I had a dream you were real.
I saw you standing beside the dresser. You kept that spot. Your tears were as razors sliding slowly down my spine. To my amazement, you  cried for me.
I was too heavy with sleep and admittedly afraid to look you in the eye.
I know that dress.
I know your voice and the training to utter no sound unless directly addressed. But what do I say, what do I ask that I don’t already know?
What is your name?

Sometimes life is good. Despite the physical war, life is good to me sometimes.

What’s good?

  • I enjoy incense. I have a hanging incense holder which means fewer ashes and better distribution.
  • I’m better able to cope with anxiety.
  • The flowers are coming in and one of the trees has turned red.
  • I’m 30 min away from completing an amount of time I volunteered to give right here from home.

I’m somewhat discouraged that the non-narcotic patch I was given doesn’t work as well as it did. I’ve hit a 9 at least 4 times this week. Neuropathy is insane. The patch no longer stops Menapausal symptoms like it did before. I’m back to hot flashes.

I got my new light bill with payment arrangements. I’ll be able to cover bills this month which is a relief. It’s obvious I’m like many others, I’m just trying to keep my head above water.

Shoes have to happen this month, no way around it. I’m looking for a shoe like a suede taupe, no heel Birkenstock clog without the Birkenstock clog price. I had a clogs like these a year or so ago and loved them. No plastic shoes. I don’t wear those gator things.

I’m still looking into wheelchair options.

There are no notes, no inside chatter from the other parts of me. I can’t hear the little ones. I don’t know where the teens are. One thing is for a certainty – they didn’t pack up and move out of my head. It’s strange for it to be so quiet. I hated when everyone talked at the same time but I’m not accustomed to silence either. I feel lonely with just me and Morton with Robert silent on the sidelines.

I have just a tiny glimpse of what Chronic Fatigue Syndrome feels like. I don’t have that, but I imagine their everyday is similar to my time to time.

I wonder sometimes, especially recently, if hormones make my depression deeper. Sometimes depression is heavy enough to make me collapse. The other day at the sink I just bent over on my arms. I couldn’t put my finger on a reason for such deep despair. I took a deep breath and moved forward.

I was thinking about having a baked apple with brown sugar, butter, cinnamon, nutmeg and a tiny bit of cardamom wrapped in a pre-made crust. I’ve got some cream just waiting for that.

I might be hungry. lol

I don’t quite remember my dreams, just that they left me with an undercurrent of anger, desperation and loneliness.

Filling needs. I don’t always need something concrete. Hearing a person talk to me, not text, not email, but taking the time to speak to me, now that is medicine worth its weight in gold.

  • 2 TENS units – 8 electrodes
  • TLSO Upper body brace
  • Memory Foam mattress topper
  • Large heated blanket
  • Compression stockings and
  • Shower chair

Those are some of the things I have in my Lupus survivor arsenal. Before getting each one I just knew it would make the difference between hell and manageable. There are different levels of hell.

The bed is perfection. Jane didn’t always sleep on the bed, but now she too finds comfort for her old bones.

I need some energy, a little spark. I need a goal. I need a good, hot meal of veggies and legumes followed by a light herbal tea. Tomorrow.

Back to goals. I am not able to point to a project and say, I finished that. I accomplished this and this. If I stop and think a minute then the sentences above become null and void. 

Self worth. Dignity.
There are remnants of my pride in the toilet bowl.

I’m still hungry.


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