Some days there is so much pain and hurt and anger and just fucking hopelessness that I don't think I'll ever be human again.

I'm Going Crazy

"But Kay, weren't you already crazy? I mean... C'mon. Really?"

SHUT IT YOU!

I woke up with a migraine. Then stubbornly stayed in bed waiting for it to magically go away on its own. When that didn't happen, I got up and fetched the vicodin. It worked for an hour or so.

I've been playing the "maybe this will work" game all day.

My ears are killing me.

The lymph nodes in my neck started hurting an hour or two ago.

This tiny voice in my head has started yelling "It's cancer! Ha! Suck it! That's what you get for saying cancer was easier than Fibro!"

Another voice is reminding me that the last time I felt like this it was shingles. I mean, herpes. ;) (So sexy!)

Ha! There's a shingles commercial on my TV right now (The virus may already be inside you). Big Brother, man. He's always watching.

Yet another voice is telling me that it's really not healthy to have voices in one's head, and that I should probably not cancel Friday's shrink appt. But what does she know?

I'm going crazy. If you want to watch the madness in action I'll leave the back door unlocked. Come over whenever. If you make my ears stop ringing I'll share my vicodin. If you make the dog stop touching me I'll hug you.

Is it just me, or is this "The Lucky One" movie a ripoff of a Lifetime/Hallmark movie about a soldier and a Christmas card from some lady from Nevada City or something? (Here we are: The Christmas Card-2006).

You know I DVR all the cheesy Christmas movies. I can't get enough and I have seen a shameful amount of them. My favorite might be Melissa Joan Hart's Holiday in Handcuffs. Screw Disney movies, when I'm sick, I want cheesy Christmas chick-flicks. There aren't any in my DVR right now, sadly. Ooh, JTT's "I'll Be Home for Christmas" is on Starz on Thursday though.

Want my undying love? Cookies and cheesy Christmas movies will put you on the right track.

Oh Doodle, It'll Be Ok: You Should See My Scars

Scars are sexy. I firmly believe this and don't know that I've ever met anyone who doesn't agree.

But my scars? No.

I'll admit that I'm a biter. But you should never, ever bite someone's scars unless you know it's ok. Asking permission really is better than asking for forgiveness, people. And it's much less likely to slam the brakes on sexy-time and send people home alone.

Scars are both hidden and visible. For the most part, I prefer to keep mine hidden (then why am I airing them here to the interweb? Good question. Because Sharing is Caring?)

It's now 4 years later and my "track marks" are finally gone, unless you're determined and know where to look. I even had a lab tech tell me recently that I had good veins. I laughed at her. I still think she just got lucky, but anyone who can stick an IV in me on the first shot has to know something. I've had far too many visits to labs where it took seven tries before there was success to completely discredit her knowledge or skill.

I've had a classmate accuse me of having a Hickey on my neck, and then refuse to believe it was anything but, causing a rather embarrassing scene in front of the rest of the class. I can always tell when new people in my life are looking at my neck scar, curious but too polite or sober to ask about it yet. My favorite thing to do is make up stories about my scars. The neck slash is usually the result of a bar fight I was in "back in the day." You should see the other guy ;)

I haven't worn a low-cut shirt in years because of my port scars. Forget bathing suits. I'm sure they're far worse in my head than they are in reality, but the incision sites keloided when they healed and I'm not comfortable displaying them to just anyone. (Inner Voices once left me a voicemail where he made cheesy Port jokes the entire time and I will always love him for that.)

The reason I never wear shorts is split. First, I really am very allergic to the sun. I make jokes because it's something that is honestly funny to me, but exposure to the sun hurts like nobody's business. But the secondary reason is my knee scars. My divots. It looks like someone once played golf on my knee and did not follow proper etiquette and replace them. Bad knee golfer! This analogy amuses me greatly because when I had a cane (2 lovely years-because of my knees) we used to play golf in the office with it. Some of the handles make great putters. Being the resident cripple was a tough job, but damn we had some fun times.

I still occasionally (though thankfully less frequently) require the stability of a cane and it's not something I like to admit to needing. I even keep one in my vehicle at all times. Yes I own more than one cane. (This does not lessen my desire for a Cane Corso.) Don't stare like an asshole when you see someone under the age of 60 rocking a cane. Yes, you may call them House, a Pimp, or (much more rarely and depending exclusively on the person and the tone used) "Handicapped Whore-Bag." Please recognize that you're nowhere near the first one to think of the nickname.

I have a ridiculous level of self-confidence and cocky. I am rather in love with myself and don't try to deny my narcissism.

But sometimes all of that is bluff and bluster, a disguise to hide my scars behind, a shield to make sure no one can get close enough to peek underneath.

It's been almost 6 years now since all of my unhealthiness began and sometimes I really just want to pretend that I have a normal life. That I had a typical twenties experience. That what you see is what you get with me. And sometimes I can pretend very well. Until I meet new people. Or until the old people ask, in that concerned tone that doesn't let you lie to them, "How's everything going?"



Doodle takes Dad's scissors to her skin,
And when she does relief comes setting in.
While she hides the scars she's making underneath her pretty clothes,
She sings:
Hey baby can you bleed like me?

Fun Fact: No Doubt and Garbage are both rumored to be in studio right now. This isn't the first time over the years that I've heard such things though, so I wouldn't recommend holding your breath. If they decide to tour together again my fangirl heart might explode. If they were to bring Spinnerette (the Distillers' front-lady Brody Dalle's "new" project) along for the ride I would surely die on the spot. They are amazing live acts and to see them on one stage is something that should enjoyed as often as possible. Bring earplugs. Long live 2002!

Shake It Off Sunshine; We Don't Delete Here

When we have days and days of rain, like the days previous to today, or the days coming up, according to the weather magicians, Kaylena's body likes to ramp up its dedication to the insomnia game.

When Kaylena reaches a certain Sleep Deficit Level, let's say for example getting 2 hours of sleep in a 48 hour period, it's very similar to being drunk. And then decision making skills become impaired. And then postings and self reflections and emails and texts get decidedly less funny and decidedly more, well, you've seen what happens.

I try very hard to resist the urges to delete and rewrite here, because it's a blog. What was posted was true in that moment. Call it a documentation of one's descent into madness if it pleases you, I just think if I give in to the call to delete or remove a post now, there's really nothing to stop me from deleting all of the writings from the beginning, from the first bumbling forays into writing, to the surgeries and chemo and the adventures that have come since. I may edit spelling, grammar or the odd fragment that doesn't look quite right, and sometimes I decide to implement a name change, but the main content remains. The urge to delete and to go back and "fix" is a sickness not unlike cancer, it is hard to control without damaging the integrity of the entire body of work. Some of the things documented here I don't have memory of anywhere else. This blog is frivolous, certainly, but it helps me note the passage of time and it serves to document experiences. It is the word-heavy companion to my personal all-picture Adventure Book.

This is the Internet Era, once you hit "Publish" there's really no going back. Some things may never make it out of the Drafts bin, but for the ones that do, no matter how fleetingly true they may prove to be, there's no regrets. I don't deny that I have my hot-mess moments. It certainly makes for an entertaining read given the buffer of adequate time.

Thanks for bearing with me. I've had a nap and will now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

What's My Body Trying to Pull?

Song mood: Ellie Goulding-I'll Hold My Breath
(If you like it you should check out her whole Bright Lights CD):
I consider myself a pretty positive, happy, up-beat person. I can find the good in pretty much any situation. So when I find myself angry for no reason it tends to throw me. I usually retreat (or go into "Hermit Mode") until I can figure out what's going on and try to fix it.

I don't like angry or violent people. They scare me a bit and I choose not to be around them. I don't tolerate yelling well either. The couple-friends that I drink wine with around the bonfire from time to time? I choose to never drink enough that I cannot safely drive home because the male half tends to get a little angry when he's had too much. He starts yelling about frivolous things and wants to pick fights with the neighbors. That's when I go home.

I found myself inexplicably angry for the last two days, wanting to tear into everyone for any reason. That's not me. I don't know what triggered it, but it was followed by an inability to stop sleeping yesterday (I'm normally quite happily a 3-5 hour sleeper when not sick). Followed by an inability to sleep last night. I've been up for 22 hours and show no signs of tiring. I'm freezing and have been for the past couple of days, but I'm happy and awake. *shrug* I can deal with that.

I'm now exactly two weeks into my new med, but it's a med I've been on for extended periods before. It's basically a supplement and shouldn't have any side effects. But when I'm on pills of any kind, November 2010's little ER visit is never far from my mind and I am trying to keep a cautious eye on all my symptoms and moods. I'm pretty happy, optimistic even, and not as stressed as I was in the week leading up to the Shingles outbreak, yet here we are... I don't really know what's going on or what to expect, but I'm putting this out there so you're aware of what's going on in my world.

I start weekly acupuncture tomorrow, *fingers crossed* that it helps. We are in NorCal's rainy season, so my Fibro's trying to be a jerk, but the pills seem to help. I'm supposed to take 6 a day (2 at a time, three times a day unless I flare, at which time I'm to take 1 less pill. Confusing, right?) I'm also supposed to cut carbs, which frankly sucks. But I'm attempting to keep an open mind and am willing to try anything once or twice. Well, except Celexa (Citalopram). Fuck Celexa.

I love you dearly and wouldn't be where I am today without you. Yes, you. Thank you. I need you in my world, so no disappearing k? Bear with me.