Posted in anxiety, auction, bugaboos, C-PTSD, chronic pain, community, crowdfunding, depression, dreams, faith, friends, health, life, medical, society, storage

1/19: Whatever Comes

[Still need help to get storage finished and caught up. If I don’t get it caught up before the end of the month, it’ll go to auction and I get no more second chances. Help me get it caught up.]

Life is full of ups and downs and challenges and … you get the idea. I’ve been to Hell and back so many fucking times in my 46 years that it’s like a second home. I face the challenge, deal with it, move forward.

Today potentially presented a new challenge for me. I started to feel pain in my left armpit last night and it continued through today and is getting a bit worse. I’ve done nothing to the area so I checked it in the mirror for swelling. There is a bit of swelling, so off I went to Urgent Care.

*Disclaimer: I know absolutely nothing yet.

I left shortly after with a scrip for Amoxicillin. A swollen lymph node is the culprit. Why it’s inflamed, we don’t know. I see the plastic surgeon who messed up my reduction surgery in 2015 this coming Friday. If the swelling and pain has not begun to subside by then, I’ll request a biopsy.

I’ll also go up and get a boob squish session (ahh, mammograms) this week as well. It’s been a bit over 2 years now. They told me to go for 3 years, but this is a special situation.

There are a handful of things a swollen LN can be. The next level up on fighting some random infection, RA (no other signs, though), Cancer, etc.

Yes, I said the C word. What if it happens to be that? Then I’ll fight to the end of my damn days. The end of the world. It’s one more challenge for me to face.

It could also be nothing major. Which would be nice for once. I mean, shit, I’ve had cellulitis, a heart condition, C-PTSD, anxiety, broken bones and sprains that made the doctors wonder if I’d broken anything. I’ve been homeless. I’ve been raped repeatedly.

I’m still here. I’m still fighting. It would be nice to get a break health-wise. But if not, okay. Bring it on. Never tell me something is impossible. Or, better yet, DO tell me that so I can prove you wrong. I take perverse pleasure in proving someone wrong about me.

This is life. As sucky as it can be, this is life. If things in your life aren’t challenging, then you aren’t pushing yourself to truly live. Granted, no one wants cancer. But challenges are a part of life.

~A

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Posted in auction, cats, chronic pain, community, disability, faith, family, friends, gratitude, life, peace, storage

1/3: Long day *thud*

Thank you to those who helped me get to a smidge over halfway on storage. Saved it from auction and just have to get the remaining amount paid up before the end of the month.

I got it taken care of on my lunch hour from work, then headed back and worked the rest of the afternoon. My internship doesn’t pay a lot and is only 16 hours a week. Hence also looking for another job. Then I caught the bus and headed to a task, which I’m just heading home from now. The stress and constant go, go, go of today has me wiped out, but back to work tomorrow. Just the internship.

I just hope the elevator in my building is finally fixed by the time I get home. It’s been down for a week. I’m only on the 2nd floor, but the stairs are still difficult. And I can’t do much grocery shopping until it is fixed.

Gonna go home, feed and snuggle the cat (who will likely be rather peeved at me for not being home to feed her at her usual time), then get some sleep. Tomorrow is a new day. Hopefully one with a bit less stress.

~A

Posted in anxiety, artsy stuff, asexuality, auction, C-PTSD, community, conformity, convention, cosplay, creativity, crowdfunding, depression, domestic abuse, dreams, emergency, faith, family, friends, gender, history, homelessness, housing, individuality, life, medical, Personal, sexual assault, silliness, society, storage, urgent, writing

1/2/19: A Bit Different #crowdfunding

Last one for the night for crowdfunding. I’m exhausted from the emotional and physical havoc today was. Trying to not go into a full-on pity-party… so I’m going to take a cue from the image I chose and riff on that for the last of the night. Still sitting at $235 of $1467. Can anyone who sees this be part of a minor miracle and add to that low number?


I’ve always been kind of an “odd duck” well, rabbit. I’m still not entirely sure if identifying as Rabbit from Winnie-the-Pooh is a good thing or a bad one. But I’ve had several friends agree that I’m Rabbit. But I’ve always been different. Not so much in a neuro-atypical way, just different.

I was the kid who plucked dog and cat hairs from the family pets and looked at them under the 3x microscope. The one who “hunted the dragon” which was actually my dad working on the yard. The kid who was caught on film in rainbow striped tights and a slip (top, not skirt) and ballet shoes, using my dad’s drafting table after hours to doodle.

The teen who wore black leather lace up boots and a beret or real fedora -black with a grey band- and pink and blue shiny eye shadow. Drawing and dancing and singing and pretending I was famous. All while contemplating suicide because of emotional abuse.

I tried, in my 20’s, to go with the pack, to dress like others and fit in. But I realized as I inched closer to 30 that that wasn’t me. It wasn’t WHO or WHAT I was. Still not me now. I rejected the “American Dream” concept of a house in the ‘burbs with the white picket fence and all the other trappings.

My life has been filled with good and bad. The bad has had a tendency to overwhelm me and my life. From a sexually abusive relationship to almost dying at 35 from Cellulitis. To being homeless for most of the past two years. It hasn’t been easy, not by any means.

For labels: I’m an Androgynous Aromantic Asexual Furry Cosplayer who also happens to write SF/F… and, well, there probably are a few other things. I paint, I sew, I design floorplans of houses and costumes. I can draft my own patterns to some degree. I refer to myself as a Geek-of-all-Trades.

And just about everything that one with all those labels and hobbies (along with more I didn’t list) would have to help define who they are is locked away in the storage unit up for auction tomorrow at noon PST. My identity, my first fursuit, my costumes, my sewing machine, my music.

My everything.

I’m not perfect or beautiful or famous like I had dreamed of as a kid. I’m just this one person who is trying to pick my life back up after being on temporary hold for almost two years. I’m a person who stumbles and falls on my own feet while walking along the path of life. I think a lot of us do that. I just choose not to hide the bruises from my falls.

My life is in that storage unit. I can’t lose it. Not now when I’m finally back in my own place again.

~A

Posted in anxiety, auction, community, cosplay, creativity, crowdfunding, depression, dreams, emergency, friends, homelessness, housing, life, poetry, society, storage, urgent, writing

1/2/19: Waiting (#poetry and #crowdfunding)

Still #crowdfunding. I’m just gonna keep going. Hoping that by Saturday, I’ll be able to go and get my mattress and some things out of there after it’s saved. It’s at Central Self Storage here in Portland. All I want is this chance to get some normalcy back. I have my costumes and everything in there.

WAITING

Broken lines of light come to me over the water below
The bridge under my feet is cold and slick from the winter rain.
The moon betrays me to the night sky.
I stand over the water.
Watching.
Hoping.

In my dream I felt this night.
I saw the moon over me, the rigid steel of the bridge around me.
The ripplies of water disturb the lights of the city beyond.
I saw this night.
I felt it.
Yet, he is nowhere.

In this dream, he stands in this place.
On this bridge.
Silence only broken by the water below, hitting the supports.
He stands here.
Why, I do not know.
So, I wait.

My impatience overtakes my desire.
The bells in the distance tell me midnight is here.
Yet I am still alone.
Here.
On the bridge.
Waiting.

Pacing, hoping he will show.
I fumble to make sure it is safe in my pocket.
Staring into the deep black water.
Below.
And I wait.
He never comes.

~APA 2007 (I have no clue where this came from, but it’s one of mine. *shrugs*)

Posted in anxiety, auction, crowdfunding, depression, emergency, faith, family, friends, homelessness, housing, life, storage, transitions, urgent

1/2/19: What would you do? Less than 30 hours #crowdfunding

What would you do? If you had been homeless with everything you owned (well, about 98% of it, including all your furniture and things you hold dear) locked away where you can’t get to it? About to be auctioned off. If you couldn’t get credit because of a medical bankruptcy? If you have a plan to get what you need immediately out and then move the rest into a smaller, more affordable unit?

That’s where I am now. I don’t have parents to turn to. My siblings are both stretched thin themselves when it comes to finances. I’ve had meager, unsteady income and have barely been able to keep myself afloat, even while homeless. But now… now I have a small apartment. I finally have a place of my own where the furniture and some other things in storage can go. But they’re about to get auctioned off.

I’m tired. Tired of fighting and trying to beat this financial monster that keeps my belongings hostage. I just need one more chance. So, please share and keep this going. Share and encourage others to share.

~A

Posted in anxiety, auction, C-PTSD, community, crowdfunding, dreams, emergency, faith, friends, homelessness, housing, life, observations, Personal, poverty line, society, storage, transitions, urgent

1/2/19: Anxiety #crowdfunding

I’m not sure how else to get anyone’s attention. What can I do? Coming out of homelessness sucks when you know you have the tools to start rebuilding your life, but can’t access them for a lack of funds.

Trust me, I’d MUCH rather be blogging about normal topics. More poetry and stuff. But life can hand -no, not hand- HURL challenges at some people like it’s an every day thing. At least this is how it feels to me.

I do my best not to compare myself to others, but I do look around me at others in society. It does feel like some people got the Manual for Adulthood at an early age, and the rest of us are still trying to figure it all out.

I could totally blame the world, but some of it is on me. I made some choices that have scarred me for life. Abusive relationships and all. I wish I could wave a magic wand and make things better, but there is no magic wand. No easy fix. I know that. Probably better than most.

I just ask and hope that enough people or the right people… just people hear my request and can answer with the help I need. I need one more chance. I’m almost there.

~A

Posted in auction, bigotry, community, conformity, crowdfunding, depression, disability, emergency, faith, family, friends, health, individuality, life, music, observations, Personal, society, storage, urgent

1/2/19: Perceptions (and #crowdfunding #urgent)

In the past, I’ve mentioned the relationship my dad and I had before he passed away in 2014. One of the things that I found interesting while typing up the previous post with Disheveled is how I was and am seen compared to how I was back when I was heavily involved in my music.

I stopped playing piano in 2007 and singing in public in 1998. Piano because I had this fear instilled in me when I was little by my mother about playing where others could hear me. I was about 4 and figured out the melody to the Star Spangled Banner by myself. And I was damn proud of that. So, I played it every chance I got, which was a lot. My mother, who was trained herself, could have come over and taught me how to control my volume by how hard or soft I hit the keys. But she didn’t. I’d get about 4 or 5 notes in and from wherever she was in the house, she’d yell, “STOP PLAYING THAT SONG!!!”

Fear instilled. I had moments where I was specifically performing later on and I was fine, but over the years, I grew increasingly self-conscious about others hearing me play. In 1997, I stopped. A year later, I stepped away from choirs and what little solo singing I did because of a couple of factors: one was that same fear. The other was my health. I kept getting sick and couldn’t figure out why. Eventually, I did. We were dealing with an extensive roof leak at my parent’s house and black mold formed (although my dad and sister denied it was there. I’m hyper-sensitive to it) in the attic crawlspace. Living there while working on my BA down the street (quite literally, as we lived right behind CSUH/CSUEB) was wreaking havoc on my vocal chords. A few years ago, I was diagnosed with VCD (Vocal Chord Dysfunction). It took years and then visiting the house after dad died to get to that diagnosis.

Before he died, I got into a conversation with him about getting back into at least playing piano and wanting to save up for one. He was (quietly) over the moon. He was never one for showing much emotion. Somewhere in my blog posts, I tell the full story, but I ended up asking him why he was so excited that I wanted to get back to it. His words:

You were so positive and happy when you were involved in music. I want to see you that way again.

-My dad in 2014

And then I look at some of my really old poetry from while I was still singing and playing. I’ve always thought I wasn’t one for wearing a mask in society. That I always showed who I am, not what others wanted to see. But in a way, I did wear one. I re-read old poetry and stuff of mine and see some anger and depression, all during a time when I was seen as this happy, upbeat person.

Another recent thing involves a meme I posted recently on FB about the Greek words for different types of love. I was reminded of a nickname a friend of mine gave me when our church group was studying them in some setting. “Agape Amanda.” For Agape Love. Love of everyone.

And then I look at my poetry. Dude, what did people see that I didn’t? While Disheveled is a bit more recent than the early 90’s, I do have similar stuff where I was angry at the world for treating me differently for walking with a cane (and not in a good way). Depressed for similar reasons. I was dealing with a lot of different things back then. I still am. Some of them are different than the ones then, but the emotions are still the same. Maybe now I’m more true to who I am in what I show. I can’t hide behind the mask forever.

~A

Posted in anxiety, birthdays, community, crowdfunding, emergency, faith, family, friends, life, poverty line, society, storage, urgent

1/1/19: Relentlessly Something [#crowdfunding]

One more time for the evening. I’m exhausted from the stress, but gotta keep trying. Nearly everything I own, including furniture I can’t afford to replace any time soon, is in my 8×20 storage unit that will get auctioned in less than 48 hours (roughly noon on 1/3).
I’ve hit a massive wall in terms of finances and help. The good thing is that IF I can save it this time, I’ll be able to move a fair amount of what’s in it into my new apartment two blocks away and then what’s left into a SMALLER and CHEAPER unit.

If someone I’m connected to in some way is willing to do a reasonable loan for part of it, I’m willing to listen and work on terms. I don’t make much, but need to get a second job anyway, so I’ll have more income. Soon-ish. Have to. That’s a whole long story.

But no job I get in the next day or two will help with saving my unit. That I do know. So I ask for help. Hopefully, this will be the last ever time I need to do this. I’d rather be tired from moving my furniture two blocks into my apartment than tired from the stress of asking for help.

The plan:

  1. Catch up the rent on storage.
  2. Move out roughly half of what’s in there to the apartment. (It’s two blocks from me)
  3. Move the remaining stuff in the storage unit to a smaller storage unit on the property.
  4. Manage that rental amount. It would be roughly $150 instead of $305/mo.
  5. Make this adulting thing work, dangit!

~A