Fuck a duck, I’m wrecked.
First of all, I tried not to write. Then, after I “got to thinking” a la Carrie Bradshaw, I came to realise that it’s about the only thing out there on this planet that I get and that gets me. I mean look at what I just wrote, I’m nothing but a literary genuis and modern-day wordsmith. Why I tried not to write, I’ll never know. I don’t know much these days to be honest. Less clarity and knowledge, more…bumbling, tripping up and emotional breakdowns.
Life has developed somewhat in the sense that my health has continued to worsen. It hasn’t developed in the slightest, however, in the sense that pretty much nothing bloody else has changed. Can you tell I’m pleased about that? FYI my anger is heavily sponsored by the two missed periods currently chilling in my dark, dead uterus. More on that in a sec. The past few months have been sponsored by A&E visits, doctors disagreeing with each other, being accused of being a drug seeker, bleeding, not bleeding, fainting, puking and piles of dirty laundry. Patsy the dog is blissfully unaware of any of this at all times which is exactly as it should be.
I now have chronic migraines, neuropathic pain and finally have diagnosis of PCOS for my sins. I will say: confirmation of the final one was actually a huge relief because I don’t have to be fobbed off anymore with, “And have you tried Ibuprofen?” In actual fact, I have gone/am going down the holistic and alternative route for everything. Making that decision has been both freeing and overwhelming. Today, the overwhelming bit got the better of me. All in all, I’m living with considerably more ailments and conditions than I’ve just mentioned and what works for one can hinder another. It goes a little bit like:
“Dairy is bad”
“You definitely need dairy”
“Gluten will make that worse”
“Gluten is a key component of what you need for x”
“You shouldn’t have any red meat in your diet”
“You should have moderate amounts”
“Drink herbal tea”
“Don’t drink herbal tea”
I decided to get all kinds of practitioners booked into my diary. Then within the past 24 hours, I got reeeeaaaaal fucking mad. I don’t want to spend money on this! I know, I know…it’s all for my own good and yada yada yada but I DON’T WANT TO *stomps feet*. Given that I’m supported by Anthony and the fact that I have the health of an elderly, whisky swigging drug addict, our savings are absolutely nil. That shit isn’t ok anymore, it just isn’t. In order for me to be comfortable with not being able to work, in order for me to sleep at night, we need two things: stability and security. Yes, we can pay our bills. But, we’re spending too much on the consequences of my health and too little on saving towards something that will actually really help that: a house. The hidden cost of chronic illness is honestly vile. The laundry pick-ups, takeaways, meal deliveries, dog walker fees, wasted groceries. Today, we said, “Enough,” and it’s going to be marvellous. See, we have a dream and it’s honestly a hugely achievable one if we both work hard in different ways.
I want to live happily ever after in Yorkshire, innit. It’s something I’ve wanted for a long time now and I know myself well enough to realise that when a thought stays with me for that amount of time, I absolutely have to act on it. It might take us a decade to get there but it’s something I know will make us so happy and my illnesses so much easier to handle. Anthony needs a personal construction project, a house that he can get beautiful old foundations from and pimp the life out of and I need a garden, some water and cosy busty nurses who make you tea when you’re crying. We’ve created a budget, a plan and goddamn it, we’re going to make it happen. Obviously this plan is heavily categorised because it’s me and I’ve never casually done a single thing in my life. Want to know the crime rates or annual rain flow comparison levels for Harrogate? I can tell you.
I’m going to be here much, much more because you lovely internet folks help me stay sane.