Posted in anxiety, C-PTSD, community, crowdfunding, depression, emergency, friends, homeless, housing, job hunting, life, Personal, poverty line, PTSD, society, storage, urgent

3/19/18: #crowdfunding, packing, and shameless begging

The main reason I do need the help with saving storage this time around is because my income the last few months has been really low. I’m hoping it picks up now that IKEA has acquired Taskrabbit, which is the company I work through to get clients. I do also still need to get a steady job.

I also finally got my heading scheduled for disability. In June. We shall see how this goes.

I’m also packing stuff up tonight to move to the shelter.

My window overlooks the courtyard, so nice and quiet as far as I can tell. The room isn’t huge, but still clean and quiet.

I wish society didn’t pass homeless people and the issue by. Ignoring us won’t make us disappear. It just makes the problem worse. We are the invisible.

My mind is all over the place right now, so this post is reflective of that.

Any help, sharing this post or donating… or both…. both is a good option if you can.


Posted in anxiety, C-PTSD, cats, community, crowdfunding, depression, disability, dreams, emergency, family, friends, grief, health, homeless, housing, job hunting, life, medical, Personal, poverty line, PTSD, society, storage, urgent

3/8/18: #crowdfunding storage, stashing life in cubbies, and #ptsd

Trying to step up my game for the blog. The more I post, the more visibility. The more visibility, the better my chances are of saving my storage unit and everything in it. Which is damn near everything I own. Being homeless sucks ass.

My goal right now with storage is to get it paid up before the end of March. It goes to Auction in April. But auction isn’t the only urgent reason.

There’s a very real possibility Portia and I will be getting a pet room at a local homeless shelter, maybe even by the end of the month. Not sure yet of when, as there are several move-outs coming up (Placement Supervisor and I chatted today). I’m limited in how much I can bring. The equivalent of two large garbage bags of personal items. Portia’s supplies are not counted in that. I’m also assuming food is not counted either (I hope. Despite my limitations on space, I do have a fair bit of food and cooking supplies), but I’ll ask.

I’ve accumulated things since the eviction. Some of came from storage, some was purchased for various reasons. You name it. But I certainly have more than two garbage bags worth of things. So, there are two options:

1: Get storage caught up and work on KEEPING it caught up, so I can retain access to everything. This means scrounging up over 1K in 3 months of storage rent and late fees, etc. My TR work has been minimal since December and I’m concerned about saving everything. Things for Portia and things like cleaning supplies and vitamins and…. well, you name it. It adds up and has destroyed what I have had come in. Much of the funds raised have also gone to various recurring things like paying down on my CareCredit card… Those little things add up when your income is less than $300 each month.

2. Find someone local who is willing to let me stash the rest of my things I currently have with me until storage DOES get caught up. (Letting it get auctioned off is NOT an option… understand?)

Being at the shelter as opposed to where I currently am means a few things: I’ll have a caseworker helping me with housing stuff. That’s a big one. I do still need a job, which is slowly getting back on track. My Voc Rehab counselor left VR a couple months back and I didn’t know. Around the same time, my VR coach (hired from an outside firm for the ‘grunt’ work of helping me) also dropped off the face of the planet due to a family crisis. I got to meet my new VR counselor this week and he let me know that my coach is now starting to return to work. (As it happens, my primary doc has also apparently gone on personal leave and no idea when she’ll return, so ALL these people who have been mainstays in my life have been out of contact). I do now have a therapist, although she’s currently in the process now of getting authorization from my insurance for however many visits they allow me to have to battle my #PTSD.

So… life is shifting once again, but into a completely different and more structured environment. I have -honestly- felt like my life is in flux and unstable since my dad died in 2014. He was my rock. He kept me grounded while simultaneously lifting me up. Reminding me that I can do the things I love to do and never give up on my dreams.

Last night’s poem was how I felt at that moment. Yesterday, I had the third visit with the new therapy place and we went over the results of the interview, testing and a diagnosis. They concur with my GP about the PTSD diagnosis, which is good. So I see hope for things to come, but still feel held back by some “invisible force” which I use Tule Fog to describe it. If you don’t know what Tule Fog is, it’s a very thick ground fog that can and has caused many vehicle accidents in years past. The Central Valley in California got it a LOT. I have family in the Fresno area, so we hit TF a lot. When it’s really bad, you can barely see six feet beyond the grill of your car. Hence why it can cause accidents. You slow down when driving in it because your reaction time is impaired because you can’t see far enough ahead to stop in time.

Some things are changing for the good and others are way up in the air since I’m struggling financially.

It’s been a week since I had to call 9-1-1 for what could have been a heart attack, but was a massive panic attack. I was (and still am to some degree) pissed off at the ER staff as they didn’t seem to hear me when I told them I’ve had massive panic attacks before, one even landing me in the ER like this one. The pain continued on until almost 30 hours later. After another massive pain strike the next night, I took a muscle relaxant and a valium left over from before I was ‘weaned’ off of it a month ago and the next morning, I had very little pain from it. It was not a “pulled muscle” like the ER folks said. I know the difference, folks. No, really. I’m one of those elusive patients who fucking listens to her body and knows when something is wrong and knows the fucking difference between nerve pain, pulled muscles, etc…


Share info, link back to this post or my blog in general, keep watching for things… the PP link is the fastest and easiest access. I also have a fundraiser on FB, but they do take a chunk… just like everyone else. Any and all help is greatly appreciated. Share, retweet, donate if you can… Sharing does make a difference.

Another poem tonight… or even more… who knows…


Posted in anxiety, C-PTSD, cats, chronic pain, community, crowdfunding, depression, disability, emergency, faith, friends, grief, health, homeless, housing, job hunting, life, medical, peace, Personal, poverty line, PTSD, society, storage, transitions, urgent

3/5/18: Panic Attack and Anxiety Observations (and #crowdfunding, of course)

A few gathered bits from FB posts or intended posts, reflecting on the last few days of medical fuckery.


One good thing that did happen today: while talking with the doc, I mentioned I’d been on Celexa for a year and then we switched to Cymbalta a few months ago to see if that worked better. I think, due to its nature, it didn’t exactly help my anxiety and the panic attack. Since I’m under extreme stress and Celexa is good for anxiety, she was all too happy to switch me back. Cymbalta didn’t seem to really do much for me, while Celexa at least helped my heart med to keep my HR down. She wasn’t keen on my GP numbers, but if the Celexa can help with that as well, I may not need more heart meds.


My client today asked about what had happened the last few days. I was supposed to do this task yesterday, but vertigo was making things difficult, so we rescheduled for today. I told her about the panic attack. She said she had no idea panic attacks could cause pain.
Severe attacks can. Some will remember a few years ago when I ended up in the OHSU ER with one. The pain from that one lasted maybe 15 minutes tops. Which is why this one concerned me so much. The pain wasn’t subsiding. In fact, it didn’t fully dissipate for roughly 30 hours. Two major spikes, sending me off the pain scale, almost exactly 24 hours apart. Taking the meds I did Friday night sent my brain and body the right signal. Still had lingering side effects (hence the vertigo Sunday), but doing better overall. Hopefully the change back to Celexa will help.



Now that I know it was a nasty panic attack from hell, I realize that it may be a good thing that my airhead kitty is the one who remains. If JoJo were still alive during these last few days, I’d have a half-nekkid JoJo-kitty and hairballs all over this room.
When I was stressed, she was stressed. And when she was stressed, she overgroomed obsessively and then puked up hairballs that could be museum-worthy.
I still love her and miss her yowling morning alarm and “in your face” headbutts, but for her sake, it’s good she is watching from the other side of the Rainbow Bridge.
I miss you, my soul-kitty. Now, stop beating up Jack.


And an observation from being on transit today:

On my way to the task today, there were several folks on the bus with “granny” carts. Last dude to get on was an angry man. That’s really the best way to describe him.
Don’t get me wrong, I have my “fuck the world/angry at the world” days/moments. Plenty of them. But I do my best to not put ALL the blame for my life onto society. Is part of it “society’s” fault? Quite likely. But I take the brunt of it. I fuck up. I make mistakes. I take the blame for those things. This man, though, was so angry at the world. Blamed the bus driver, the bus, the others on the bus, etc for his having a bad day. The driver warned him and the others at that stop that there may not be enough room for everyone’s carts. He was right. They got one stop and he was blocking the way… there was no room for him and he blamed everyone else for his problem.
It was hard for me to sit where I was and be right in the middle of his anger zone.
I don’t know what happened in his life to make him that way, but I hope he finds some peace.


So, I have a couple of not-really-Tarot decks. One is all animal guides. I shuffled them this evening and pulled three cards. The first two… well… I think they were trying to get a certain message across. Read the brief messages on them.

Take some time out of your usual life and spend it in some solitude.
Take time to rest and recuperate rather than continuing your striving.
Practice shapeshifting by altering your physical appearance and mannerisms.

After the last few days… message received. The book that comes with the deck does expand on the brief sayings. The octopus one makes sense to me with the expanded reading.


In other news, my waitlist status for TPI has shifted over to one of tje women’s short term transitional buildings. Partly due to having Portia as an ESA, but I also can’t handle a top bunk. I’m now on a short list for a “pet room” at one of their women’s buildings. It may still take a month or so… but this may be a good thing. I’m grateful to my friends for putting up with me and my depression, ptsd, health, etc… but moving to a (hopefully) less stressful place will be a good change. Progress?

I just need to get Portia’s vaccines up to date ASAP.


That’s all for now. Except crowdfunding. Storage! I can’t lose my belongings. I’m trying to earn my way out of this hole, but I can’t do it without help. Paypal is the fastest and easiest. Any help will do. Share!


Posted in animal advocacy, anxiety, C-PTSD, cats, chronic pain, crowdfunding, depression, disability, dogs, emergency, health, homeless, housing, job hunting, life, medical, poverty line, PTSD, storage, urgent

3/3/18: Panic Attack? Shifting of Things (and #crowdfunding)

I need to get storage caught up ASAP… see below for one of the reasons why. I also simply don’t want to lose my stuff… 

(featured image is a neighbor kitty who came to visit yesterday. Super sweet girl.)

Panic Attack?

This has been a wild and weird week for me. Had appts and such Monday through Wednesday, everything fine… Thursday night I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. I had a sharp jab of pain right in the middle of my left shoulder blade. Pain radiated down my left arm and across part of my chest. Short of breath, etc… went to the hospital, EKG was fine and they sent me home two hours later with scrips saying I likely pulled a muscle.

Okay, here’ the problem with that: I’ve had sciatica and various injuries my whole 45 years. I FUCKING KNOW WHAT A PULLED MUSCLE FEELS LIKE!!!!! I also know what nerve pain feels like. They gave me two Norco, one Ativan, and a shot of Toradol (which hurt like a motherfucker) while there, which did virtually nothing.

So, flash forward to the same time last night. Pain SLAMMED into me again. Same spot, same radiating pain. This time it also sent a straight line of pain across my back, stopping short of the right shoulder blade. Called the OHP nurse line, which told me to call 911 again. One of the same medics as the night before. BP high again, but nothing super high. I have my own cuff/monitor thanks to my dad (heart patient) years ago insisting on getting one. So I picked it out and he bought it for me. I’m monitoring it for now and have my followup with my clinic on Monday. I’m taking pics of each reading.

Here’s the thing: last night before bed, I took a flexeril (muscle relaxant) and a valium left over from my scrips (weaned off due to choosing it or oxy for my chronic pain). This morning? Pain down near a 3 or 4 where it was hovering between 7 and 10 until sometime during the night. I kept telling the doc at the ER that it wasn’t a pulled muscle. I have my beefs with the vast majority of medical professionals. They don’t fucking listen to those of us who know our bodies, assuming we’re just dumb motherfuckers. So, I’m guessing a massive panic attack from all the layers of stress in my life.

Shifting of Things

As many know of my homeless situation, I’ve been staying at a friend’s house for nearly a year. Currently in the basement. I got back on the waitlist for Transition Projects some weeks back. Normally, they put you in a stage 1 shelter once your number comes up. Because of my disabilites and having Portia (my Emotional Support Critter), they shifted me to bypassing a stage 1 shelter (open rooms like dorms, barracks). I can’t do a top bunk and with Portia, I need an enclosed space. They moved me to the list for a stage 2 space, which is the transitional housing, presumably private spaces. She said it may still be a few weeks.

One thing I need to get taken care of is get Portia updated on vaccines. I wish they had told me initially when they said I needed the letter for her to be an ESA. Details are important.

Then there’s my stuff. I won’t be able to bring everything I have here at the house to wherever the housing is. With storage being locked down, I’m stuck. I need to get it paid up ASAP so I can start moving things over there and bring my stuff here to a bare minimum.

I now owe roughly $1000

Rent: $305/ea = 915 [January, February, and now March]

Late fees: Over $100 (applied on the 6th, the 15th and then the end of the month. The end of month one is $50 each)

So, somewhere over 1K. Because of aforementioned medical fuckery, I need to take it easy for a few more days. I have a task tomorrow, but if the client helps, I may be okay. I just need to slow down and not try to break my own damn speed records. My pain is down today so if that keeps steady, I should be okay tomorrow. I’ll just need to be careful with the tasks for a while.

My options for my stuff, if I get into the shelter sooner rather than later:

  1. leave things here for a bit until storage frees up.
  2. get storage paid up and move things down there.
  3. find a friend to stash everything extra until storage is open again. 

I’d MUCH prefer the second one. I hate asking friends to store my crap. In general, I hate depending on others for anything, including financial help. But I’m stuck in this vortex of being jobless (in terms of steady work), homeless, and dealing with physical disabilities and PTSD.

Wanna know what hell is like? Live my life as it is right now. I’d love to be pain free, in my own place, with a steady job I can do without pain. I’d love to get my service dog and have more confidence in getting out and about. Rebuild my life. The PTSD affects a lot of it. I am well on my way to getting into therapy again, this time to address PTSD and getting my damn life back on track.

So there you have it. My life these last few days. One ambulance ride, paramedics two nights in a row, meds, and just trying to sort shit out and survive.

If my panic attacks are “leveling up,” I’m royally fucked. When they mimic a heart attack, it’s bad. Especially since my dad and both of his brothers were/are (one is still going) heart patients.

I am my father’s child on so many levels.

That’s all for now…

Posted in anxiety, C-PTSD, chronic pain, crowdfunding, depression, disability, dogs, emergency, friends, homeless, housing, job hunting, life, Personal, poverty line, PTSD, society, storage, urgent

STICKY: Meh, Grumble #crowdfunding

STATUS: need to raise funds for storage before end of February.

I’d normally prefer to make a regular post and ramble about various things, including needing funds for storage (again, I know). My income isn’t steady and last month I made less than $300 total… this month? I’m on par to make less than $200. That’s just how it is. One month could be awesome and the next could suck horribly. So I’m two months behind and need around $700 (have less than half). I have a fundraiser on FB and I have the PP on here (sidebar, unless you’re on mobile, then scroll to the bottom).

This post will be stickied to the top for now. If I can’t bring myself to write a whole post for some reason, I’ll change my content in this one. For now: yes, I’m still job hunting; yes, I’m still homeless; yes, I really am living in the basement now; and yes, I’m still battling my PTSD and it isn’t improving. I’m going through the process with one therapy place for intake and will see how that goes. Right now, storage is more important than raising money for a service dog. It will go to auction if not paid up ASAP.

The thing with PTSD is that it sucks almost all of your energy and ability to do the shit you need to do. I’m hoping therapy helps.



Posted in anxiety, cats, community, crowdfunding, disability, friends, homeless, job hunting, life, storage, urgent

2/2/18: Updates, Panic, and … ? #crowdfunding

So, obviously, I didn’t get storage paid for January in time, so add another 305 or so to the total and you get nearly $700. Then add more late fees as the month goes on. I’m going to keep plugging along trying to get more TR work, but it all depends on who needs the help. Also looking for regular steady work, as TR stuff ain’t gonna pay for me getting back on my feet.

Do I also sometimes use the cash I have to get needed things? Sure. Splurge a bit here and there? Sure. I’m behaving (for the most part). I picked up some cleaning stuff and more Vitamin C as those things aren’t covered on EBT (food stamps). Over the next few days, I’m moving down to a room in the basement here. I’m on the waitlist for TPI (Transition Projects) shelter space and have done all the things needed for getting into a space. TB test and a letter stating that Portia (Miss Floofybutt) is my Emotional Support Animal (ESA) for my PTSD. Trust me, you want me to have a fluffy furball to bury my face into so I don’t become a homicidal maniac on the commuter trains. Still want to get a service dog but I can’t right now, for a number of reasons (and yes, I’m considering a GFM to raise the initial “holy shit, it costs how much??” fees).

But yeah, I still need massive help.

If you’re local to PDX and need someone to assemble furniture or such, here’s my TR code: Taskrabbit. Or if you know anyone who needs help. I do some virtual tasks, but very few, and my computers are not playing nicely right now. Well, the “good” computers. The Chromebook isn’t good for much other than perusing the internet and blogging. It crashes WAY too easily to do anything serious.

So, back to crowdfunding… yes, I need help. The sooner, the better. At this point, I can’t do partial payments, so I need to gather up the whole enchilada. Help is good. Sharing is also good.

I’ll keep posting as much as possible. Hey, I look at the move to the basement this way: I’m even closer to the modem. HA!


Posted in anxiety, community, crowdfunding, depression, friends, homeless, job hunting, life, storage

1/27/18: GAAAHH!!! Storage #crowdfunding

I’ve been trying to use funds I’ve earned from TR, but January has been… ehh… lacking in number of tasks. So I have before the 30th to get the month paid before the big ugly $50 fee gets added on.

So, $305 + late fees for now = totalling about $330-ish.

Once I get back into an apartment, I’ll be able to shove what’s left in storage into a smaller unit, but for now, this is what I have to use.

I’ll post more later…


Posted in anxiety, C-PTSD, chronic pain, depression, disability, eviction, grad school, history, homeless, job hunting, life, Personal, PTSD, storage

1/19/18: Sabbaticals and Stuff

I walked the damn stage, I have my cap and gown and all of that, and yet I struggle to finish one last semester of school. I swore up and down, backwards, forwards, etc that I’d finish my MLIS last Fall.

I didn’t.

I blame no one but myself… for letting my C-PTSD/PTSD fuck my life up. I just want to finish my degree. Move on.

But I can’t seem to keep my head clear enough to get through school. The brain fog, the anxiety… all of it. Granted, my living situation isn’t helpful, as I’m still homeless and staying with friends (it’s a bit tense, to say the least).

I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to take a sabbatical. But I think I need to. I can finish my degree from anywhere, so if I do miraculously end up in Germany starting on my second one, I can finish from there.

But I seriously need to dig into therapy and the personal hell of PTSD and anxiety. I don’t know HOW to figure this shit out. The frustrating thing is that I have the shit from 23 years ago handled. I was in therapy almost immediately after I broke up with that bastard. Hell, TWO therapists. One on campus and one at PP on a sliding scale. Yes, Planned Parenthood has/had therapists. Usually students doing their practicum or residency while finishing their PhD’s and such. I’ve been in therapy on and off all these years. What’s affecting me now isn’t as much what he did, but how current instances of dealing with people and touch are making my anxiety skyrocket and triggering my PTSD to where I’ve damn near hurt people.

So, I need a therapist who takes my shitty Medicaid and works with PTSD. Yeah. Not very many around here.

I think taking a break -on purpose- is important. I hate doing it, but I think it’s necessary. Then I can return, tackle the ever-loving shit out of the remaining classes, and finally get that piece of paper.

Honestly, I also didn’t think I’d be homeless this long. I swore I’d be back on my feet long before now. But something -I can’t put my finger on it- is holding me back/down. For once, I can’t figure out the answers to my problems. A lot of times, I’ve been able to do that. Talk it out on here or FB and I figure shit out. Not this time.

More to come… I know I’ve been quiet. Been dealing with pain and other shit.


Posted in anxiety, C-PTSD, chronic pain, creativity, depression, disability, dreams, empath life, eviction, faith, friends, grad school, grief, health, homeless, housing, insomnia, job hunting, life, medical, Personal, writing

10/21: Living Outside My Own Life

More “frustration contemplation” … bear with me.

I’ve chattered on about the various things I do: writing fiction, etc, costuming, grad school, and a bunch of other things. I’ve also talked -at length- about depression, grief, homelessness, being unemployed, being disabled, etc…

Right now, I feel like I’m not living my life. I’m trying to move forward, busted my ass and made promises to get back to school and finish this term, but I’m flailing again… each week flies by me and I look up to find myself even further behind and royally fucked. My own doing. Job hunting is the same. I feel removed from the life I’m supposed to be living.

My health hasn’t helped this, but neither has being homeless and jobless, and … yeah. I know I need to do X, Y, and Z… but I don’t … I… fuck it. This is difficult to put into words on a ‘page.’

I see ME doing all these things in my head. I KNOW I can do them, but I feel like… like there’s a door between the me I am at this moment and the me who can do all those things. That door is locked and deadbolted and can’t be gotten through. And I don’t know where the keys are. I know they exist, but not what they look like or where they may be. I feel as if I’m standing at the window next to the door, looking in. Seeing this other me accomplishing things. But she can’t hear me banging on the window and door to let me in.

Every time I try to jump back in, break down that door, the brain fog returns. The disconnectedness. The feeling like my life is RIGHT FUCKING THERE!!! and it’s just out of reach. I can hear it, smell it, see it… but I can’t step into it and DO it.

Is my being “in between” [i.e. homeless] part of it? Likely. Is being jobless for over two years part of it? Very likely. Nothing like spinning your wheels in a job hunt and getting nowhere. The rare interview I do get, I don’t get hired. Despite the fact that my VR coach has said I interview very well.

I feel as if I can’t fully be ME where I am. Not my kitchen, not my bed, not my bathroom, not my home.

A lot of it started when I lost my dad in 2014. Before I was evicted. My dad was my anchor in life. If I felt lost, I could call him and he’d say what was needed to get me back to center. It’s been nearly 3 years now. A couple of weeks away. I slowly began to slip after he died. I was able to keep shit together to some degree for a while, but over a year later, my own disintegration became more obvious. The fog settled in. It lifts every so often for a brief moment or two, then returns to envelope me, keeping me from my life.

It’s looking -to me at least, from my own digging around- that Chronic Fatigue/Adrenal Fatigue is a distinct possibility. Long term stress makes it worse. Look at my life of the past 12 months… it’s been pretty fucking stressful. But getting out of this mess. How?

CFS/AFS has no cure. Doctors treat the symptoms at best. I’m on Vitamin D (enough to choke a large farm animal), and Celexa, among other meds for things like my asthma and allergies, my tachycardia, and “as needed” pain meds.

Is my current living situation part of the issue? The late start to mornings here… the people I’m staying with are retirees, so they stay up late and get up late. I stay up to about 11 and try to get up at a reasonable hour in the morning (Furry Alarm Clock gives me no choice), but I’m groggy and stumble around. Fall back asleep and wake up a few hours later… late morning. There are other “environmental factors” as well, but I won’t go into those. And no, setting an alarm doesn’t help. Tried that. Keep trying it every so often.

But that brain fog… lack of oomph… standing outside of my life… I don’t know how to fix that.


Posted in anxiety, C-PTSD, cats, chronic pain, community, depression, disability, eviction, faith, friends, gender, health, history, individuality, job hunting, life, medical, Personal, PTSD, sexual assault, society

10/16: Wake Up Tomorrow #metoo

TW/CW: Talk of suicide, sexual assault, C-PTSD, etc…

I’ve talked about all of these things in spades over the lifespan of this blog. With the #metoo tag flying around on FB and Twitter the last two days, I felt like expanding on mine.

Now, I have (at some point) ticked off all the times I was sexually assaulted.

  • At 17, by a 22 y.o. acquaintance.
  • At 19, by a blind date. Tried to force me to perform oral on him, pushing my head down. I broke free and threatened to call the police.
  • At 19, by a guy I met at a Twelfth Night event… friends invited him to our Rocky Horror outing later that evening. While he had been in costume, he was mostly a gentleman (save for trying to un-lace my bodice in public)
  • At 21/22. After 6 weeks in an increasingly abusive relationship, I started to pull away from him, which he noticed. He spent the next 2 and a half months raping and assaulting me (using various areas of my body to ‘get his rocks off’) all against my will. I cried, I begged, I said no every damn time, but even making me bleed repeatedly didn’t matter to him. This happened 2-3 times a week… on a good week.

Those are the major, or most distinctive, events. Getting catcalled, being told by some older guy in Chicago (as we passed each other in the crosswalk) that “damn, you got some bigguns!” … no matter what I’m wearing, what my body language is saying (usually “don’t fucking get near me, asshole”), what I’m doing, I’ve had hands brush against my butt, breasts, etc… hands that should stay up near my shoulders wandering down… at a club one night (partly why I fucking HATE clubs) getting dragged out onto the dance floor and made to dance with some stranger, who kept putting his hand on my thigh and slipping it up to my hip under my skirt (which wasn’t that fucking long to begin with). I was 18, I think. It was an “Under 21” club.

Do I need to go on? I think I’ve made my point.

This shit happens every damn day to women of all skin colors, sexualities, cis or trans… you name it. Fuck, I got catcalled just a month or so ago… wearing all baggy grungy clothes heading to the MAX stop (I think I was going to an appt or something). Me with my mohawk and baggy clothes and beat up sneakers and a cane… getting catcalled.

I’ve also, as I think I’ve said in previous posts, had many phases or short contemplations of suicide. High school, a period in my 30’s when my asshole doctor decided to put me on Prozac, which made me want to slit my fucking wrists so badly, it outdid the suicidal ideations of my high school years. That shit fucked me up so badly.

In the past couple of years, I’ve had shorter bursts of contemplating it. Usually when I’ve been in full panic mode over possible eviction as well as earlier this year with the eviction itself. I lost count how many times I sat on my bed or my couch … or in the bathtub … thinking of why the fuck I should keep living? Then I got either of the girls, Portia or JoJo when she was still alive, just coming up to me and purring and either nudging me or tapping my arm or leg with a paw.

Life isn’t easy. I’m dealing with C-PTSD, my asshole ex cyberstalking me like I’m his damn “internet chew toy” … being homeless in a tentative situation that needs to come to an end, but my means to get back into my own place again are virtually non-existent. Trying to finish grad school, find decent work, organize my stuff in storage, handle medical and dental appts, go on tasks to make some income, and remember to take my meds and eat decently. Some of those, especially the later things I listed, are basic, normal-ish things I can handle… working all the big stuff around them is the hardest part. With chronic fatigue and pain, getting up at a decent hour that isn’t close to noon, but earlier in the day, is not always easy to do.

So, you may wonder what the subject heading of this post means… here’s my lesson and philosophy behind it:

Look back up at all the shit I’ve been through. Add verbal and emotional abuse by some family, used and abused by people I thought were friends, etc… I’ve dealt with a lot.

Wake Up Tomorrow

I adopted this years ago during a bad run… I think it was later in high school. Say you had one of THE shittiest days you can remember in recent months. Everything went wrong and in some seemingly catastrophic way, or at least that’s how it feels. You may already be battling a period of depression or severe pain. You contemplate ending things. You’re absolutely SURE tomorrow is going to also suck and you can’t imagine things getting better any time soon.

So you think about it.

But you can’t guarantee tomorrow will suck. Shit, you don’t know what will happen tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that. Maybe it’ll suck, maybe it’ll be awesome, but you won’t know unless you wake up tomorrow. And the days following it. You can’t know for sure that it’ll be horrendously awful. Unless you wake up tomorrow. Go to sleep, get some rest, cry if you need to (man, I’m surprised the tear stains aren’t permanent on my face by now), and wake up tomorrow. Sounds simple, I know. Take each and every day as it comes.

Will that work for everyone dealing with shit? No. I know it works for me. I’ve had friends and a few strangers, in the past 24 hours or so, call me brave. I’ve done therapy off and on since I was 16. I understand so much about my past, but I don’t really know how I’m getting through it… except for one thing:

I wake up every day.

I’ve had close calls, due to medical stuff, not attempts on my part, and they’ve taught me this: Not everyone gets the chance to wake up the next day. No one knows when they’re going to die. The fact that, despite pain and all kinds of other things, I wake up every day and am able to feed my floofy monster kitty, that my heart is still pumping blood, my lungs are still taking in oxygen, my legs work… mostly. I have those days when my legs/back/feet/hips/knees/etc just rebel and go, “nope!! what was that about going somewhere today? yeah… not happening, bitch.”

Life isn’t easy. But I figure that as long as I keep waking up every day, I have a fighting chance to make things better. Never know unless you wake up.