On Smoking: in which we are not.

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This one gets a new category for “addiction”.

They tell me it’s harder to quit than heroine. I don’t know – having never tried. They say it’s the best thing you can do for yourself, and science tends to back “them” up.

It’s been a week.

Tuesday night we smoked our last. Too expensive. Not in the budget anymore. Also, the last of those pesky nightshades I’m supposed to be eliminating.

Wednesday afternoon I fished 2 butts out of the can and smoked what was left of them. Stale, burnt, gross. The lengths we go to feed our addictions.

Thursday I visited my parents. They smoke heavily, inside the home. It was a torturous visit. My dad had 4, and the sweetest smelling cigar-tiny. And I broke down and asked for one. It wasn’t my usual minty – but his hard, old man cigarettes. It left a bad taste in my mouth.

I can honestly say I haven’t had one since. I’m also not sitting in my step anymore (trigger) and that makes me sad. Maybe when it’s warmer.

Everyone is saying how great in doing, and how I’m going to feel so much better and blah blah…

I’ve smoked my whole life. My mon smoked, my dad, my step mothers both, my aunt all in the house where I lived. When I was 14 I started sneaking them in earnest from my dad and Loretta. I remember the girl behind the quickie coughing till she turned green after only a puff. I lit one and didn’t. I remember being surprised.

I quit when I was 6 month pregnant with Lily, and stayed quit until Amy was 6 months old – about 3 years. I started again when I went back to school. It was habitual & helped with the stress.

I’ve tried to quit since. Last year I even pinkie swore I would. That went well. Sorry Chelle.

Last year was a hard year. This year has already been kinder.

I’m not craving as much as last time. It’s odd, but fine.

I’m trying. For me. For my kids.

It’s been a week.

Bread – Rae style

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I’ve been talking a lot about bread on twitter of late – I started a sourdough culture growing last week, and yesterday for the first time, I clicked with bread.

Magical Sourdough:

- 1.25 C warm water
- 1/2 – 1 Cup bloomed sourdough starter
- 1/3 C honey (or other)
- 2-4 C of Flour (your choice!)

Combine with mixer with dough hook until comes together as a ball. Turn out to rise until double (leave it a while…)

Punch down/ form into a ball and bake @ 350F for 30-40 minutes until golden and hollow.

Let cool 10 minutes before slicing

(responds well to modification)

Western Medicine Vs. Fundamental Interconnectedness

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I think I’ve made my choice, but I’m going to meander.

Ever since W lent me his copy of “Dirk Gently: Holistic Detective Agency” I have been very much a believer that all things are Fundamentally Interconnected.

I like the fundamental inter-connectedness of all things because well.. I find it to be pretty accurate as far as my life goes – a mash of odd coincidences, happenstances and unexpected things all make for this lovely interconnected village.

Fundamental Interconnectedness. The idea that on some level(s) we are all connected to each other, and the world around us, and well.. Ourselves.

When I was younger, I didn’t care about my body. It didn’t listen to me. It was awkward and lumpy and strange. I often felt like I was just a meat sack. Food in, energy out, blah blah.

Now, I am trying to remember that my body (still strange and lumpy btw, just more scars now) is a fundamental part who I am, and that it needs some love.

I quit smoking yesterday. It’s the last nightshade. I’m craving. I’m bitchy. I’m also less symptomatic, and more energetic. Its good.

I got a care package from the people flogging Humira today. Decadent.

I think I’m going to self monitor for the next 6 weeks while I figure out how quitting is affecting me & see about a new GI doc while bombarding my body with good bacteria.

I want to give my body back it’s healthy flora and reconnect.

On Literature and Doctors: In Which Rae is Frustrated.

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So. I saw my doctor a few months ago for a colonoscopy. She said that my crohns is once again “mildly” active in my bowel, though true biopsy says “moderate”.

Since I was still having 15+ gross BM/ day the doctor put me on Norfloxacin to try for a month and see if it worked. (it helped, some but not enough)

Thursday, I saw my doctor (and her drug rep…) again. She had no idea why I would be eliminating foods from my diet. It’s not like the things you put in your mouth affect how you poop. (uhm? What??) And didn’t even know that potatoes and tomatoes were a nightshade.

What the hell? How can you know so little and yet be playing with my body?? Everything I’ve read says “Nightshades bad!” …have I read more about crohns from all sides than my doctor??

She advised me to eat whatever I want, and that to keep my gut happy, it was time to switch antibiotics, and start Humira.

Now. That alone is a pretty heavy med. It’s a live viral, injected every two weeks. It’s also a 35K/year drug.

So. Because we d/c the Norfloxacin GI doc said to wait until symptoms get bad again, and jump to Clindamycin – another heavy duty antibiotic.

Okay. So. Here’s my problem.

My body has an auto immune disorder. Sometimes it’s worse than others.

Being on constant antibiotics, is making some terrible cultures in my body and I speculate may even be making the auto immune stuff worse, however I’ve been antibiotic free since Thursday and holy hell am I sick.

My options:

Take the abx and the humira and see what happens

Or

Drown my body in healthy bacteria, quit smokin (tobacco is a nightshade) and … Say eff doctors.

Thoughts?

Over Rated

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I walk though my days doing laundry, dinner, and work. They all merge on one another.

Time is a mushof things to do and things not done

It feels like I’m barely alive, hovering in a dead girl float.

I have everything and nothing. I am content, but boiling over.

Sad.

Silent

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Once again, I forgot I had a blog.

I’m still dealing with Crohns crap (ha) but the financial stuff is slowly sorting itself out, as is the crazy (read: I’m back on my meds)

But honestly? The crohns alone makes just being upright suck, and somedays I can’t do it.  None the less, I’m still swimming, day by day.

I think that’s all I can do.

The broken things.

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Everyone has things that will make their lives easier. Better in some way.

For me, it seems to be uncommon things. I made a list. I’m sharing it because I’m afraid not to.

My life would be be better if:

I didn’t feel tired all the time.
My SI joints, hips, hands and knees didn’t hurt.
I could get my accounting under control (in slow, painful ways it it’s happening)
I didn’t have 15 (maybe more by now..) cavities waiting for attention.
I didn’t suddenly and unexpectedly need to fall down all the time.
I could run again.

….maybe I’m not depressed or bi-polar or whatever. Maybe my life is just really fucking hard.

Tomorrow is my 2 year therapy anniversary. That feels like a broken thing too.

New Year: In which Rae has no grand Victorian title.

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In the last two weeks, so many people have been incredibly bold in publishing their heart wrenching battles with depression, anxiety and other big bads.

It’s not that I’ve ever really been quiet about my mental illness battles (much to my parents chagrin) but in the wake of seeing my friends and awesome people from the Internet standing up to say they too are fractured and fighting in the trenches I have had nothing but silence.

Silence is easy. You live in the dark places in your heart & mind, trapped with your daemons, dancing about avoiding it all.

I have been a mess since the beginning of December. I got my days & nights turned around, and I stopped taking all of my meds.

Then my GI doc responded to my open honesty about my suicide attempt and my asking for reasons why I was on a heavy immune killer when time without it made no difference with a terribly condescending remark about my getting my mental health issues under control and coming back in 6 months if I was still alive.

Then the holiday crap, and the parties and work, the baking, the body broken, the pain, the sinus infection, the … Oh god everything!

And now were into January. I’m non medicated, full of pain and health issues (that don’t get better on the meds BTW) and trying very very hard to put all the pieces together.

I’ve written letters that needed writing, and done nothing but learn and research and try to FIGURE IT OUT and do the paperwork, and … God it’s too much.

I’ve even tried visiting friends and hanging out. Yeah. Too much. Work? Too much. God I’m broken.

Keep moving forward right?

Im sure youve guessed, but I’m not doing so well. Sitting in silence because I cannot find my voice and be brave and face up to whatever it is I’m supposed to.

I dont feel brave i feel like i can’t stand up and say I’m broken but trying. I don’t know if I am trying to do anything but set my affairs in order anymore. It feels numb you know? I touch the fire and it freezes me. I’m afraid I don’t have the voice to say what needs saying. I’m afraid to speak.

I’m afraid.