Kalamity K

The Daily Chaos of Kalamity K
Ad 2:
2005-12-05 01:42:53 (UTC)

All I Had to Do Was Say Yes

How's that for a bit of a twist on the normal "just say
no" message you hear so often? Typical of me, to turn
something like that on its ear. Anyway.

Last Friday night, I was out for dinner. Had also gone out
for lunch that day. Dinner was good. Had steak fajitas.
Yes, steak. I was craving steak for a few days, and I
think it was because I had my period and I already have
low iron and that just does me in. So whatever. They were
good and I trust the place where we were eating to cook
the steak in a way that doesn't upset my system as much as
most places.

OH crap. My boyfriend is knocking on the door. I don't
want to talk to anyone right now. GROWL.

Back later.

Well...it's later. I'm back. We went out and got pizza.
It was good. Yippee. Great, actually. Anyway.

So where was I? Oh yeah. Out for dinner. The fajitas
were really good but I was feeling really stuffed because
I'd just eaten so much that day. I didn't mean to, but it
happened. Then I had to go to the bathroom and didn't
feel that great, right near the end of the meal. I was
finished and my bf was almost finished and we never get
dessert, well, not nearly as often as we used to and
almost never from the place we were at because they
changed their dessert menu and it sucks - and I'm not
eating chocolate at the moment, so that rules out most
desserts automatically, anyway - so we would have been
leaving soon.

I excused myself to go to the bathroom, and the entire way
there, I tried to talk myself out of it, but by the time I
got to the bathroom, I couldn't. I had to throw up and
get everything out of my system and that was that. One of
the greeter girls was doing her makeup in the bathroom and
that meant I went into one of the stalls and waited for
what seemed to be an agitated eternity. I was sort of
losing the urge, because it's always harder to make
yourself throw up once it's not immediately after you've
eaten it - obviously. And I didn't want to try and be
unsuccessful because that's a gross feeling, too.

She took forever. I mean, FOREVER. But she finally left
and when she did, I checked the other stalls, made sure no
one was there, went back into the one I had occupied,
stuck my fingers down my throat, and was throwing up
shortly thereafter. It took a bit of coaxing and then
when I started, I didn't want to keep going but I didn't
want to have made my efforts in vain, either, so I kept
pushing my fingers down my throat and eventually throwing
up.

Only problem is, when I first threw up, I felt the most
tremendous pressure build up in my head and I felt like my
head was absolutely going to explode. It's not out of the
ordinary for that feeling to happen when you are throwing
up, but this was the normal feeling multiplied tenfold.
I've never in my life felt that amount of pressure in my
head and face before.

I finally stopped when someone else came into the
bathroom. I had been close to actually being finished,
anyway, and I had a feeling my appearance was no longer
any good, so as soon as that person went into a stall, I
rushed out to the sink, washed my hands, made sure my face
was clean, and about screamed at my reflection. When I
threw up, I often get little rust-coloured spots around my
eyes. It often happens when I cry hard, too. I have
always suspected it was little broken blood vessels and
since it always went away, I never much bothered to think
about it. But as I looked in the mirror on Friday, I
almost didn't recognize myself. There were so many spots,
not only around my eyes, but down my neck and on my
forehead, that I just looked red. There's a scene in the
original Star Wars trilogy, where the Emperor's eyes look
particularly red and scary, and that was the first thing
that ran through my head - that that was how I looked.
(My boyfriend, completely independently of me b/c I didn't
tell him that, later looked at me and said, "You look like
the Emperor!") It looked really, really, bad and I
actually scared myself. I've never seen so many spots on
my face. There was a half-inch diagonal mark over my
right eyebrow where it was just a line of purple - there
were so many spots that it was just a line of
discolouration. Where the nose pads of my glasses were on
my face, it was white, but all around it was purple. And
everywhere else, there were so many rust coloured spots
that it was almost like the white bits were the spots and
the rust was my normal skin colour. It's no wonder, given
the pressure I felt in my head, though, and I tried to
tell myself that, but it was still kind of freaky.

Of course, by this time, I was panicking and hoping that
my boyfriend had already paid and everything. I rushed
out of the bathroom because I didn't want the other woman
to walk out and see me. I sort of hid behind my hair as
much as I could, because I didn't want anyone to see me.
We go to this restaurant a lot, and have been going there
for years, and so by now we know a lot of the servers who
work there. Friday night, they ALL stopped by our table
to talk and to say hi and ask how it was going. It's a
great place, in that way. There are a couple of the guys
in particular that I like and get along with, and all of
them were working that night. At one point, there were no
less that 4 of their staff standng around and talking to
us. Looking like I did after the throwing up, I really
didn't want to even say goodbye to anyone, because I know
a few of them, at least Andrew, would have asked what was
wrong. (He is my favourite of the bunch...)

Fortunately, he had paid and asked me what was wrong and
said I looked terrible, suddenly, but he did leave quickly
with me. Outside, I told him I didn't know what happened,
that I started coughing and felt this huge pressure in my
head and that I had been leaning over which is what I
thought had caused it, but that I couldn't believe it when
I looked in the mirror. It's been a week now, and it's
come up a few times, but he's always made reference to me
and the coughing fit and hasn't questioned me further on
it. He's just been surprised that it happened like that,
but never pushed me or seemed to not believe me. And, I
guess it makes a bit of sense, since it happens when I
cry, too. I don't know. I know it's two-faced, but I'm
knd of mad at him for not noticing or thinking more about
it and querying me. I was going to tell him, but then I
didn't. Since Friday, I've thought of telling him. But
part of me really doesn't want to give up that "secret"
even to someone so close to me (he knows I've done it in
the past, which is why I'm surprised he didn't push me
further...is this a sign that he doesn't think about me
long enough to wonder or that he trusts me so much it
wouldn't occur to him to think about it? The fucking
chicken and the egg syndrome. I think way too fucking
much...) and another part of me really doesn't want to say
something and then hear him say, "Yeah, I wondered but
didn't want to ask," because that will just frustrate me
more than anything, I think. If you wondered and you know
I've done it in the past...why wouldn't you ask? I get it
but I don't get it...and I just get so frustrated...and
confused and upset...so better not to think about it, I
think...at least for now...

Saturday morning came and I still looked the same kind of
awful, and since I knew I had to go to my parents' place
that day, I was freaking out. I don't own any make-up and
didn't really want the questions. So I booted it out the
door the second the malls were open and went to MAC
makeup's counter and said, "Help! I have to go to a
wedding tonight and well, I can't go like this!" They
were nice and miraculously made the spots disappear and
then I ended up starting to lay waste to my budget and
savings and spent $94 and change on make-up. Whatever.
It looked good and there was no way I was going to go to
work without covering up my eyes and the spots.
Forfuckingget it. Those people don't need to know
anything more about my life than I choose to tell them and
I was NOT prepared to answer questions about fucking spots
on my eyes.

I later went to my parents and my mother noticed I was
wearing make-up and said it looked really good. That made
me happy, but I stupidly ended up explaining to her why I
was wearing make-up. Then, my father told me to go to the
doctor to get it checked out. Argh. I did. It almost
caused a fight and I wanted to keep the peace, so I went.
(She works half-days on Saturdays.) So I went and she
said exactly what I already knew: "It's a petechiae
rash. Broken blood vessels. What happened?" I told her
I had just eaten dinner and I started coughing in the
bathroom and then threw up. She asked why I threw up. I
told her I was feeling crummy b/c I had my period (not
entirely a lie) and that I always feel kind of queasy when
I have my period (not entirely a lie). She didn't
question me b/c that, at least, is common. So, she said
she wanted me to get my blood tested b/c she's never seen
that much of a rash just from coughing. She asked if I
was retching for a long time. No, just a few minutes. I
mean, I was coughing and then threw up for a few minutes,
but barely even a few minutes. Is it bad that this is
happening, I asked her. No, she said, but she wants to
know WHY it's happening.

So, she wanted me to get my blood tested and was going to
give me a referral to a haematologist. Oh fucking
wonderful. Now I'm all worried that there is something
wrong with me when I know rationally that I'm fine.

So, I go and get my blood done on Tuesday. This past
Saturday (yesterday), I go back to the doctor's. I walk
in and she says, "Your results were all perfectly
normal." Thank god, I said. Then she says, "I have to
ask you something and I want you to answer me honestly,
because if you don't, we can't work together to solve
this." Now, I'm fucking nervous as hell and tell her so
and say, "You're making me nervous, just ask already."
No, she says, I'm not making you nervous, but I just need
to know. Yeah, yeah, know what?

"Could this have been self-induced?" she asked me.

Oh dear god. I had rehearsed for this in my head. I had
said to myself, what will you do when she asks you why you
did ths to yourself? I practiced in my head what I would
say. And what I was going to say was the truth. I was
going to tell her I felt like shit and I was off my meds
and had been for a while and that I was no longer seeing
my counsellor and that it was all going to hell. I was
going to ask her to reassure me that this was all
confidential and that my parents wouldn't have to know
anything before I said anything (while they aren't exactly
friends, she knows my family, parents especially, pretty
well, and I believe my mother was her daughter's guidance
counsellor at one stage). And then, I was going to show
her my arm and tell her that I lied that time I had to
come and get stitches and that no, it wasn't the ceiling
fan, it was by my own hand. I was going to tell her. I
really was. I had planned for it. I had steeled myself
against all the reasons why I never want to tell anyone,
and I was going to tell her. Because I do trust her not
to judge me. Because when I was feeling bad about being
depressed, she told me that if someone had a broken leg, I
would want them to get a cast and take pain meds and to
get better. And that taking anti-depressants and working
through it was just the same kind of help. And as I was
leaving, she pointed to her door, which had a thing about
depression, including a list of famous people who have had
it. She pointed at it and said, "See, even Churchill had
it." It actually made me laugh. Fucking Churchill, not
bad company if you can get it.

I was going to tell her. But I had rehearsed for a
different question. I hadn't rehearsed for, "Could this
be self-induced?" I had rehearsed for, "Why was this self-
induced?" And I was sort of stunned that that was the
huge question she had to ask. I had been expecting
something even more drastic. And I was relieved that that
was all it was. (I don't know what I had been expecting
that could be more drastic than "Are you harming
yourself?" but I was, nonetheless, expecting it.) And so,
yet again, I let myself down by not thinking quick enough
on my feet.

"No," I said, and didn't break eye contact, while I shook
my head. "No, not at all."

Okay, she said, but she had to ask. Because she's never
seen something this bad from coughing and if she gives me
a referral, the specialist is going to think she's pretty
dumb, if that's what it turned out to be and there's
nothing wrong with me, and she hadn't asked.

God, do I ever feel terrible now. I'm so used to lying to
cover my tracks, I think that's really what this was, in
the end. It's hard to just change your story when someone
is staring at you and you are so used to covering your
tracks when faced with point-blank situations like that.
I don't even think it was b/c I wasn't fast enough on my
feet, not entirely. I think it is because the old
protective mechanisms kicked in and it's really bloody
hard to tell someone that yes, I did that to myself. And
while I trust her...I'm scared to trust anyone with this.
I mean, I don't trust anyone with this. No one
professionally, anyway. There is one person I trust
absolutely, outside my boyfriend who is the person I am
supposed to trust. And I didn't even tell my bf on this
occasion. Because I'm trying to prove something. I don't
know what it is, but I think it's something along the
lines of, I can play you for a fool if I want to, I'm so
smart, and I don't need anyone. Fucking sick, isn't it?
I don't really WANT to, but I'm so frustrated with
everything in my relationship, I just don't want to
confide this stuff any more, at least on some levels. I
don't want to have it come back to haunt me, I guess.
Like today, we got into a fight...I did, anyway...and he
made mention, when he thought I couldn't hear (because I
was out the door) about how I was probably just going to
go to that restaurant and pig out anyway. And later, when
I repeated that back to him, he said, "What's wrong with
that?" What's wrong with pigging out, was the question,
not what's wrong with saying that. At least, that's what
the context suggested to me. I don't know. I'm just
tired of it. And so...I don't want to confide entirely
any more. So...there is one person I absolutely trust to
hear this. But...when ths subject comes up, said person
has a tendancy to miss the fact that I said it was self-
induced. I don't know why...reading through things too
fast, or distracted, or maybe not wanting to really
consciously accept or admit that it's something I
would/could/can/might do. It makes me sad, sometimes, but
well, there is just SO MUCH to deal with when it comes to
me, at least that's how it seems to me!, that I can't
fault anyone for not being able to take it all in or for
not wanting to know/understand it. That's not to say it
doesn't frustrate the fuck out of me sometimes and wonder
about things, but I really fucking do my best not to pay
attention to that or it would drive me crazy. I know
where I stand and I wouldn't give that up for the world
and I don't want to ruin it with my own insecurities and
bullshit. But...sometimes I do get the feeling that I'm
all alone in this.

It's weird. I'm not alone in the cutting crap. It's not
always understood, but I'm not alone. I know that. The
support and attempts at understanding and the pure love
and protective tendancies I usually receive over the
cutting...the sometimes angry, frustrated scenes where we
are both losing our minds over it, the sometimes forceful
moments where I'm just MADE to stop...the desperate
pleading moments...the quiet tender moments...all of them,
and more, all of them are supportive in their own way and
show me time and time again that I don't need to do this
to cope with my life but that if I must, I have someone
around me who isn't going to be scared off because of it.
Scared for me, yes. Scared for both of us, yes. But
scared off, never. And I appreciate that more than I will
ever be able to put into words. And I do mean that from
the depths of my heart and soul. Absolutely.
Absofuckinglutely.

But...when it comes to the throwing up...I sometimes think
I'm in it alone. And when my doctor asked me if it might
be self-induced, it's like I curled back up into my
protective shell and lied because it's what I do. But, I
did tell her that happens mostly when I cry, and that's
not really entirely "normal", either, so I don't feel AS
bad about getting this referral after all. She didn't say
it was weird to have that happen when you cry, but she
said it never happened to me before...my reply was, no,
just in the last couple of years, and I noticed it because
one day I cried and I had all these spots. It happens
when I cry, when I throw up, and now, this last time, and
it freaked me out because it's NEVER been that bad.

So...she's going to send me to a haematologist, probably
in a couple of months. I am not going to worry about
anything, because my blood pressure is normal, my blood
work all came back normal (with the possible exception of
my Fe levsls, but everyone already knew that...she didn't
have it checked, said she only has it checked when the
haemoglobin levels are low...normal range is 120 - 160 or
180, can't remember, and she looked at my results and low
and behold, I was sitting RIGHT on 120...the last time I
had my Fe checked, it was practically at zero or something
absurd). But she said she wants to know why this is
happening all of a sudden, when my blood results are so
normal, and I want to know, too. I don't feel that bad
about going, b/c it's not nearly just when I throw up,
self-induced or otherwise. My friend has a two-year-old
daughter who gets the same thing when she throws up...so I
at least know it's not entirely bizarre...but still... [-
smiles, just a bit-] I am going to not worry about this,
though. Because I'm fine. I just want to see what's up
with this rash business, just like my doctor does. She
said maybe he'll just say that it's normal for me and not
to worry, but she'll feel better knowing that. I
agreed. :)

So, then when I interjected about my Fe levels when she
was concluding that she would send me to a haematologist
b/c my blood work was all normal, she asked me if I bleed
a lot durng my period. Uhm, YES. We do this routine
every time I see her. Sometimes I want to tell her to
read her notes, but anyway. You know there is something
you can take for that, right? she said to me.

Uhm, NO! There is?

Anaprox, she said. It will reduce the bleeding and make
it shorter, too.

Really? Good god, b/c it's really long, too. (Seven
days, sometimes!, though last month was "only" five...and
the month before was the freaking disaster where I thought
my damn uterus was literally falling out of me in the
shower, remember that scary moment?)

Yes, she said. You take it twice a day starting the first
day of your period and you take it until two days
afterwards.

So, she wrote me a prescription for it. Just like that,
for sixty pills. I don't know anything about this drug
and I don't know how much it costs and I also don't know
if I'm going to use it. I'm going to do some checking
around about it, first, and see what it does, and if there
are side effects and think about it. The thing with my
periods is that they are never the same. Two months ago,
the entire lining of my uterus seemed to come out at once,
and even still, it lasted almost seven days, and as usual,
the last couple of days (along with the first)
were "straggler" days...I hate that and I always have. I
always end up wishing my body would just get its act
together and bleed it all out in one day instead of having
3 days of just enough to know it's there kind of thing. I
mean, those days don't really bother me, but it's just a
nuisance to have to bother with it but any girl would know
what I'm talking about. But the three or four other days,
I can and often do bleed a lot. And I usually feel very
poorly, mentally. And the bleeding a lot is somehow tied
in, I'm sure of it, because it all contributes to the way
I feel about myself, and the crazy hormones and worries
about having disasters like that time two months ago all
add to those poor mental days. (That sounds so wrong!
LOL...) So...I might try it or I might wait until my next
period comes and goes and try to judge if I think it would
be worth it, beneficial, etc., once I figure out the cost
and do some reading on the subject. But...I never knew
there was this drug out there that could help. If it does
turn out to be something that can help me and I do decide
to use it and it does work as advertised, I would be so
incredibly grateful...god, maybe I wouldn't even feel as
down and shitty about myself as I can get to feeling
during my period...wouldn't that be great? God...would it
ever...I am so sick of feeling so bad about myself all the
time, especially when I know it will happen and I can't
seem to do anything to stop it (i.e. during my period,
among other times...) I am supposed to go back and see
her for a physical on the last day of December, but I
might have to change it (yes, I might have the
aforementioned infamous period then!, which would make it
bloody well impossible to do a pap smear and stuff, no pun
intended at all!)...but when I do go back, I will ask her
more about this Anaprox business and what it does and the
side effects, if any, and everything I think I need to
know...

Anyway...

The end of this story is that I sort of think I'm back at
square one, having shot myself in the foot with my
doctor. All I had to do was say, "Yes," when she asked if
my throwing up was self-induced, but I went and lied. "I
wanted to throw up, yes, but I didn't go to the bathroom
with that intention or anything, but when I started
coughing, I just threw up..."

All I fucking had to do was say yes, and maybe someone
would have started listening to me and started to help me
find the resources I need to help me get my fucking head
back on straight.

All I had to do was say yes but somehow, even that was too
hard.

And now who am I going to go for in order to get the help
I need, if I can't go to the person who has been my family
doctor for years and years and years? All the new doctors
I've ever seen...haven't been a big fan. I went to one,
to ask for help, and he made himself out to be some giant
great guy who wasn't judging me, but that there were
plenty of doctors who would judge me for what I was
doing. And I wanted to say to him, "You know what? Aside
from wanting you to shut up and stop acting like you're so
wonderful and stop latently judging me, anyway...I would
hope that someone in the medical profession who sees
someone cutting her arms open would think it's a serious
issue with you know, something underlying it! And that it
is good she wants to get help to make things better,
before it gets any worse." But of course, I didn't say
that. I just put up with his bullshit and then left and
never went back to see him again. I don't know. I really
wanted to like him but in the end, I couldn't. Sort of
weird...he had the same personality as one of my current
bosses...I really want to like him, too, but sometimes I
am not entirely sure. There's a certain arrogance or
something, a bit of a condescending attitude that just
doesn't always do it for me. Yet I find myself trying
harder to please those people and make them like me. God,
I am such a fucking headcase and nut. [-rhe-] I don't
have time to get into this right now. It's after midnght
and I want to go to bed. I wasn't supposed to write in
here all that much.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

I'm going to bed. I haven't cut. I won't cut. I guess
we can be thankful for that, at least. Or, at least, I
can be thankful for that. My blood work is normal. My
blood pressure is normal. I have a referral for an
ophthamologist. I will have one for a haematologist
soon. And I might even be able to take a drug to make my
periods easier to deal with - which could potentially have
(up to) excellent ramifications on my mental state during
that week - and god knows, my mental state can be
downright scary during those times (scary at least to
me). These are all things to be very
thankful/hopeful/happy/optimistic about...

And so even though I'm not feeling the greatest right now,
and am tired and exhausted and thinking about all of this
shit, from worrying, from fighting, from being stressed
about silly things and important things, from missing and
wanting people, from being frustrated about my
relationship, from hating my job and non-career right now,
from hating the state of the world, the political
shananigans happening all around me, and for all these
other reasons...

Even with all that...

I am choosing to go to bed in a rather happier and more
optimistic state of mind than I had thought would be the
case.

And for that, I am happy and grateful, too.

[-sighs and packs up for bed-]

NOT grateful that I didn't get to work on any of my
stories though, yet fucking AGAIN. Not thankful for THAT
part at all! But...at least I got to write all of this in
here and sort of set it down and get it off my chest, so
to speak...I do feel rather much better for it.

Alright then. I'm off to bed and another wonderful Monday
at work.

Until then, Lasgair, I remain yours...

Always,

K2


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