A Real Struggle

I struggle to understand some things. Some of it may seem like common sense to others, but to me I just do not understand it. Such as abuse, physical, mental or spiritual. I know it exists and I understand it, but I fail to understand how someone can be bent in the direction of carrying out such abuse.

There are myriad of theories to be sure, but at the end of it, I just can’t see myself in a position of deriving joy or pleasure from abusing someone. I also struggle to understand why a certain group of people’s needs supersedes others. And this is a personal point for me. We all want to be first, we all want to matter and so on. But I fail to understand why one group’s need to be protected from certain substances takes greater priority than my need to have my pain managed. And no, I am by no means an addict nor am I seeking narcotics. However, when I show up in an emergency room in so much pain that I am physically sick and no longer able to speak without tears I would appreciate being afforded respect and dignity.

Not being labeled as drug seeking simply because there is a huge influx of people who seem addicted to pain meds and have learned to claim to have certain symptoms in order to get their fix. And because of these people, when others with chronic pain or such come in to emergency rooms in dire need of help, they are now looked at as being drug seeking. I do not understand how one group can be allowed to determine the health care questions and assumptions for everyone who walks through the door.

Of course I also fail to understand how we can have such a great understanding about addiction and such a little understanding of the many different ways lupus can affect a person’s quality of life and pain levels.

I struggle to understand why my needs and concerns are not taken as seriously by the government as the needs of addicts. And why I must be painted with the same brush as they are when my needs and situation are rather different from theirs. Perhaps the idea is, it is okay to waste my time and a nurse’s time going through a rather long and ridiculous questionnaire just to have a doctor review it before taking my lupus issues seriously.


When you stop and think about, teeth are amazing things.  They allow us to eat all manner of food.  They help us breakdown food so we don’t choke.  They help us to form words by how we use our tongues.  The add a certain something to our smiles and it’s always a bit odd when people we expect to have teeth don’t have them.

Yes friends I’m not against teeth.  Other than puppy teeth.  During teething time.  When apparently we must use our teeth on absolutely any surface.  Especially my toes, fingers, hands and well basically any body part.  Because you see I’m pretty sure I wasn’t meant to be a teething aid for puppies or people.  And I have to admit, I’m not a fan of being a human pin cushion. I like keeping my blood inside me thank you very much.

Our puppy apparently doesn’t seem to care.  All she cares about is making her mouth feel better.  And I can appreciate this.  I don’t remember my own teething thankfully.  And my wisdom teeth never came through so I can’t honestly relate exactly.  But I can understand it.  And of course it will be worse for the puppy as she has more teeth in her mouth than I do.

I am sympathetic, but only to a point.  The point of her teeth is where it ends.  When those teeth puncture my soft, yielding, defenceless human flesh.  So for both our sakes, I’ve bought teething toys, some I can freeze so she can find relief.  See I’m not completely horrible.  Am I?

Complimentary Uncomfortable

Ive never been much good with compliments or praise.  Oh I suspect as a young child I was probably more than okay with those items, but somewhere along the way they made me feel uncomfortable.  I knew better.  I knew I wasn’t doing anything worthy of praise or compliments.  And as time went by these things became more and more uncomfortable.

So  I have taken to hiding from them.  Not to brag, but I’m pretty good at hiding from compliments and praise.  I push them away if they should be brought my away,  pointing out that what I’ve done isn’t anything special or spectacular or whatever.  And then I politely disappear.  Easier that way.

But now and then, well now and then it isn’t exactly easy to hide from them.  Oh I try and I scheme, but now and then friends manage to make it happen.  They mean well and it truly is a lovely thing.  And I can honestly say it isn’t them, it’s me.

I joyfully share in celebrating their accomplishments, complimenting their skills and talents.  I celebrate the very things that make them who they are.  All the while hiding from the things that make me who I am.

Beloved is a patient man, but it drives him up a wall how I will walk away from him or dismiss what he is saying if it should be a compliment or suchlike.  He has come short to giving up  and throwing in the towel, deciding I have a self-worth issue, or perhaps esteem problem.  In truth I don’t.  I just would rather hear the criticism because I can work with that.  I just am not sure what I’m suppose do on do with praise or compliments.  Sure you thank the person for taking the time and saying such things.  But what exactly do you do with that stuff afterwards?  Anyone?

Resting Me, Anxious Lupus

It was gently suggested that I should take some time and rest.  As in time from working, lecturing and such.  Just rest, I was told.

I’ve  never been successful with this little task.  Okay let’s be honest here, I’m an utter failure in this front.  It seems the only way I can rest is when I’m run myself right into the ground and am close to, if not already, looking at a stay in the hospital.

Now I’m not a fan of the hospital.  Don’t get me wrong, there are some really amazing people who work there.  People who take care of us such as doctors and nurses.  Orderlies who take become a mode of transportation.  The people in the pharmacy, the laundry rooms, the people who do the cleaning and let’s not forget the people who make the food.  I’m positive I’m missing a whole bunch of people, but you get the drift.

But still, despite all of those nice people, I hate th hospital itself.  I hate the smells of a hospital.  I hate how cold hospitals  are.  And I hate being in them because they remind of what I’m not doing.

So you’d think a rational person would do all she could do to avoid these places when possible.  But then I’ve never thought of myself as rational.  Stubborn?  Yes.  Rational and logical?  That’s up for debate.

So when they gave me the standard, you need to rest and do nothing else, I felt my heart drop.  For I know that we are back at the dreaded cross-roads.  The cross-roads where I need to decide if I try to push through and just get past this until I can rest, or pull up and stop everything and rest.

Of course in the end lupus decides.  Lupus either gives me a pass and I push through until I can find a time to rest or lupus puts her feet down and demands attention which means hospitals.

And so here I sit, a note written by my primary care doctor as well as two others from specialists  that say I need to take a break, and a full slate of projects that must be finalized, written ups etc. for work.  My doctors don’t have to worry about paying my bills or keeping my job.  They aren’t concerned with carrying my weight.  They are concerned about my health.  On the other hand my employers certainly aren’t as worried about my health as they are about my productivity and contribution.

But no one said life would be easy, or straightforward.  No one said all my choices would be simple and that every thing I do will make sense to everyone.

Since rock, paper, scissors seems a little immature to make this decision, and the last time I flipped a coin I lost the coin, I’m just going to sit here and count that as part of the resting phase while I try to figure out how to rest and not lose too much!


My father once told me that every single person on the face of earth has a limit, a limit to what is tolerable and what is not.  He said it was important to understand this, and understand that it’s different for each one of us, so that we can act accordingly.

What my father never told me is that some things have a different rule to them, that is they are intolerable end of story.  There is nothing more to it.  Just the thought of the abhorrent things makes me shudder.  And the thing is, for each of us it is a little different.

Pperhaps my father should have also told me that each circumstance alters how far that limit can be moved or held fast.  My father never told me that because I loved someone, I would make excuses and rationalize for something that is wrong.

My family has never been  one that tolerates violence and yet I justified it repeatedly, when I wasn’t covering up or trying to find a plausible reason for a black eye or such.  Black eyes, deep bruises however were not my limit.  Broken fingers and toes?  Not my limit either.

But I reached my limit and I fought back.  And I have my limit on silence too and friends I’ve more than reached my limit in silence years ago.  And thanks to support and caring from Beloved I won’t be silenced.

You see friends, I cannot sit back in silence or have a far off limit when it comes to abuse.  Not for women, children, men or animals.  Just cannot do it.  I guess daddy was right about people all having limits, but is having a no tolerance level a limit?

Coping or Hiding

I have a confession to make…somewhere along the line I’ve become so used to seeing the images of terrorist attacks, of violence towards humans by other humans that the horror no longer registers.

I have to stop and remind myself the images I see, the bodies wrapped up or the blood spreading on the ground came from a once living human being.  A human who loved and was loved, lived, cried, laughed, had hopes and dreams as well as downturns.  In other words, but for a few circumstances, I could be in that place.

Sometimes I wonder if we do more harm by showing and viewing these images.  If too much just makes people turn away.  But those images cry out for justice, cry out to be heard because the victims can no longer speak.  Where is the balance in this?  Am I the only person who feels this way?  How do you cope?

Volume Of Conversation

The neighbors like to have conversations, passionate ones.  These typically start around 11 pm and depending upon the topic, can run until 3 am,  I know all of this because these are loud, passionate conversations that carry through the air.  They carry straight through to the house.  Free entertainment, if only I wanted it at that time.😳

Now I’m all for conversation, even passionate ones.  It’s all just a matter of timing.  I expressed to the neighbors that at I can appreciate conversation, just not at those hours. Judging from their response, I’m not the only person to express this concern.

One of my other neighbors decided that since these people won’t listen to reason the only thing left to do is deal with the legality of things.  So the police receive phone calls every time there is one of these disturbances.

Now at first the police said they’d drive by and check in things, however now they come right away due to the violent language and threats being used.  Inevitably this means someone goes away in a police car, peace fills the air and all is good.

Of course then both parties get back together and the fireworks begin anew.  It makes some people wonder why they keep getting back together, but I figure the attraction of such passionate conversations is too great to avoid. Even as the volume increases.

There will, sadly I must confess, come a time when the volume will be so loud it will be defeating.  And then the silence will ensue.  The silence of a violent relationship taken too far.