Transverse Myelitis: My Feet Are Baked Potatoes!

Originally posted at

Hope this sparks insight, introspection, anger or hilarity at your own experiences with either a chronic painful disease and/or  clinical depression What happens when the two collide?

via Transverse Myelitis: My Feet Are Baked Potatoes!


Don’t Jump! I’m Still Looking for a Rope

steep cliff of suicidal thoughts

Why can’t someone with a gripping familiarity with an affliction find words to guide another suffering the same? To help a brother or sister in arms, aching with a familiar pain? It makes me uncomfortable. Not another’s pain, that part I understand intellectually and emotionally. The discomfort comes from my perceived inability to offer succor and relief.

While I have real empathy and an affinity born of traveling the same shadowed passages, my responses or advice never feel helpful. Not completely.
This must be what family and friends feel when I’ve stumbles to the precipice.

My responses to someone with suicidal ideation aren’t flippant, but after uttering or writing the words, they seem hollow.
How can this be when I know the ropes? And pills? And a closed garage? It feels like a book written by someone who has never experienced the hopeless unending agony themselves.  Ever read or been subject to the fitness guru who has never had a weight problem? How about the jackasses who write, or tell you, that if you just tapered off, or didn’t drink so much, you’d be fine.
Don’t believe it’s a coincidence that all of these disorders manifest in the physical.

Unless you’re a very good actor, the people closest to you will notice the despair. If you’re not used to hiding your feelings then ALL of these illnesses are immediately glaring to anyone.

I can’t hide the weight, but dress and hold myself like a beautiful sexy woman. I can’t hide being an alcoholic, but I don’t pick up a drink even when my ass is falling off.

I can and do hide my depression. Most of the time. The tears can’t always be stopped at will. The mental anguish induces a physical reflex that cannot be hidden 24 hours a day.

There is nowhere to go at this point. No option seems worthwhile or helpful. We’re broken and when someone offers to help fix us they don’t know what to do.

So I’ve come to the conclusion that the best thing in the world is the simplest.

Listen to another’s pain, their specific problems, the reasoning which brings them to thoughts of suicide.
Listen without comment. Without advice. Without condemnation of any kind. Especially without inane cheerful platitudes.

I think this is something everyone requires. Another human being who takes the time to hear us. Allowing the words and tears and snot and pain to flood from mind and body. Those of us already walking on glass need this something more than an average individual.

We need someone who cares. Especially when we are afraid to let the sickness have a voice. We need someone who takes the time to listen.

~R Noir

Listening to:
Stubborn Love
By: The Lumineers
Album: The Lumineers

Cry Baby. Cry.


Today I fell. First time in several weeks. Was sans walker and concentrating on every step. I don’t know how much longer I can do this.

Is this my fucking life? Already on disability and now the Transverse Myelitis?
Living with mom? Waiting to find low income housing with the crack heads and welfare mothers? Trying to find a decent pain management doc, psychiatrist and neurologist?
Mom insisting I stay in rural redneck northern California…. forever.
Tonight she told me she was tired of the constant crying.
Bit my tongue.
I’m tired of the constant living but I get up every day and don’t call a cab to the gun store while screaming ‘Step on it!’. Not a day passes that I don’t want to blow my brains out to end this surreal nightmare.

Did pretty well the first month or so out of the hospital. Did pretty well the three months in the hospital.
Until it sunk in that this was it. The constant wrenching back, leg, ankle and hand pain is forever. The electrical shocks, though much better thanks to the Lyrica, are forever. Being unable to walk in stilettos is forever. Never standing on my tip toes is forever. Never being with a man again is forever.

Two days ago I found an amazing ski program for the disabled (and hopefully disgruntled) at Squaw Valley. It’s a two hour drive each way. It would be possible to race again and the cost is reasonable. Even found a grant available for those with spinal cord injuries (TM qualifies) who are serious about getting into or continuing a specific winter sport.
Mom will not drive me three times a week and I will not even ask. I can no longer drive. Have no idea if that is forever.

Sent mom a link to the following piece instead of speaking. Wish I had written it. Goddamn this writer hit the nail on the head. It isn’t often that I say that. Not because I don’t respect a lot of other’s writer’s work, but because this is something that has affected me for 30 years.. and it will forever.

The 10 Stupidest Things You Can Say To A Depressed Person

I can damn well cry if I want to.
You’d cry too
If it happened to you

Currently Listening To:
by Damien Rice
2003 Vector Recordings

~miss b

The DMV should pay for today’s meds

People are strange. People are idiots. Some people are suck-the-life-right-outta-you Strange Idiots

Perhaps it was the hour or so at the DMV that has helped
extract the soul from me.

Will the Reno DMV Bouncer let YOU pass through the Gates of Hell?

Will the Reno DMV Bouncer let YOU pass through the Gates of Hell?

Or, the 20 minutes waiting at the bank for their single customer service rep to close out my debit card.

Mercifully there was no activity on the debit card since it’s disappearance on Saturday night.

Of course, if the poor bastard who has my wallet had tried to order their gourmet repast at Sizzler they’d have gone hungry. Kinda sorry there wasn’t any attempt at activity. Would have made my black little heart smile for the first time in three days.

Just spent 30 minutes online trying to figure out how to get out of my Sprint contract. I’m the only person I know with Sprint, their service is awful, and to buy out my contract is $200.00

Every person I know is on ATT/Cingular. There was no AT&T in northern Michigan.

Since the phone is lost/stolen/gone I am trying to figure a way out of the early termination fee and just divest from those imbeciles.

Read some fine ideas online in various forums but none of them are fool-proof and most seem out-dated or just dumb
“well be nice to the rep and they’ll surely help you!”
Yeah that’s always worked with a phone company in the past hasn’t it.

Have to go to Welfare tomorrow and apply for a new Medicaid card and cancel my daughter’s insurance and food stamps since she is now in California.

Irony du Jour!

I can’t buy a new wallet to replace the lost one because all of my money was in the missing one

Went to another AA noon meeting today. Free cognitive therapy but you do get what you pay for.
If I have to listen to another fucking flock of sheep (and I raaaaan so far away…. wrong flock ) recite The Lord’s Prayer at the end of a meeting I will surely force a drink down their collective throats.
Serenity thy name is Rachael.

I’m hurting badly this week in terms of mental anguish, guilt and just being alive, so sincere apologies for the angst.
You’ll get over it when I do.

If only I were a sociopath instead of simply neurotic, clinically depressed and oft-times just a tiny bit funereal.

I don’t like pain.
I don’t like to cause pain.
I never want to cause hurt.
I don’t want to feel hurt.
Right now I don’t want to feel.

Currently listening:The Singles 81-85
By: Depeche Mode
Release date: 19 January, 1999

~miss b