Monday, October 22, 2018

OctPoWriMo 2018: Day 22: A Palindrome for my Pancreas

An artistic depiction of my pancreas

Betrayal in honesty
No loyalty offered
Deception not really
Not dishonesty
Without grace
Though there was duplicity
There wasn't mercy
You weren't exactly lying
You have not forgiveness
Forgiveness not have you
Lying exactly weren't you
Mercy wasn't there
Duplicity was there though
Grace without
Dishonesty not
Really not deception
Offered no loyalty
Honesty in betrayal

~Cie~


Note:
Pardon my brutal honesty, but my endocrine system is a fucking trash fire. My thyroid decided to immolate itself when I was sixteen. My ovaries became cystic, shitty little bastards. My periods were from hell. I developed endometriosis. I don't know when I started developing fibroids, but I have a uterus full of the damn things, and it's coming out at the end of the year. 
At least with the thyroid, I just have to take pills, although sometimes the dose has to be adjusted down because they can jack up my blood pressure and pulse rate. My thyroid may still have some of its own function, but it's completely abnormal.
Then there's my pancreas.
My pancreas waited until I was 49 to decide to fuck me over.
At first, I took pills, but then they stopped working sufficiently. Besides, I don't like having to carry around a spare pair of pants, and the less said about that, the better.
Then I had to start injecting long-acting insulin (Levemir).
Now I inject the long-acting insulin at noon and midnight and the rapid-acting insulin before meals.
"It's soooo much fun having a zombie pancreas," declared the queen of sarcasm.
By the way, diabetes cannot be cured, so don't tell me about how if I just drink a gallon of vinegar at every full moon while pouring ice cubes down my pants and sprinkling pepper in my hair I will be cured of diabetes.
In rare cases, type 2 diabetes goes into remission. This is not the same thing as being cured. Like cancer, a person with diabetes in remission is always more vulnerable to a recurrence of the disease than a person who has never had diabetes.
Further, I would like to see the word "diabetes" stricken from the medical lexicon and replaced with "hypopancreatism," which is a much more accurate term.
Diabetes is an ancient Greek term which translates loosely to "evil pissing" because of the increased urination that is part and parcel of the hell that is this stupid disease. Besides, it's a loaded term. People love to say it with a sneer as if those who end up with it "brought it on themselves" by "eating too much sugar.'
The cause of hypopancreatism is having a genetic trigger for the disease. A person who does not have the genetic trigger will never get the disease no matter how much sugar they consume.
People living with food insecurity are more vulnerable to activating the genetic trigger for the disease than people who have a reliable supply of nutritious food. However, the disease can strike anyone with the genetic trigger, regardless of their physique or social standing. Age increases the likelihood of developing type 2 hypopancreatism.
So, I am not calling the disease by its ancient Greek name anymore, although I do think that "evil pissing" is a pretty cool term. I would like to see the stigma attached to the condition eradicated.
And now, I need to go inject my wonderful basal insulin.
People who don't have the condition think that having to poke oneself with needles is the worst part of the disease. It really isn't. Often I don't even feel the needle. If I hit a tender spot, I experience minor pain. No big whoop. 
What I hate the most is the way the disease curtails my independence.
And that is why I leave this with a big FUCK YOU to my zombie pancreas and my crap endocrine system as a whole. I sometimes wonder what my life could have been like if I hadn't been easily fatigued and depressed for most of it and accused of being lazy every step of the way.






Sunday, October 21, 2018

OctPoWriMo 2018: Day 21: Hideous Death or Just Misery


Since I have the libido of roadkill
I really couldn't give a rip
Whether it's love or lust
If there was a spark in the dark
I probably didn't notice
My desire is long dead and buried in a desert 
Or a scrap heap
Or a tomb with no view
And I have no intentions of reviving it
Anytime in the near future
Or ever
I'm better off without it
But I am questioning
And I am deciding
Whether this wretched cough
Complete with nasty mucus
Is just a lousy cold
Or if this awful feeling
Like someone set an anvil on my chest
Is in fact the beginnings
Of something quite a bit worse
Like maybe Captain Trips
So my choices boil down to this:
Am I a miserable hypochondriac
Or am I about to leave behind a really vile corpse
For some unfortunate soul to discover
Laying on the couch
Slime running from the eyes, nose, and mouth
Of my putrefying body
Kitchen Nightmares playing on the computer
I will die thinking 
If Gordon Ramsay survives
He will cut Randall Flagg to bits with his words
Thus ends my alternate universe version of The Stand
And now, if you'll excuse me
I must cough up a lung
By now it should come as no surprise
That I don't have a man in my life
My Give-A-Fuck broke a long time ago
No fellow in his right mind wants a partner
With a twisted sense of humor like mine

~Cie~


Friday, October 19, 2018

OctPoWriMo 2018: Day 19: Suicide Ideation

Flowers and a Grave
Copyright Raivn_70

Is it death that you desire
Or do you wish to escape from your troubles
Are you questioning whether to end it 
Or do you wish to escape from your troubles
Do you search for a means of suicide
Or do you wish to escape from your troubles
Do you doubt your will to live
Or do you wish to escape from your troubles
Will you fulfill the threat to end it all
Or do you wish to escape from your troubles

~Cie~


Notes:
The form is a chant poem.
I am aware that the go-to when one believes that someone is suicidal is to tell them to go to the emergency room or tell them to call the suicide line.
Please don't tell me to do either of those things.
I have lived with suicide ideation for as long as I can remember.
If I went to the emergency room every time I felt suicidal, I'd have to live there.
If I may be so bold, fuck that shit.
I'm afraid that in my experience, suicide hotlines are, well, not that helpful, if I'm to be blunt. I had one asshole who laughed at my distress. I had one kind but not at all helpful fellow who wished me luck. So, that has been my experience with suicide hotlines.
Suicide ideation is in a different class than someone threatening suicide, particularly if they have the means and a specific plan to complete the act.
A person may have a high degree of suicide ideation but a low level of planning, which tends to be my case when my suicide ideation flares up.
A person like me is not likely to telegraph it if they are actually going to commit suicide. If I were to commit suicide, no-one would know until after the fact. Thus, telling someone like me to go to the emergency room if I say I wish I was dead isn't going to accomplish anything except for wasting my time. With someone like me, it works much better to ask what's going on to make me feel that way. I might say that I'm on a downswing, or it might be something more concrete. But asking why I'm feeling as I am will make me feel as if you care rather than causing me to make a mental note to myself that here is yet one more person I can't tell anything because they just don't fucking get it.
It is a fact that people who experience suicide ideation are more likely to complete suicide than people who do not experience suicide ideation. It also is a fact that people who experience suicide ideation over the long term tend to have mood disorders such as major depression or bipolar disorder. A lot of us do not respond well (or at all) to the "magic medications." For people living with a chronic mental illness, it tends to be unhelpful and demeaning to suggest that we "try meds" or "seek counseling." Many of us have had bad experiences with "mental health professionals" and will avoid them like a bad case of athlete's foot.
If I could find a therapist who did cognitive behavioral therapy and whose services were covered by Medicaid, I might consider it. Such beasts, however, are rare as the proverbial hen's teeth. I find artistic pursuits to be a far more soothing balm than spilling my guts to someone who a) probably doesn't give a fuck, and b) will frustrate me by just not fucking getting it. I can find someone who fills those criteria by walking out onto any street corner and yelling "hey, come talk to me!"
That is your psychology lecture for the day, class. Thank you for attending the Crazy Creatives Cheerleading Academy!

Wednesday, October 17, 2018

Monday, October 15, 2018

OctPoWriMo 2018: Day 15: If Hope Were an Umbrella


If hope were an umbrella
It would be full of holes
An unreliable shield
Allowing all manner of projectiles through
A farce offering the illusion of shelter
But in reality, only granting cover in fair weather
Affording no protection when storms arise

~Cie~


Note:
It did not take me 10 minutes to write this, let's be real

Sunday, October 14, 2018

OctPoWriMo 2018: Day 14: Not Your Fat Joke


If
I
were
me
sooner
than
I
believed I could be
Then I would have
Followed my dreams
And believed in myself
In spite of people telling me
That people who look like me
Are only allowed to be
The butt of jokes
Fuck that shit
I refuse to
Disappear

~Cie~


Note:
I wasn't quite sure how to do it, but I think I made the basic shape of a certain gesture 


Saturday, October 13, 2018

Insecure Writer's Support Group: More About Cross-Pollination

Insecure Writer's Support Group: More About Cross-Pollination: Lately, I’ve been obsessed with cross-pollination. I’m not talking plants; I’m talking about linking up with endeavors of different kinds.



My response to this post:

For me, there's criticism and there's attack. Unfortunately, because of being bullied throughout school and having perfectionistic parents who inadvertently raised me to believe that I couldn't do anything right no matter how hard I tried, attacks tend to make me flare up and then shut down and become mired in self-doubt. I appreciate constructive criticism, i.e. "Cie, this paragraph is confusingly worded, and you never mentioned this character before." Sometimes when one is writing, one is so mired in their own Universe that they forget that other people are visitors and need an explanation of the characters and various events.

Constructive criticism helps writers and artists to build and grow rather than to become discouraged and walk away.

It's easy to say that we should just ignore the kind of toxic schmucks who enjoy attacking others' creations. Maybe some people are self-assured enough to do that and walk away unscathed. I'm not, although becoming older and meaner, I have developed a degree of self-esteem which allows me to blow off the kinds of losers who delight in causing harm.