Hey all! I'm about to get a microscope for my upcoming birthday! But I want to get one that is best for my interests: grass seed, tree sap, and soil. Thoughts on what to get?
Newbie here, and stoked to get a microscope for my upcoming birthday! But I want to get one that is best for my interests: grass seed, tree sap, and soil. Thoughts on what to get?
shouting into the void to say I have no idea how to cope with my new energy baseline being so low. i'm so overwhelmed. i'm already debilitated to the point of being largely unable to work. now i'm so exhausted that eating wears me out. how is this a life? maybe I just haven't figured out how to pace myself because I'm constantly gaslighting myself, but whatever this is it's not sustainable. how do you cope with a new (lower) baseline?!
Okay, so here's the deal: I'm so exhausted, the path to answers is forever long (if there's actually any answers to be had), and I literally don't even know if I 'officially' have endo (just all symptoms but 1...). I'm getting my first and (hopefully) last transvaginal ultrasound tomorrow morning (which I keep accidentally calling it my ultravag exam... which I like a lot better). I'm kind of freaking out because I'm already in so much pain, and this is just going to inflame everything. On top of that, (trigger warning here I guess,) having been chronically raped as a kid, and now heading into this damn thing as an adult, the parallels are, like, way too similar for my body to not be FREAKING the FUCK out. And of course, the medical system acts like its never even heard the word rape before and makes ZERO accommodations. It's embarrassing that I have to fight SO hard and exert SO much energy to even get the answer to whether or not my wife can come into the exam room with me tomorrow. So I'm having to gear up, pre-exam, to just stand up for what I need because I know for a FACT that it's not a "risk of infection" issue to have her with me. Anyway, Jesus Christ, I'm exhausted. I literally hate the medical system... they prey on the sick. Rant abated for now, and thank you for listening. 😘
Because humans are isolated inside their own bodies. Because, in the privacy of my body, no one’s there but me. Because I cannot safely leave. Because there are no reassurances that it will ever end. Because we care most when it’s ourselves in pain. Because I can’t ignore it. Because my thoughts spiral so fast I start hurting more. Because of self-blame. Because of everyone’s assumption that “reducing stress” is a simple decision of hours allotted to “down time,” or, worse, fixed solely by a meditation practice/religion/diet. Because there is no down time. Because, at the end of the day, I have to face the night behind my own closed eyes. Because I wake up seeing the lining behind the shades, gauging daylight. Because I wake up too often pretending not to wake up so I can think I’ve slept well and have more energy at the start of the day tomorrow. Because, by morning, I am already tired. Because I cannot be tired at the start of my best hours. Because I cannot admit that to myself. Because I’m still trying to pretend I’m getting better. Because maybe I have gotten better or maybe I’m just doubting my own experience deeper and with double denial. Because maybe it’s both. Because I can barely write this, less alone face it. Because I am so tired I could cry. Because I cry too often. Because I’m tired of crying. Because not crying makes the pain worse. Because I am always trying to lessen the pain. Because breathing is the only solution. Because it’s a terrible solution to have in isolation. Because the medical field is insane. Because there’s no “reason” for my pain besides a bunch of trauma. Because trauma is overrated and under addressed. Because everyone has trauma. Because I feel guilty for having it bad when others have it worse. Because someone ALWAYS has it worse. Because real, bonafide privileges make it even possible to get help. Because the help I can afford does so little. Because I’m lucky. Because I don’t know how much help I can afford. Because affordability is the main thing, and disability is the opposite. Because society was built solely for the able-bodied. Because culture loves the cured or, better yet, the ones blessed with health and prosperity. Because God gives and takes away. Because there’s no help but a God of war and damnation. Because society believes in God. Because God heals. Because abuse is so ubiquitous among the powerful that it is invisible. Because no one cares. Because there’s too much to say and it’s never the right time. Because shut up. Because “trauma-dumping” is so taboo people apologize for mentioning anything real. Because people don’t want real. Because everyone’s in their own world. Because our worlds are so different and we expect them to be the same. Because what more is there to say? Because every pain has been endured and passed or passed away. Because no pain stays. Because empathy only reaches as far as our imaginations. Because there’s no time to imagine. Because imagining hurts. Because I just want, finally, to have a good time. Because none of it’s real. Because if I don’t face it I won’t see it. Because it can’t be real. Because it’s too bad. Because I can’t close my eyes and never have. Because I never started reading the news. Because I remember learning about war. Because history is violence and the present is violent. Because, most days, the idea of a future hurts. Because I need to “get involved in a cause.” Because I look around and see everyone everywhere hurting. Because I can’t choose. Because I can’t choose myself. Because the world keeps burning and flooding while we keep ordering from the fastest package-delivery service available. Because businesses consume people, able and disabled. Because pain is a lucrative business and religion is in cahoots. Because people will buy anything. Because health insurance preys on the sick and no one’s talking about it because they’re too sick to comment. Because I can barely fight for myself. Because it takes so much energy to speak up. Because I am in so much pain I’m panicking. Because there’s still a whole evening to get through and I have nothing left. Because I have to have something left. Because I’m so lonely I can’t call anyone “just a phone call away.” Because it all starts with reaching out but I’m too tired to reach out because I’m so tired of reaching out. Because the burden still falls on me to reach out. Because I am ultimately responsible for keeping myself alive. Because, at the end of the day, there’s just my body. Because, at the end of the day, I want to be free and this pain just scratches the surface. Because I am sensitive. Because I have a high pain tolerance. Because I’m proud of that. Because I love being able-bodied and fitting in. Because being alive takes so much out of me that it’s embarrassing. Because I don’t want people to feel sorry for me. Because I hate pity. Because pity-parties are the worst. Because accepting love and help is taxing. Because caregiving takes energy. Because I need so much care. Because I hate myself. Because no one wants to hear that, ever. Because maybe that’s the reason. Because self-esteem is just a diet away. Because I’m sick of being sold to. Because violence can’t be the reason for anything, and justice definitely can’t be the solution. Because no one can decide on anything. Because wars start without listening. Because listening isn’t a solution to physical harm. Because harm happens and can’t unhappen. Because we can’t stop doing harm. Because I self-harm. Because I keep buying plastic. Because everyone is overwhelmed. Because I cause harm from being harmed. Because I don’t deserve it. Because I do. Because it’s not a question of deserving or understanding. Because Jesus Saves! Because I need to save myself. Because I don’t trust others and that’s the problem. Because I don’t want there to be a problem anymore. Because the problem’s me. Because the world moves too fast and not moving fast is a disability. Because people breathe down my neck waiting for the opportunity to pass. Because that’s a real thing. Because it’s not surprising. Because who cares? Because only the lucky get to be sick and not homeless. Because signs of hunger are so ordinary we blame addiction for some peace of mind. Because people are crazy. Because law enforcement spends time enforcing laws on the homeless. Because rape is still a thing no one cares about for longer than another headline and for as long as they can deny it. Because denial is an accepted drug. Because drugs are regulated. Because drugs are evil. Because drugs save lives. Because drugs take lives. Because drugs are addictive and pain is temporary. Because pain is addictive. Because I must be at fault. Because my pain is my personal responsibility, my burden to bear. Because people only believe that who have lesser burdens. Because I can’t bear to hear about people’s temporary pains. Because I have reached the capacity of empathy. Because I can’t feel for others who can’t imagine what it’s like for me. Because I always imagine what it’s like for others and wonder why it’s a one-way street. Because I’m tired of being alone. Because I’m used to it. Because I’m sick of complaining. Because what’s my purpose if not to be sweet? Because I’m scared of my own history. Because I’m still scared of the dark. Because I’m a grown woman. Because I’m a woman. Because I am complaining. Because it’s actually not that bad. Because, if I believe hard enough, I’ll have total healing. Because I’m scared of hoping. Because hope is the only reason I’m still alive. Because hope isn’t enough, and neither is saying anything. Because I want to be believed. Because believing isn’t seeing. Because seeing only goes so far as listening. Because nobody listens. Because everyone’s listening. Because what else is there to say?
Since I was young, I was a dreamer. My imagination, the way I see things—they're different and creative, and part of me KNOWS that I could've been successful as a creator, sans all the shit. But getting hit young with neglect, sexual abuse, and religion, it's like my dreams became impossible.
I'm now as old as Jesus (about to outlive him actually 🥳) and the most I can do is keep myself alive. Quite literally.
Still, all my visions are there. The things I want to do or could've done. Who I could've been if my concentration hadn't been shot through with PTSD. I wonder about all the energy I'd have if it weren't all going toward basic survival. Etc. Etc. It's torture to think about the future because I just see all the unrealized versions of myself that I used to have as a kid.
What about you, friend? ❤️
(PS: By "success," I mean being able to consistently create and share my work with others.)