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Tuesday, December 3, 2013

Kids Are Assholes And Other Shit. But Mostly, Kids Are Assholes...

You know that moment... When you have so much going on and so much to say and nothing comes out of your damn mouth? That's how I've been lately. All I can think is, What the fuck now? What is really going to happen now... What's going to happen next? And Why does all this shit have to always happen to me?

If you've been reading this blog, for even a month, Hell! A week even then you pretty much know that I have been sicker than a dog for what seems like FOREVER now. And let me tell ya, God sure as fuck hasn't made it any easier on me, cuz ya know. That's all I needed..

So after throwing my intestines up in the toilet, I finally decide to go to the doctor because I am sick of throwing my intestines up and I'm fuckin hungry. So I'm like, "Look doc, you gotta make this shit stop, asap yo!" Cuz I can't handle losing anymore of my intestines. And she takes blood and listens to my lungs and heart and blah blah blah, the standard shit you know. And she leaves the room with that goofy ass resident she insists on bringing in every.single.time. And comes back with this blank stare on her face. And I'm over here like, WTF doc? She wants me to go to the hospital. She wants me to be admitted because shit is just horrible. Reality set in: Shit just got real, yo.

OH YEAH! That's my luck. Get admitted to the hospital and they are vampires. I dont give a fuck what anyone says, they are vampires. I swear to becheesus christs they took all my blood last week. All of it. I had so many needle holes in my body, a heroine addict would have been impressed. See, check it out:

Night 1
Night 2


Night 3


And I didn't take the "after hospital" pics because I couldn't stand being in my own skin after all that, I sure as hell wasn't sharing the end results with anyone. I didn't even want to look in the mirror, cuz I knew I looked that damn rough. And just a few short days after being released, I still look rough. But not to damn bad I guess. I clean up well. This is what I looked like the day I was released. I tried really hard to not "look" sick so my kids wouldn't know what the fuck was up. I did well, I think.. After all, there is nothing that make up and fake smiles can't fix...


I totally pulled it off. And by this picture, you can't tell I had thrown up 12 times and every single inch of my body was shaking because I felt so weak. But you know what my end results were? A big fat NOTHING.

After almost a week in the hospital, I still had NO answers and they had taken a total of 27 tubes of blood, and shot me in the belly everyday I was there with a blood thinner. OUCH is all I can say there. My poor stretch marks are still bruised, cuz they hadn't been through enough! And had given me a pneumonia and flu shot because they thought it would "help" me out in the long run. Yeah, bruised body parts are totally in these days.

So I went home, right before Thanksgiving. Still had no answers as to what the fuck my body was putting me through. They only had "ideas" that they need to "rule out" that's why they ran every damn test in the book to try and figure it out. CT scans, CAT scans, MRI's, all my damn blood and they still didn't know what the fuck was happening anymore than I did. All they knew for sure was that my white blood cell count was high, and my red was low. Which in doctor terms means that my body is trying to fight off some sort of infection and my iron was low, yet they couldn't find the SOURCE of the infection.. They had checked everything, and it was exhausting and painful. I was so sick of being poked and prodded on by these doctors and people, by the last day I about choked a nurse out because she woke me up out of a dead sleep and tried to tell me that I needed to "deal with it" and it pissed me off. There for a brief second I had split personality disorder and flipped batshit crazy on this bitch. Uhhh no. I don't have to deal with anything and get the flying fuck away from me before I crawl my sick ass out of this bed and show you what YOU need to deal with... 

Even though they still didn't know what the hell was going on with me. They had gotten my pain under control (well enough for them, not me..) and said I could go home! Thank you! If you have ever had a hospital stay, you know as well as I do that you do NOT sleep in the hospital. They come in every 3 1/2-4hrs to check your vitals and bring you meds and blah blah! So I was all HALLELUAH! I can go home and sleep til Summer. I was ecstatic! But still concerned, because even 7 doctors later, they still didn't know what the fuck was wrong. And I was worried I would no more and get home and end up having to come back. So instead of just throwing up my intestines and feeling like my appendix would burst, I would lose a pancreas to or something:? My mind always goes to the worst shit possible. But I didn't, thankfully. Just have to spend everyday at the doctor.

So to make a still forever long story shorter, I finally have a couple answers. But I still have to wait for some test results to come back. And here is what I do know:

They have unofficially diagnosed me with Celiac Disease and Crohn's disease. They can't officially diagnose me with it until my test results come back. And I learned the day that I left the hospital, that they apparently have to send all their "tests" to Utah to have The Big Kahona check em' out. And I haven't done much research on either of these diseases. I just got the cliffnote's version from my doctor of all the "do's and dont's" of what I should and shouldn't do, what I can do to make things easier on myself and yadda yadda..

So now, I get to spend just about everyday at the hospital from here until further notice so the local vampires can take my blood. Tomorrow I go in for iron and potassium injections. Apparently when one person gets iron and potassium injections, it takes approximately 8 hours. So YAY! I get to spend the entire day at the doctor office, at least twice a week for who only knows how long. And I am sick of the doctor.

But this is when I look in the mirror and really wonder about the person I will become. I wonder what is going to happen now? Where am I going to go from here? WHY does bad shit always have to happen to me? I just can't catch a break to save my damn life.

Last night, I had a freakin breakdown. Like a full blown meltdown. Why do you ask? For absolutely no particular reason. I was watching my niece and nephews, plus I had my 3 kids. I was cooking dinner and they were running around like wild animals destroying everything they breathe towards and what happened? I just got overwhelmed. And way to damn fast. I have lost my patience lately. I for the love of all that is HOLY can't even stand my own children lately, why in becheesus sake's would I watch my niece and nephew's to fuel the fire? Because I am fucking crazy that is why. But here I am in the kitchen, had been on the phone for a whole 5 minutes (if that..) I get off the phone and I seriously flip...my...shit!

I reach for my crack in a can: empty. I reach for my glass of glorious dew, empty. I grab my cigarettes, no ligter. WHAT THE MOTHER FUCKING FUCK FUCK FUCK!??? I go batshit crazy for absolutely no reason. Grab my purse (aka suitcase), dump the entire damn thing upside down, and frantically search for my lighter. Only to find it nowhere. WHAT THE FUCK? I can't even keep track of a damn lighter, WHAT THE FUCK? This is all I keep repeating over and over and over and over and over and over and over again, and loudly. I was so fuckin angry I probably would have started flinging poo if it had been present. I was fuckin mad. So I stood there, and had this conversation with myself in my head:

"Calm down, you do this all the fucking time, WHAT THE FUCK?"

"What do you mean calm down? This little assholes are going fucking insane and you want me to remain calm? I don't  fuckin think so!!!!"

"Just breathe! 3...2...1......1...2.....3....3....2....1.....1.....2...3! Calmly walk away and fuckin breathe before we have another anxiety attack, because those fuckin blow."

I stop dead in my tracks (cuz ya know, I was STILL looking for a lighter..) throw my suitcase down to the ground, walk to the bathroom and slam that sumbitch as hard as I can. I sit down, and cry. and cry and cry and cry and cry and cry. All the while, thinking to myself:

"What the fuck is wrong with me? When did I become this person? Why have I become this person? I am not the person to go batshit crazy! I kick ass and take names and do 500 times over, and here I am having a temper fuckin tantrum because kids are assholes and we already KNOW that kids are assholes! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG?

So I proceeded to do what any other batshit crazy mofo would do, and called my therapist. Cuz ya know. I need someone with a license to tell me to calm the fuck down. And OF COURSE! I get no answer. Even she knew not to answer the phone.

Twenty minutes later, after crying until I puked and wondering why the fuck I am so broken, I picked myself back up, walked out into the living room where all the assholes were residing and kicked ass and took names. Put the little douchebags right in check and went about my night. But do you see the shit I'm talking about? My entire body is going fucking insane and protesting the shit that is happening to it. Making my brain go all wonky, too.

Right at this very moment, I can tell you that it's Tuesday. But if you ask me again in 2 hours I will swear up and down on my mama that today is Thursday. And Wednesday will be Friday, And Thursday will be Tuesday. Because I just don't know what fucking day it is anymore...  I am by all accounts of the word, broken... WHAT...THE.....FUCK!

What happens now? Even therapy isn't fixing my broken ass. So what the fuck am I supposed to do? Oh that's right. Blog. Bloggity, blog, blog!


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