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oh well i should probably hit up some sleep.. good talking to ya, miss talking to you, hope everything stays well.
Alright, goodnight Matt.
He never even visited me in the hospital - he was too busy. The FUCKING JERK.

Matt: http://www.foxnews.com/politics/2010/02/09/miss-bush-billboard-leaves-minnesotans-puzzled/
Matt: that picture is priceless

9:16pm Me: It is funny
though it's a jab at obama, and no, i do not miss bush. not ever.

9:17pm Matt: who cares, imo obama deserves it, he hasnt done anything good yet :(:(
and yes, its hilarious

9:19pm Me: imo obama doesn't deserve it. the pic of bush is just funny because he looks like such an idiot

9:19pm Matt: its supposed to
and what good has obama done? besides extending the patriot act and sending more troops to die overseas for bushes wars

9:20pm Me: oh god, i'm not in the mood to argue tonight, i'm tired

9:21pm Matt: yeah me too
i just dont like sheep

9:22pm Me: thanks
9:23pm Me: i so relish being called a sheep

12:18am Matt is offline.

The new year can go to hell

It's only been 5 and a half hours and already I hate the new year. Fuck 2010. Fuck, how did I find myself in this situation? I see these people, people on Facebook, people I used to go to high school with, college, and they all have good jobs, real careers, they have babies and SHIT they have fucking babies already. And they have so many friends, they all look so bloody happy. I can't hate them, I once loved some of them, so very much. But when I watched Anderson Cooper and Kathy Griffin on CNN's New Years countdown I just thought about how funny and so silly they were together. And how healthy they looked. How many fucking friends they had, how much money they make. And sure, they are famous - but regular people have good careers, have friends, lead normal lives or even exciting lives. My best friend didn't even visit me when I was in the hospital. And I realized sometime soon afterward that I had just lost my best college buddy, and my very last friend. As I watched that stupid ball drop I realized that I'm starting 2010 with no job, no friends, and an expensive new disease. Without Ben and my mom to help me I surely would never have survived such blows. But here I sit, in a quiet house I do not own, with a housemate who is never home, my husband asleep in the bedroom...and it's just me. This is me during the nights. During the days I waste away in my bed, trying to stave off reality with my dreams, until Ben comes home from work. Then I get up, take my medicine, watch TV or sit on the computer with him, eat, take my medicine, he goes to sleep, I stay up on the computer, and before bed I take some more medicine. I look at all of these people I used to know, and in almost every way I'm a failure. My husband is the only island I have in a stormy, tumultuous sea - but I still feel so alone. There is no one to talk to in my quiet house except for myself. My silent house. I thought Matt would understand, he has diabetes type 1 for fuck's sake. He, of all people, should know what it's like to go through a diagnosis of an incurable disease that will cause me future pain, hospital visits and surgery for the REST OF MY LIFE. Why is it that it's still so fresh in my mind? How humiliating it was to be unable to walk the 8 steps from the bathroom to my bed. I had to crawl. CRAWL - because I was too weak to stand. At one point all I could do was lay on the bathroom floor in agony until Ben got me hydrocodone. Or how I called the doctor at 6am to beg him to give me anything, absolutely ANYTHING for the pain. Or how I begged and cried as the nurse in the hospital gave me the IV dilaudid. How, when the nurse asked me how many times I'd gone to the bathroom, I told her about 20 and she looked like she didn't believe me. How, every time I DID go to the bathroom all I could see was blood. And 97 pounds...I have never in my teen or adult life weighed 97 pounds.
All I could think of this new years eve was how happy every body has sounded, how happy they all looked on the tv, how happy all of my former peers seem to look online. I tried to quell it, to be happy with my husband, but it just didn't help. How did I fail so miserably? How can I not have a single friend? Not even one. nobody but my parents and Ben saw me in the hospital. I remember trying to sleep the second night there, alone, the dilaudid made my body spasm and I had nightmarish trips instead of dreams. The trips, they felt like I was moving very quickly face-first through a dark room with my head sweeping spasmodically from side to side. The speed at which I felt I was moving combined with the spasms created a simple image, yet a hideous feeling. But I needed the dilaudid - because my insides were bleeding and I've never known a pain so intense in my life. The IV pumped saline into me all day and all night for 6 days, along with the Flagyl. And of course there was the CT liquid I had to drink which made me almost vomit, as well as all of the other various differently colored and bitterly flavored liquids I had to drink. One nurse decided to draw blood from the middle of my forearm - that left a massive bruise. I guess she figured the crook of my elbow had been bruised enough already.

As I sit here, I think about how I'm supposed to be positive, I'm supposed to try hard - for my grandmother, my mother, my husband. But I feel so alone, I feel such failure, and such guilt. Guilt for everything. Even guilt for feeling this badly. Ben doesn't want to see me upset, so I feel guilty. Ben said he wants me to break this powerful cycle of guilt I have going. I want to, but there are so many things beyond my control. And things I can exert very little control over. I feel so alone, and so, so very incredibly helpless. And so tonight I simply cried, I sat on the computer and read stuff and just randomly cried. I cry on the outside, but inside my head it's a wail. An ear-piercing, mournful wail.

I mourn the death of the person I once was
I have yet to accept the person I have become.

So I am in a strange limbo of sorts, one that has lasted since June of 2009. And I throw pity-parties for myself, but I do not care. It's the look in their eyes every time the same pharmacists fill my $150 prescriptions, it's the fucking LOOK they give me. The same look they give me when they *know*, and now somehow I'm *different*. I'm to be pitied. But it's something else too. There is something else in their eyes that others don't have when they look at me. I can't pinpoint it, perhaps someday I will be able to.

So it's a new decade
And here I sit
in a cold house
a silent house

feeling helpless.

Well, is it?

It's not intense, it's not life-threatening, but there it is - that low grade, constant, slightly nauseating, kinda cramping, squeezing pain in the pit of my abdomen. And it wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the fact that I have to go to the bathroom so very, very often. And every time I do, there's the blood. And over the days and the past few weeks I've become fatigued. I feel like someone is constantly draining my energy, my life away. I'm losing blood, losing water, and probably losing weight again as well. I try to drink more, though I am not thirsty, try to eat, though I am not hungry. The iron supplements can only replenish so much at a time, so my fatigue may be explained by anemia. Again. But I'm so very tired of all of the pills - so help me, I never thought a person who wasn't technically dying would ever need to take so many fucking pills. And now, in just a little over 2 hours I have to go back to the doctor. I don't know what he's going to tell me. I have to go through a procedure I haven't ever dealt with before. I'm just tired of being sick, then getting better, only to relapse into sickness again. I imagine he'll tell me one of two things, either
1. The Azathioprine isn't working and he'll put me on Humira or Remicade or
2. I get to add another disease/disorder to my resume

My life has been on hold ever since I was diagnosed with Crohn's disease. I can't get a job, I have no money to go out, I have little energy and my resolve is being slowly crushed. My support group is small - there is only my husband and my parents. The few close friends I had in college all moved away and got married themselves. My last friend is just a name on the computer screen, occasionally IMing me just to complain about one thing or another. I spend almost all of my time in my house now, since I have little money, little energy, and no friends. I like shopping alot, even if I spend nothing, but it's decidedly depressing walk about all alone. The realization feels like a november wind blowing on your skin. I sleep away the days and stay up half the night. I sleep alot then, too. Everyone tells me Crohn's is so "manageable" and all, but I did not anticipate the effects of the prednisone, the arthritis in my knees and ankles, the pleurisy in my chest cavity, and the feeling of being pitied. My mother and my husband both tell me that the stigma of being "diseased" is something that only I see, but I know it's there. Up until now everything had seemed so benign, so easy to exaplin away to myself. Lots of people have asthma so it's no big deal right? But the pharmacist came out and personally told me all about how science has given us many new medications to treat this disease. I didn't think he even knew I existed, save for that one time when I hassled him about my inhaler. I don't even know if he knew my name (though everyone else at that place does). Hell I don't even know *his* name and he came out of their little pharmacy cubbyhole to tell me this. Did I really look that bad? Did he somehow know that 6 months after the correct (and I'm going to assume here, *final*) diagnosis that I would still be sick? Or is everyone afraid to tell me that this is the way it's going to be for the rest of my life...I have to ask ---

Is this as good as it gets?

Today Jack IMed me at work

Scavengr Type: oi! whats up elizabeth!! Havent talked to you in forever!. I hope all is well and swell. Have some good holidays!

Auto response: Out to lunch.

A Dream 9/24/2006 "White Ribbons"

A Dream: 9/24/2006.
I was living in a dorm, and it was apparently Rhoads, though it looked nothing like Rhoads at all. The building was wide and probably 6 floors tall with a grassy courtyard on the side I was facing. There were landscaping bushes in the courtyard. Across the courtyard there was another dorm, I kept trying to call it Cabaniss, even though I knew that wasn’t the real Cabaniss Hall. It didn’t really look like Cabaniss either, but it was just on the other side of the courtyard. For some reason I was following Mike Dean around. He was, in turn, trying to track someone else down. It was a girl much like Kuchiki Rukia, someone spritely and small who could jump up and off walls and windowsills with ease. I got the impression she might have been Kim (Mike’s long time ex). I kept seeing glimpses of someone, and then Mike would find a note on a window or some other place. They would be somewhat cryptic, but mainly went along the lines of “don’t worry, I’ll be back”. Mike still chased after her, following the clues of her notes. Then some commotion occurred, which caused many of the students who surrounded me to begin throwing rolls of paper, about an inch wide, out the windows. White, ribbon-sized paper. I saw the students in the windows of Cabaniss throw the paper rolls and watched as they bounced across the courtyard, high over the bushes, and into the open windows of the students at Rhoads. The Rhoads students did the same, as students from each dorm threw paper that streamed across the courtyard and into the other building. Then the students began to tie the ends of the paper to the windows, so that thin strands of taut paper hung suspended in the air over the courtyard. And every single strand of paper was white. I watched all of this from a window. I looked down, and saw several strands of paper tied to a gray metal pole in front of me. Suddenly, I heard a sound from behind me and to the left. It was a group of angry teachers and some sort of principal type of figure. The “principal” was a short man wearing black. He yelled at everyone in the room for throwing the paper and informed us that it must be cut down. There was a general commotion in that area of the room. Then I looked from the man and the commotion back out the window. The white paper ribbons had all been cut and now hung slack along the sides of Cabaniss, different lengths from windows on different floors. All of them white, fluttering slightly in the breeze.


I feel like I am getting number and number by the day. I am in a bubble. I am isolated. I don’t have energy. I can’t get reactions out of people. They just aren’t as animated as I remembered them. I feel so empty sometimes. I know I lost something. I guess it was either Matt or something inside of me that he held at the surface. He kept a hold of a certain something inside of me, holding it at the surface of my personality. It’s been about 2 and a half months since I told my best friend goodbye, and I didn’t look back. I kinda talk about him a lot I guess. I think about him sometimes, usually before I go to sleep. I listen to the song “Angels” by Within Temptation and it always makes me think deeply of Matt. Maybe he was right, Matthews are always trouble. This will have made the second best friend named Matthew that I have lost. Only this time, it’s my fault. I turned my back on him in order to save myself. To save myself from getting to that point, that point where you lose control of yourself. I suppose I could have hung on a little longer. I could have tried harder. I could have followed him a little farther down the spiral. But I clawed my way out once, I slavered, I cried and bled and fought with myself until I finally reached the surface. I refuse to willingly go back. I refuse. But now, it seems I am slipping again. Slipping just a little. I am ok, I can function, I don’t have wild mood swings, I don’t do the bad things I used to do. The things that people saw in me. But I have nightmares sometimes. I have lost weight. When I first got my gym membership a few weeks ago, I weighed in at 106. (But I’m working to put on some weight to get back to 115). I stay up late, get in bed, look up at the ceiling, and I feel empty. The deeper I look into myself, the emptier I feel. It didn’t used to be like this, back in high school. The feelings weren’t numbness, weren’t emptiness. They were pain and turmoil, upset and anxiety. I thought I felt “empty” when I had lost someone, back then, but what I thought was emptiness was actually pain. Now I find myself trying to induce feeling by listening to songs that remind me of painful times in my life. Though, admittedly, I still can’t bring myself to listen to the songs that remind me of Matthew Brady very often. And when I do, I usually feel a protective film of numbness slip over my heart. It makes me feel distant, my mind slightly hazy. I want to remember it all forever, but my brain automatically tries to blur the images and the feelings to protect itself. I fear I am doing that now, with Matt Doum, only now it seems so much harder. I’ve never felt this numb, this listless, this distant from the world for actual periods of time. I’m starting to really give up on certain things, and that eats away at me. Like Mike Dean. He and I used to hang out on a fairly regular basis, and I had a decently rounded group of friends (though small as the group was). But he doesn’t have time for me anymore. I asked him if I could go with him and his new buddies to work out at the gym sometimes and he affirmed with his usual enthusiasm. But he hasn’t called once. In fact, he doesn’t ever call me. He used to call me back when I lived in Richmond to see if I wanted to go to the gym. Now he doesn’t call at all or IM me or anything. I try calling him but he doesn’t answer his cell. Heh, typical Mike. But, he is busy…and from my recent visits I have deduced that he probably doesn’t have much time to spare for me. It makes me sigh internally when I think about it. And it makes me feel sort of unworthy. But, I am farther away now, a whole 25 minutes down the Powhite, so I guess it’s to be expected. Oh well.


You Are A: Duckling!

DucklingThe cutest of the cute, these baby ducks are often spotted in the spring following closely behind their mother. As a duckling you will grow up quickly, becoming one of the adult ducks seen commonly in ponds and streams. Playful and timid, charming and vulnerable, ducklings are nature's very definition of innocence.

You were almost a: Mouse or a Lamb
You are least like a: Turtle or a PuppyWhat Cute Animal Are You?

You Gotta Love Dante

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Sixth Level of Hell - The City of Dis!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)Moderate
Level 2 (Lustful)High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)High
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)Moderate
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)Very High
Level 7 (Violent)High
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)Moderate
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)Moderate

Take the Dante's Divine Comedy Inferno Test