of late is that I finally updated my creepy collection. I'm up to ten, I think, skulls and now a snake cup! Not for use, just for decoration. And I finally got stylish hair clips. I can't properly fix them myself, but at least I...own them? Score?

      But yeah, I guess the best thing I ever saw is still that boy who disappeared into a sunflower from the shoulders up. He did not want to come out! So sweet. Long as he's not allergic; if I tried that it'd kill me. Huh, deathflowers. Oh, yeah...The Sims 3. Really don't feel like it; I want to just go to sleep. I've gotten maybe three hours of sleep this week. Nightmare, every time―well, almost. Amenadiel intro-ducing himself as Lucifer before I became a hunky warrior and then a beautiful woman was decidedly not a nightmare. I love dreams where I'm beautiful...until I wake up again.

      Maybe I'll just listen to music. Here. Because my headphones are dead. For like the millionth time in a year. Is everything crap? Really?

      Nah, maybe I'll play after all. Or, fuck, I don't know. Just want to go to a beach one more time before I'm dead forever, one time that lasts more than two hours, one time where it's night, and I can see one of my favorite things; the night sky. And hear waves that aren't coming from my crappy MP3. Maybe I'll just download videos of the night sky, slap it over the ocean sounds I already downloaded, and just pretend. I don't get to do a lot of that as a grownup.

      I hate being a grownup. I'm as tall as I'll ever be, I know very well my full potential, nobody comes over for play dates anymore, there's no dessert if I eat all my supper, I have to wear bras, and I'm expected to do all these things I want to run screaming from, like kill spiders. Please, can't I be a little girl again? Or at least tall and thin, surprise me. Fat and rich? Old and wise? Anything.

      Oh, here's a bright side! My brother just noticed the bathroom sink isn't draining. Everything's falling apart, but at least it's finally affecting others. Goodie. See, I'm not completely insane! I may be getting there, but I haven't run out of road yet.

      My stepfather tried setting me up on a play date once. He walked up to some kids and invited them into our house. Hello? You can't do that, you creep! Of course they ran screaming from him. They knew about stranger danger. Hell yeah, they knew. Can't imagine it would be less creepy if I tried it myself. Well, I know what I'm doing on Halloween; turning off my light and standing at the window, watching all the trick-or-treaters like every other year. I don't expect anyone will knock. Why? Because people are still, and will forever be, cautious around our house, thanks to that idiot tenant. I mean, hey, more candy for me, but I can just see it. I finally meet a nice local person, we bond, we like each other, they find out where I live, boom. It's done. Ghosted, again. I should dress up as a ghost. I should always dress up as a ghost, embrace what I am. I literally talk and no one hears me, in fact it just happened again!

      Ugh. I wish I could say I'm cranky because I'm sleep-deprived, but no amount of sleep is going to help me. I always wake up tired! Even if I nearly OD on sleep meds and have the best night of my life, I'm friggin exhausted. Eyes burning, mind playing tricks. I miss the days when I had no idea what a hallucination was like. Now I spend my life in a goddamn stupor and I don't drink or do drugs, not even medicinal drugs. Tylenol, sure, Benadryl. Nothing more. And, just, so hazy, all the time. It takes an embarrassingly long time to figure out how to put on my bra, or hold scissors. Then I get mad because it should be so easy. Then people tell me to relax, and I get more pissed because I suddenly can't hold scissors and they're calm? Yeah, let's see how calm you are when you cannot figure out how to cut hair, okay?

      Ugh. FML. I have to go do something. I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm going to go do it. YouTube typically sucks me in real deep and then I move onto Facebook and then gaming, so it'll probably be that, but this is getting too long. Nobody's listening anyway. Listening, reading, whatever. Potato, potahto. An entire universe, an empty room. What's the difference?

I Hate Titles

       And...surgery number three is over. Actually I had it on the 31st, and to be completely honest with my completely nonexistent readers, I thought I'd die. My family (or at least the ones who give or pretend to give a shit) feared I might, too. I probably waited longer than most people, because I've seen people with kidney stones and they didn't have the white and slimy mouth. They weren't vomiting, their eyes weren't dark. If I'd gone in sooner, I probably wouldn't have needed so many surgeries.

      That's not pleasant; I'm just going to breeze past it. Shit, what did I used to talk about? I know, garbage, right? Dreams this, spiders that. But we do have a growing bear problem that's pretty bad. Apparently I missed a bear fight not too far from home. I'm told we have three different types of bear in just this town; the lesser-seen brown bear, of a temperament I wasn't taught, the super-aggressive "brown-nosed bear," whatever my rednecked source meant by that, and the more docile black bear, which can apparently be scared away by kittens.

      The hell's a brown-nosed bear, anyway? Do they socialize the same way dogs do?

      The past two times I've gone to the hospital―which, yes, have been the only times I've been out since the 17th―I heard the bears in the ditch that's right beside the bus stop. Time before last, my brother woke up early enough to escort me there, and he saw it. I was close to the ditch with my back to it, had no idea the bear was there, and he warned me to go closer to the road.

      So that's three times now I could have been bear food. Time before last was when my mother had to go to the hospital, and when I got back home it was dark; I did not see the bear just feet away from me. Luckily he had already eaten. Well, lucky for me, not so lucky for his meal. And the time before that, my family and I were walking around Rolley Lake, and a bear was definitely interested in us. He was creeping up on us, and we just kept walking. I don't even know why he didn't attack.

      My tongue still looks white, but at least the slime, nausea, pain and discomfort are gone. My lips aren't gross, and now that the stent is out (for which I was not anesthetized, or even numbed up) I can pee and just be done with it, I'm not questioning if I have to go while washing my hands. Nor am I tempted to live on the toilet. It's good! I didn't realize that feeling several hundred years old is so much more refreshing than feeling like a mummy. I even had tape on my belly because the last stent had a string; he just grabbed it and yanked. Oof, that was awkward. But I'm glad he didn't go slowly, because that would have been torture. I said the worst part was the anxiety, but it's not. The worst part is knowing it can happen again. And again.

      I was also tempted to tell my family every time they visited me at the hospital to just leave me there. I was so sure I wouldn't get home. And I was kind of okay with that. I went to the hospital in my own town to get the stent removed, and I couldn't do it because they wouldn't put me under. I didn't realize my surgeon in the next town would also refuse, because I was put under every other time. But apparently, sedating me opens them up to investigation. I guess putting it in is so much worse than taking it out, so whatever. Yay drugs.

      But I now want to live in the next town, because their hospital is so much better than the one here. The doctors and nurses are kinder, and better equipped. The hospital here doesn't have complete roofing, and it's got a lot of areas that are just plastic―the walls and the ceiling, too. It's ugly. This hospital seriously needs money.

      Not to mention getting to the hospital one town over is a bitch. Three, four buses. 7 AM going there, 3 PM coming home, and that's for day surgery. Taking that thing out was a procedure that took five seconds. Five minutes talking me off the ledge, one minute to lay down, five minutes to pee and get dressed, and the rest was all travel. I mean, I did have to wait around a little, but that's fine, that's nothing. I'm pissed about having to stand so close to the bears waiting for a bus that will take an hour and a half to get me there. Don't ask me how the entire day gets gobbled up; it just does.

      Oh, man. I really thought that whole thing would kill me. I wasn't strong enough to do anything, I couldn't get comfortable at all, I didn't even have an indoor voice. All I could do was whisper. I was this pathetic, shriveled creature that couldn't stop vomiting long enough to take her pills. You know the worst choice to give someone? "Should I give you the medicine for your pain, or the medicine for your nausea?"

      Because that's when you know―you don't so much mind the puke. That was the most intense pain ever. I was going to die. I was going to make absolutely sure of it. If that happens again...

      Well, whatever. Happy thoughts, right? Suppose my book is going okay; kind of rocky at times, I know. But I have an excuse; it's just me. I don't have any help. What's the excuse for all the horrible movies and TV shows out there? Shrek The Third, what the hell was that? Anyway, in my current story, which took a backseat for a story that took me a year, I am writing the 58th chapter. Since that chapter is incomplete, I count it when I say that all I need is seven more chapters for it to be the longest book I ever published.

      And in my original story, I'm working on the 33rd chapter and estimate over 1,000 pages. How come I don't know for sure? Wordpad. Where do I get my estimate? Microsoft. I'd have kept my story there, but it's so big that it crashes the app. So proud! Of my terrible story. That no one will read.

      I guess I am prouder of my fan fiction. It doesn't get a lot of attention. When it does, it's either negative or the person has only come to say, "Interesting." I hate that. My last comment was, "I'm not complaining..."

      Wow. That was over a year ago, July 18th. It may be glaringly obvious that I am a struggling author, but at least I post original pieces of crap. I've come across the transcript of the movie on that site, and it's got hundreds of reviews giving it praise. I mean, if you don't watch the show, don't read about it. It's insulting to the people who wrote the original transcript.

      And yes, I publish AI pictures. Stop bitching. I'm not selling it. I'm not saying, "This is me!" so just piss off. I am happy with the result, I enjoy looking at it, and I'll lose it if I don't save it somewhere. You don't have a problem with AI; you have a problem with people calling it art. If your problem was with AI, you wouldn't own technology. You wouldn't play games with AI characters and you wouldn't watch movies with AI characters. You'd ban it all, not just the websites.

      The people who sell their AI image piss me off, too. They don't deserve a profit. The people claiming to be the person in an AI-generated photo, or the parent of the child in an AI-generated photo, are just creepy. Be mad at them. That makes sense.

      Well, I think I've said all I need to. I may not be able to escape―ugh―people, but I can definitely say it's bedtime. You know, when I had my first stent put in and I woke up feeling healthy, I was elated. I experienced happiness for an entire week. Then the depression hit me again. Now I have to dwell on how bad it was if I want to feel good again.

      Being depressed is making me depressed.

Best Dream Of My LIFE!!

       I just got up from a nap...during which I dreamt that I was a singer, performing one of my favorite songs by my all-time favorite singer, with her! And crushed it!

      Who knew I could have such an amazing sleep, when I feel so un-amazing? The surgery went well, except for the uncontrollable shakes I had despite actually being happy to be getting it. I was hungry and cold, so that might be it. They removed my stent. But then, they put in another; and this one has to come out in two days, not two weeks. Seems almost pointless... And they said I could pull it out myself, and oh by the way it's about the length of my arm.

      I said hell no, I'm letting the pros do it. They said "Call the office today and book your appointment," but uh-oh, they aren't open 'til Monday. Again. Don't they know their hours?

      But this new stent, man. Fuck. I guess I'd gotten used to the first one, and the replacement is going to be hell all over again. Here I am, peeing every two minutes again. I literally came this close to having an accident, twice! And, ugh, I was advised to drink a tall glass of water every hour. Can I just not? I feel like a lake! Damn!

Dreams....And Seams

       My surgery was finally scheduled for tomorrow. Pretty last-minute, but, kept getting a machine. Anyway, I'm just glad to be making progress. Hopefully they can ablate the rest of the stone, and I should really ask about my blood type while I'm there. Maybe a diabetes test, because I am always tired. It could be the depression, but it could be something else, too.

      So I have until midnight to eat what I want, and until 7 AM to drink even water. Ohmigosh, I'm so excited! Hopefully they can patch me up good as new, wouldn't that be great?

      In other news, I have been having very strange dreams, and I guess it started with the one where I was a prisoner. In a hospital-like setting, I guess because that was the most exciting thing to have happened to me all year. Small, curtained spaces. Toilets in every one, but there were fences in every hallway. The floor was dirt, with holes where the prisoners were brought through. So I'm trying to climb out...actually, in retrospect I think I was wearing the same outfit I wore in the hospital, greasy ponytail and all. But I get to the outside, and I walk for a very long time, finally get to where the "owners" work, and I see this spinning light. It's green, but then it turns red and an electronic voice blares out that I've been located in the building. Then these guards ambush me―and I wake up.

      Then I dreamt I lived in this incredible castle. Gorgeous. Except for all the toilets in open spaces; I think I can blame the stent. But I really need to go, and every toilet I try, people walk into the room. Apparently my castle is open to tourists, or maybe it's part-hospital. So I go into my bedroom, which has a huge window on the inside, like at patient admitting. Except I'm home, in my bedroom, and I need privacy. So I close the window even though there are people trying to talk to me about, well, fashion and other unimportant stuff. I close the window and before I can even get to the toilet, my sister barges in. Apparently with all that space, all those bedrooms, we still share a room. Yeah, no offense, but that wouldn't happen; if it's my castle, we're all getting our own floor, okey-dokes?

      So finally I decide to go up to the top floor, thinking I won't be barged in on (is that correct?). There are so, so, so, so, so many staircases and they are all so, so, so, so, so long. Naturally I wake up before I can get there.

      Then there's a dream about a kitchen fire, but then.... There's an old man. Climbing fences. Inside hallways. And an alarm goes off, blaring out that he's been located in the building.

      What? I mean, what? Seriously! 😂

      I love my brain, but I don't understand it. It's not the first time a dream has repeated itself and I'm sure it won't be the last. But I'd love to understand it. Or kill it. Just that teeny, tiny portion of the brain that dreams. Well, okay, that's a big portion of the brain, damn near all of it, but okay, I can consent to being sedated every night. No problem here.

      I have to get moving. Five hours to eat and counting.

Between Surgeries

       So I have to go in for another surgery, which I was supposed to book days ago, but I haven't been able to get in touch with them. My mother tried and got a "Maybe we can do it on the 26th, we'll call you back," and that was the last we heard. That was this morning.

      Hopefully I can get the stent out before it's "too late." I've never wondered before if these things can poison you. I did learn that some patients receive a stent with a string, and whatever you do, you're supposed to not pull it. At all, otherwise it could cause internal damage, pain, etc. But my brother made this joke about wind-up toys... He's weird like that.

      I'm also a couple days behind on my meds, one of which I actually can take. Well, three of which, if we count the Gravol and the Restoralax. I'm no longer nauseous or plugged, but I'm definitely going to be saving them until they expire. Just in case.

      And I have a new appreciation for, well, pretty much everything. Hospitals, a laxative given as a gift, even that calorie-measurement thing my sister-in-law does, which I thought was "over the top." I wasn't rude about it before, just confused and clueless, as is my default. I think I should contact her and ask her to help me do that.

      There are so many things I didn't want to be. So many things I thought I never would. I've never been wrong on so many counts before.

      Today was a good day, though. I didn't think it would be, because I was much too sore to get any sleep. Turned out I just needed a BM. I took Tylenol at noon and haven't taken any since! And I got to the bank. I passed up a much-desired lunch offer at Tim Horton's, but I know I need to take it easy. And maybe not just until my next surgery, but probably forever. Sadly I'm not getting any younger. I just wish I'd gone to the hospital when I first felt something was wrong. Future note; dark and infrequent urination coupled with crippling pain, no bueno.

      I'm afraid I might be in actual kidney failure.

      I don't even drink.

SURGERY

       So...I had a CT scan booked for today. So effing glad they didn't make me wait! I was in the most pain and discomfort I have ever been in, more than I thought was possible. Puking and sweating and shaking so hard. I'm sure I made a lot of people feel uncomfortable, especially when I did that screaming thing when I was retching. Ew. But yeah, I don't know if I was screaming because of the effort, because of the pain, or because that's just how people puke. I don't do it a lot.

      But on Friday, I think, I was hospitalized a third time. Ugh. This time the doctors actually conversed about my X-rays and started wondering if it was a kidney stone. No hesitation, they get on the phone and arrange for me to have my CT scan that same day; next thing I know...well, I'm still in the same uncomfortable chair puking and trying not to cry, but after that I'm flying down hallway after hallway in a wheelchair by the most amazing hospital transfer guy. I'm wearing a nightie, and I'm afraid it'll fly up, that's how fast he was going. That or he just had really long legs...everybody's tall to me.

      A couple more hours of pure torture later, I'm in the CT with a needle in my hand (which was in there for 2 days straight, thank you very much!) feeling this dye, this incredibly warm dye, spreading through my entire body. I was transferred by wheelchair and I'm still sitting in the wheelchair in the waiting room, trying not to watch this overly-affectionate couple; I mean, she was all over him, kissing him all the bloody time. You're in a loving relationship, great! Time and place, people.

      Then I get wheeled off to a waiting room, where I get to my feet because unfortunately, Transfer Guy has to leave. He was awesome; very skillful in maneuvering me, and he played good music. So there I sit, in a haze of unbelievable pain and nausea, trying to converse with a receptionist who clearly thinks I'm stupid, because she was scoffing and rolling her eyes at me when I couldn't recite my mother's new phone number without looking. Anyway, the bitch takes me to another waiting room, though not before holding up traffic so she can gab to someone. Dumps me in a narrow curtained space with about six chairs in it and fucks off.

      At least twelve hours go by. Twelve hours of puking, shaking, sweating, and listening to this poor guy with fluid in his lungs; I hope he got in by now. Jeez. A nurse comes along, finally. Fiddles with my IV, fucks off. More time goes by. More nurses come and go, but they're not mine. Finally a nurse comes back to me and I ask her to check my IV, to make sure it's in correctly because it looks like it's coming out. Doesn't even turn her head, just says, "It's in correctly," like every-body there is infallible (luckily the bitch was right, but I was in such a bad mood that when she left, I mimicked her words and muttered, "Fucking turn your head." I was so miserable I didn't care, but I think I made the guy beside me laugh. Small wins, right?)

      Guy beside me eventually goes in for kidney stone surgery. I don't see him again. Boom, doctor comes up to me, I have to go in for kidney stone surgery. What was it, the kidney stone waiting room? I don't care, I'm just so happy to finally be going somewhere; I wanted surgery days ago. I think I was a highly cooperative patient. I put up with three enemas that did nothing, used the commode a bunch of times because at least they are not embarrassed, and didn't hesitate at all to have a medical device go up past my urethra. But when I woke up...oh my god. No more pain! I could think. I could breathe! I almost cried again.

      But they inserted something that does stretch you out a little down there, so things can pass, including stones. It makes me want to pee, like, all the time. I'm looking forward to getting it out in two weeks, but I also want it to stay in. Apparently I'm too narrow. I don't want this to happen again. I wouldn't wish this on my enemy.

      But yeah, my doctors and nurses... Man, if I was religious, I'd have called them all angels. And you know what? Tylenol keeps the pain away. Oh, right, the stent they put in me can cause pain, which is the same pain I had before my surgery. So that sucks, but at least there's Tylenol. And I am now on four different prescription meds... Well, we'll see. Two of them are these gigantic pills that I'm not sure I can do, because they don't want me crushing them or breaking them. Something I have always done, because I choke easy. I'm trying them out soon, unfortunately, and if I can't, well, then I just won't. In two more weeks I'll have another surgery to get everything nice and wide down there, and hopefully the stone will be no more.

      I just wish I could remember that nurse's laugh. I know it was beautiful. I remember one of them saying I had "stellar" blood pressure, which is shocking, because I've been under the impression it was high. You know, after someone told me it was. And today, my mother's friend said I "looked good"...which is also shocking.

      Anyway, this has all been slowly escalating over the course of a month, probably brought on by that whole big thing with my neighbor. And I haven't slept very much this whole time, so I think I'm going to try to choke down my meds and lie down. Not like there's a bloody point. Even feeling this good, I'm still uncomfortable. I think I can feel that thing in me. Fun fact; people sometimes remove it at home!

      No thanks. I'm gonna let the pros do this. You know, I have had some horrifying, traumatizing stuff happen to me in hospitals; but over the course of the past four days (or whatever), I'm just not afraid anymore. The doctors and the nurses treated me so well, I actually dreaded coming home. I mean, I can't get the help I need here! What if the stone shifts? What if I'm allergic to these pills?

      Now I hate it here. I feel so unsafe now. I know stress might be a factor in kidney stones and I'm trying to be calm, but... I never have been. People think I am, because I don't express it, but I am always so anxious. Hello, I used to be a shut-in who called her mother if she heard sirens. I don't think my family remembers that. I tried taking my life when I was a child; don't think they remember that!

      A doctor told me there are so many factors to stones that they don't even know the leading one. They don't even know, and I'm supposed to be calm. Knowing I can feel like this again. Seven years from now, a month from now, tomorrow!

      I just want them to make me like a foot wide down there. Okey-dokes? Pretty please? It's not like I'm ever going to be using my womb, so let's just swap it out! Use it for experiments or something. Try to impregnate an animal, or see if a shoe fits in there. Use it as a planter, I don't care, but make me wide.

      I can't even sleep now without dreaming of hospitals and doctors. Which is fine, until I wake up and realize how helpless and alone and without a clue I am.

Hospitalized Again

       And this time, stuff was coming up. I also stayed for 12 hours this time. I also heard people calling for a Sharon and an Allison, so....small wins.
      My god, I'm tired. I did nothing but puke. Here's hoping the same medicine that made me vomit so hard at the hospital doesn't effect me now!