seventhe: (SAZH)
I hate fibro.

Yesterday I had a hugely productive day - lots of cleaning, lots of decluttering, and actually holiday decorating (I love Christmas, your fave is problematic, etc: fight me), and I went to bed at a good hour and slept well, satisfied and fully expecting another day like that one.

Instead I just slept for 3 hours, another accidental nap meant to be 15 mins, because apparently I pushed too hard yesterday and needed more rest.

Fucking hell this being crippled thing needs to stop
seventhe: (Cats: I LIKE THEM)
Turns out a break really was exactly what I needed.

It sure wasn't long enough; 3 days off work does not cure four months two years of incredible ongoing stress with no break at all. But it does help. Small recovery is better than no recovery.

I actually did not do a whole lot of the things that were on my list. I spent a lot of time with my brain just - off. I slept a lot - a lot. I wasted a lot of time. I re-read books.

It was oddly refreshing.

I'm not going to pretend I'm anywhere near "OK". I realize that I'm struggling here. But it was good to take some time to put a little pause into everything, to spend some time focused on me / focused on my home / focused on doing absolutely fuck nothing.
seventhe: (Edge/Rydia: no return)
Apparently today is one of those days where I feel miserable about everything and really wish I had somebody I could turn to for some validation that I'm awesome and amazing and maybe a small hug on the side.
seventhe: (Cats: I LIKE THEM)
I'm exhausted just thinking about all of the shit I have going on and coming up -- thinking about being tired is making me tired. Cool.

Time to build a pillow fort and hide in it reading vampire novels
seventhe: (chocobo: hey bb)
I come home from work every day with the intention of working more. I realize this sounds dangerously pathetic or pathetically dangerous - choose one! - but it's the way I get myself out the door: go home, just bring this one thing, NOT EVERYTHING, just this one thing; working from home is much more comfortable and productive than being in the office anyway, you can have no pants on and cats get in your lap and there is always wine and music and more comfortable chairs and your wife the hot pad! don't you love your wife? DON'T YOU LOVE YOUR WIFE SEVENTHE DON'T YOU

it's a fine compromise that I am actually more than willing to make: the workload never stops, but it's much nicer working from home, PLUS it's much nicer to come home and be able to focus and do a much better job on something. it's nice to come home to an hour of catching up on email, or 45 minutes of pulling data into a report: I don't work all night; it's just small individual tasks I can get done in a low-key and helpful way.

But lately. BUT LATELY: lately, I come home and my brain just won't focus on the work. I have this report about all of the kerfuddlefuckery that has taken my plant down for four weeks already that the CEO asked me to write and I am all yes sir please let me hand-deliver this horrible news to your office, shall I seal it in my blood now or later like I actually do want to write this report and show what we are doing, what we are fixing, what we are facing - what the dumb godsbefucked people before me left to us, what I have sacrificed the last fucking six weeks to defeating which is like running a thousand goddamn marathons all at once on three hours of shitty sleep because I have been up at night worrying about my plant and my people because everything is goddamn fucked right now and -- and anyway, I want to write this report. But I get home and I open it and my brain gives this long-ass, horrible groan-sigh noise just like : reeeeeeeally, Sev, we are going to do this?

I am not going that way. No.


I'm trying, I want to, I'm in a comfy chair with the laptop on my lap right now. Come on, fucker. I just need an hour of your energy and we'll be ok.
seventhe: (Life: stress out and die)
the "great" thing about having fibro really has to be the days you are at work in so much pain you start thinking, what can I take and how many if I have to be minimally functional??

My legs are 50% bruising from climbing all around the 3rd floor of my plant this week - I've been up on scaffolds and down ladders and on top of tanks and inside vessels this week as I build a comprehensive mental picture of how fucking fucked my site is.

work is such a fucking mess right now.

I hurt a lot today and since an opium robot spinal tap is illegal, excuse me while I self-treat with wine, a cigarette, music, and lying on the floor.
seventhe: (SAZH)
I know that fibromyalgia and depression are linked - I've done *plenty* of research - and I'm now starting to wonder how much of the depression-fits I've been having are, in fact, pain-driven. ---Not to say depression isn't depression or invalidate the fact that I'm dealing with a lot of shit!! - but I know (a) I've gotten really bad at judging pain levels because I'm in constant chronic pain, and (b) I already know my mood is affected by the pain I can't sense. I just hadn't realized that *depression* could be triggered or exaggerated by the pain I can't sense. (Don't ask me why; I would've instantly suggested it to someone else, but apparently I hold my fucked-up system to fucked-up standards.)

This week I've been so achy and inflamed and sore and just painpainpainpain that I've gone back to taking a Vicodin at night. And, this week, I've caught a second wind around 8:30 during which I feel fantastically productive: I just cleaned up & vacuumed the sunroom with very little prodding. Some night this week - not the crying one, when I did not take a Vic - I just suddenly unpacked & cleaned up & sorted & threw into the laundry allllll of the shit on my floor, some of which was the suitcase from Meg's wedding.

I don't know whether it's chance; it's an offset of the depression (I've always joked with myself that I have very manic depression); or if it's a lack of underlying static-level pain giving me the extra boost. (EDIT: or maybe it's just desperation bc the house is just that messy, cries forever)

Where's my robot body??? :/ I do not like inconsistency.
seventhe: (Rosa: pray)
I thought I was having a good night -- I left work only an hour late, got home, went for a swim, ate dinner, and did an hour's-worth of cleaning up in my bedroom; the floor's clear of traveling suitcases & clothes & shit. That's good.

Then 20 mins ago I just started crying, and there aren't any reasons for it that aren't imaginary.

It's also hotter than fuck and I'm so uncomfortable in my bed. And I'm still crying.


I even had a reasonable day at work. I got two list-things done - one off yesterday's list, one off today's - and a lot of non-list things done. And I left at 5:30 which is only an hour late.

I don't even know, I don't even know.

Might sleep on the couch. It's just fucking gross up here.


Edit-- then I went downstairs to set up on the couch and I went to steal the pillow & blanket I usually use in the hammock off of Gramma's couch and I just - I looked at Gramma's couch and remembered her house is sold, their house is sold. Grandpa's been gone for 10 years and Gramma's never coming home again.

It's just so fucking stupid. So fucking dumb. What is crying going to help? It isn't efficient. It's an irrelevant process.

The thing I hate most about (my) depression is this sudden shit. I can feel like a productive bitch mode amazon all day but then suddenly there's just a storm of tears.

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