My Resolution

"Just a reminder not to off myself.

..What? You asked."

That will be my answer when people ask what the meaning behind my latest tattoo. (I'm a very thorough planner!)

A brand new year is minutes away, and I am exactly where I was this time last year. Miserably sick without any idea of a cure, too scared to live anywhere but at home with my daddy, practically unemployed, and hoping to hell that a chance to be normal again is hiding somewhere in 'this next year'. And it is really kind of depressing, realizing you haven't moved, barely an inch, in an entire year.

Over the last little while, I've gotten that ugly urge to hurt myself. NOT in a serious way, not in even a semi-serious way..but I can't deny understanding, when people or books or movies talk about self mutilation being some kind of release. Most still call it a cry for attention, though. And I definitely don't want attention. Less attention, actually! But when you’ve spent the last four years feeling the same, dull, origin-less pain, you want something different! Even if that different pain really does hurt, you’ll know exactly where it’s coming from, when it will stop, and what will be left when it’s all done. It’s a unique pain, and really specific, because a punch in the face wouldn't quite do the trick.

A tattoo would though! And! Tattoos are a MUCH more accepted form of self-inflicted pain. And with the cravings, and the miserableness being great inspiration for poetry, and poetry always being my ultimate inspiration for body art..really, what's to stop me?

Besides being a line in a poem of mine, it's also something that's always in my head on a regular basis. When I'm sitting in the bathroom all shaky and ick with my journal open, talking/writing to myself, those two words get used a lot. And then I always start humming that Mr.Big song that I've loved since the last day of kindergarten when the grade sixes were having a grad party on the playground and playing that song on their ghetto blaster.

Hold on little girl-show me what he's done to you-stand up little girl-a broken heart can't be that bad-when it's through-it's through-something something both of you-so come on baby-come on over-let me be the one-to-show-you

Well, sometimes I get stuck in a bathroom, or stuck in a moment without my journal, and this way those words will be there for me no matter when, or where, or what godawful time in the middle of the night it is.

Hold on

because

you are her,

the brave

the beautiful

leader

of a lonely army.

You know you can

and you need to,

I know

you want to

so

hold on.

A brand new year is minutes away, and who knows? Maybe I’ll remain lost and desperate for anything, maybe I’ll be right here still, when 1012 starts creeping it. Or maybe that fix for it all, is hiding amongst the next 365 days waiting for me to come find it, and finally get on to who it is I am actually supposed to be.

Either way, I’ll never know, and you’ll never know, unless we hold on.

(So, do it. And happy New Year to you, xo.)

Think Before You Hope Too Hard

Yesterday I wrote about how I'd been sleeping well, and feeling less ill, and more hopeful.

About 2 hours later I was on the floor of a clinic, shaking and sweating, and coming back into consciousness.

I went in to get blood work done, I was feeling brave, and nearly excited because I was pretty sure itd lead to a B12 deficiency diagnosis which would lead to monthly booster shots in the ass fixing all my symptoms. Instead, something about the vacuum in the vile vs. the scrawniness of my veins..she ruptured my vein, and the injection site was instantly swollen to the size of an egg. AN EGG! And then for some ridiculous reason we were discussing trying the OTHER arm, and then I was coming back into consciousness on some clinic floor.

THAT'S what I get for being hopeful? I mean, really? Good Christ.

I don't understand why Ive been so sick for so long in the first place, but what I REALLY don't understand, is why Life, or karma, or God, or whoeverthehell insists on also making sure that I remain hopeless, and sick.

I didn't sleep last night because I was too nauseous, and there is so much pain in the bottom of my stomach. And you know, only I could consume 4 Imodium and eat nearly nothing in 24 hours and still be able to rush to the bathroom. Only me.

Perhaps I could take comfort in the fact that at least I am unique.

:)

Fingers Crossed & Knock On Wood

Yesterday, was a good day.

Aside from murderous cravings rising while trying once again to connect with some fucking iTunes support, I have not felt cranky, or miserable, or cried for no good reason. And that, is for the first time since I started this new drug.

I mean, I had a panicky episode in a foreign bathroom and didn't cry! Sure, I said 'fuck' out loud when the moron in front of me was going 40 in a 60 zone, and I did consume 2 Imodiums and 1 Ativan, but it was an ok day! There was no nausea, no big panic, and no crying break down fit. I still have no appetite or any energy, but I slept the night before, and I am impressed!

And I'm hoping that we are now crossing a threshold into a more panic-free, ill-free, RLS-free, and depression-free place. I mean there has to be SOME likelihood of that, right?

Question Marks

A few hours ago, I was torn.

Since starting a new medication, I hadn't felt nauseous. It may not seem a big deal to anyone else, 5 days without nausea, but it's a huge deal to me. However, instead of nauseous, I've been dealing with ridiculous RLS, sleeping 12 hours a day, barely eating, and crying on a regular basis.

This new drug is originally used as an anti-depressant, and more recently as a suppressant for nausea. Well, the SSRI part is clearly NOT working for me. So I'm left torn. Do I take this drug and keep from feeling like puking 24/7, but feel miserable and cranky and wasted instead? Or do I go back to my original medication, and endure the absolute-illness, but cry and sleep less?

It's infuriating, to think that those are my only two options.

Well now its 5am, almost a week into this new prescription, and I have turned the lights back on after laying in bed in the dark for the last 45 minutes. What do you know...Im nauseous.

So now I am stuck with more then just one question.

No, I am wondering nausea or depression? Why me? Why this? Why for over 4 years?

I mean, really. I have actually, legitimately, felt like shit for the last 4 years. One sixth of my whole life has been spent feeling sick. Frankly, that is just absurd. I hate pitying myself, and I hate comparisons, but Google says that the average length of treatment for a serious cancer, is up to a year. ONE year! SO I could be finishing my 4th round of chemo right now. Technically.

I just don't get it. I don't fucking get it.

Why do I have to try and figure out all these impossible questions? Why do I have to choose the lesser of two evils? Why can't I be ALL better? I honestly just don't get it. The sun is coming up, I am fucking miserable, and exhausted, and I just don't it.

A Tour Of A Well-Equiped Anxious Bathroom (aka A View From My Anxious Toilet Seat)

Its all rather self-explanatory, except for the odd green shading in the bottom left corner of the pictures. My TNA iPhone cover sometimes gets in the way.

Good morning, Tuesday

I woke up around 7am yesterday and my brain was churning back and forth between 'I slept funny and cut off sufficient blood supply to all extremities,' (Truth: I don't actually use words like 'extremities' in the midst of panic) or 'I am dying'.

I don't know if it was the horrible dream I had woken up from, the realization that I was home alone, or my body just needing to be physically ill, but this one was ruthless.

I tried to fight it, took my drugs, got my fan and my journal and my pillow into the bathroom, even shook my way downstairs to get Snapple and unlock the door.

Unlock the door? When you're well experienced in the field of feeling like you could possibly be dying, you think well a head..well ahead to possibility of EMS workers needing to break down your door to get to you if it's not unlocked.

I got in position, and I braced myself, and I kept trying to convince myself that I was fine and it would pass, but this one just kept coming. I think that's why I cried so hard.

Dad finally got home from the gym (after receiving what could be the most disturbing 'HELP ME' texts, that a parent never wants to see from a child) and he got down on the floor with me, and i kept my head between his shoulder and his cheek for what seemed like forever. Just crying. Just literally losing it. That can't-breathe, can't-see crying. Sad tears, scared tears, frustrated tears, infuriated tears, disappointed tears..snot-falling-out-of-your-face tears.

I was so upset because after all my attacks, all the practice, after all my hard work I couldn't stop this one. It was too big, and too fast. Bigger and faster then 2 Ativans and Gravol. And when you can't do anything, when every muscle tenses itself into paralysis, it becomes nothing more then a most excruciating waiting game.

A game full of waves. And the waves are the worst, like this Monster gets off on tormenting you, and kicking you when you're down. There would be these moments where the skies would clear and you have just enough time to register that it is passing and you start feeling relieved, before it starts growing all over again. And that anticipation of every symptom building back up to that outrageous level, is terrifying.

Since it started I felt like I was going to pass out, and so around 8:30 dad finally convinced me/I was weak enough to lay down. And there I was again. It was 9 months ago and all I could see was the base of the toilet, and all I could feel was every inch of my insides decaying while dad squeezed my shoulders.

It was 9:30 when I convinced myself it was time to get up, and dad stood by me with his hand on my shoulder as I finally went to the bathroom. And then it was done. After 5 minutes I told him he could go, and close the door, and I sat on the toilet for a half hour actually watching my shakes dissolve, and feeling the spins in my head slow down.

I had the quickest and hottest shower after that. Sat in the tub with my head down until my skin was red, got back into my PJs. I got into bed with my friend, with a plan to watch Christmas movies and just relax, open our Christmas presents, but I was completely unconscious by the second scene.

And when it came back at night, after 2 hours of laughing at the TV with my brother, and being able to finally eat some toast, and assuming it was all over..I could do it on my own. I took my drugs, turned on my fan, got my cold cloth and my journal and my pillow, emptied my pink garbage bin just in case, and even shook my way downstairs to get Snapple. But I stayed in bed, and I reassured myself, and I distracted myself (with Greys), and while it may have taken 45 minutes still, I was able to see the shakes, and feel the spins dissipate, without having to wake Dad up, or unlock the front door just in case.

Maybe practice makes perfect. I don't know if I could ever convince myself to be thankful for such practice, though.

Good morning, Tuesday. Let's leave Monday far..far behind us. Deep breaths. We survived. We won't get used to it, but we will always survive.

Hanging in there

An episode like the one I endured thismorning, still feels too close, to write about just yet. When the physical symptoms, and the anxiety escalates to SUCH a level, it leaves me terrified, and traumatized, and also sentimental.

So I just wanted to say, that I love you.

"Excuse me, I'm going to go blog. To God."

Dear Father who art in Heaven,

(Or something like that, right?)

We all know that I have never been very enthusiastic within the field that you work, but for the sake of settling this urge to blog, we are going to call me a believer. Because if we don't pretend that, then once again it will appear as if I am talking to myself.

Lord, the reason I haven't been to a service, or said a prayer in..a rather long while, is all to do with a lack of understanding of your methods. Throughout my entire life I have found myself wondering, 'If there is a God, why are there so many sick people?' or 'If there is a God, why didn't he help Santa get my package to the Hanson brothers?' or 'If there is a God, why would he want a hurricane to wipe out a country?' or 'Why did God let those planes hit the Twin Towers, and why did he create our species to be so war-hungry?' or 'If God is so awesome, why does he keep two awesome women, or two awesome men from marrying each other?' Huh!?

Up until today, I never questioned God in relation to my own life and situations, though. I know it was the fault of my parents that we all went through a divorce, I know its my own fault if I fail a test. I know that God didn't LET someone sexually assault me, because I was the one who opened the door and let him in! The heartbreak I have suffered has be due to my own choices, to have previously dated imbeciles. That much I know. So I never questioned God, personally.

But then I'm siting in my bathroom, after a perfectly normal and enjoyable morning with my dad. And I am sweating, and I have chills, and I'm shaking, and I'm scrambling for drugs, and I'm soaking a cloth in ice water, and I'm crying. I'm crying because I was supposed to have left for my Goddaughter's 2nd Birthday party 20 minutes ago. And I'm crying because it's just unreasonably, fucking unfair.

God, I know there are a couple billion souls that you have to watch over, but I'd be willing to call your bluff, if you claimed you'd never looked down and seen me here. Here, in this repulsive, pathetic, and depressing state. I know you've seen me! I mean, you're God, for God's sake! You see everything!

So God, what is it that you are thinking when you look down from Heaven, and I, one of your blessed children, am in a ball on the floor, considering that dying could be far easier then putting up with this shit? Do you even care? Or am I and this illness that I have, lumped into the list of things you don't care for, like gays, people fornicating before marriage, and innocent babies born out of wedlock?

I've often heard that you have a plan for all of us. Is there some kind of greatness that you are preparing me for, or is THIS the plan you have for me? 'Jorja...Jorja...hmm, SHE can be a pathetic sissy who isn't able to keep a good job, or go to the bathroom without running the risk of heart palpitations.. And Jonathon, HE can be a fireman..Joanna can beeeee A BALLERINA! Yes, Joanna will be a ballerina. Now that just leaves me with Joshua...'

I just don't get it. Is it amusing? I'll give you that much, it is likely pretty hilarious to see me flailing around, unable to sleep all night. But doesn't it get old, laughing at completely helpless 24 year olds? I would think so.

Why do you give someone like ME an undefinable, unrecognizable, incurable illness, and then present someone like Miley Cyrus with a perfectly normal digestive tract and nervous system, when you KNOW she's not going to appreciate it, and just throw it all away for a new BONG and then go on to wrongly influence the rest of the blessed children?! Why don't the murderers get debilitating IBS or traumatizing anxiety?

I just keep finding too much evidence AGAINST your existence vs. proof that you do exist.

I mean, you're either not real, or you're a total asshole.

I'll let you pick!

Love,
Jorja

If Britany can get 'Santa' to make Artie walk again, then why not this?!

I asked dad to attend my appointment with my GI doctor, with me. I feel like I need an advocate. This doctor has seen me before. And he has dismissed me before. I don't want to be dismissed again.

I want someone to see me, and believe me, that I can not spend the rest of my life this way. There is so much good in my life, so much to be happy about, and thankful for. And yet, I can't enjoy it, well. I can put a smile on, I can still laugh, and I do love the people I love, but I am miserable. I can't smile as brightly, I can't laugh as hearty, and I can't love quite as hard as they deserve to be loved. I feel awful all the time, remarkably awful. And I want to be fixed.

I want someone to believe me when I say that this is nearly, barely bearable. I want someone to want to give me every drug, run every test, preform every procedure, and then cut me open head to toe until they find a way to fix whatever is so wrong with me.

I want to be able to wake up one day and not have to waste my first thought on, "Just HOW shitty do I feel this time?"

Huhhh..

Loosen your grip
on your face
in your hands,
unclenching
unwinding
you can open your eyes
let go now,
exhale.
Ease the quivers
the clouds are parting
cool rain
new day
we deserve.
This battle
is ours now
take it
hurl it behind us
and stand
tall
proud
just slightly unsturdy.
It's passed.

Panic'ers Can't Be Choosers

Princess Georgia had found a sort-of fairy godmother. She wasn't magic, just a sweet voice really, always trying to keep the Princess company while she trembled in her hiding spot.

"Just breathe, Princess. Oh, breathe. This will pass. It will! So just hold on, just a little longer. You can do it, I believe in you. You're doing so good, Georgia. You are being so brave and so strong. This will end, and we will have survived yet again," the voice coddled.

Princess was scrambling around her hideaway for magic potions. She was scrambling around her mind, remembering that she didn't eat anything funny tonight, she didn't upset anyone, she'd done nothing to deserve such an attack tonight.

"I know it's hard to accept ownership of such a retched thing, but this is your body, and the Monster only wants you. It's unfair, it's so unfair, but we will figure it out. We will find a way to banish this Monster for good, so that you may finally grow to be the Princess you are meant to be. This one will pass soon. You can unclench your teeth and loosen the grip on your poor little stomach. You can let go now.."

She's a very level-headed voice, nearly motherly. She knows the truth, and helps convince the Princess to push on through, and never surrender to such a beast. But Princess Georgia can't see this protector.. She cannot rest her head in this soft voice's lap, a voice cannot stroke her shoulders until she falls asleep. She also can't grant wishes for the Princess.

She's not an ideal Fairy Godmother, but all Georgia can do, is listen, and trust.

King Daddy & Princess Georgia's Smile Decoder

Dad said that when I come into his room in the morning (or the afternoon..), which is the first thing I do after waking up and peeing, it’s hard for him to figure out how I’m feeling. Since I no longer call him into the bathroom every time I feel awful, and I manage to ALWAYS have a smile on my face, we came up with an easier way to communicate such things without me having to relive, and explain all that went on during ‘sleeping’ hours!

10-8hrs of barely interrupted sleep :)
9- Feeling fine decent sleep
8- Feeling fine but lousy sleep
7- IBS (bloating/pain) but ok sleep
6- Nausea/IBS so bad sleep
5- ANXIETY (lower grade but too paranoid to sleep)
4- PANIC (sudden onset anxiety-can’t calm so can’t sleep)
3- PANIC with diarrhea
2- PANIC with vomiting
1- Mmm, I wanted to die

Between a 3 and a 1 he'd likely already know though, because as good as I've gotten at dealing on my own..I don't think I'll be puking alone any time soon lol