Like This

I didn’t always used to be like this. Whatever that means. My body forgot how to make blood at some point. Not sure when. Who knows how long I’ve been symptomatic. But my hemoglobin first fell to a nice and frightening 6 pretty much exactly 3 years ago.

I didn’t always used to be like this. When you’re body stops making blood on its own and you spend at least 3 years with never as much blood as you’re supposed to have, cognitive function goes. The brain isn’t getting enough blood. Nothing is getting enough blood. But the brain is where you miss it the most.

I didn’t always used to be like this. It’s a whole other type if learning disability, really, to semi-permanently function at a fraction of brain power.

I didn’t always used to be like this. I mean, yes, I’ve always been a dumbass. But that’s always been a reference to my wisdom modifier. My intelligence modifier was through the roof. I only took the test because I was lonely and wanted to make friends, but I almost got into mensa after I was already symptomatic but didn’t yet know it. I had potential.

I didn’t always used to be like this. I still graduated with top Latin honors. Summa Cum Laude. Despite being at rock bottom through most of it. Pulling off straight A’s while getting regular blood transfusions that only did the trick a month at a time. Iron infusions in between, that only did the trick a month at a time.

I didn’t always used to be like this. But even like this I still fought as hard as I had to. Because my self worth has always been tied to my intelligence. It’s all I’ve got. I don’t judge others based on theirs, don’t get me wrong. I know there is so much a person has to offer beyond intelligence. But I don’t have those things.

I didn’t always used to be like this. And I’ve forgotten that, as my cognitive function has gotten worse over the past however long.

I didn’t always used to be like this.

This looks like forgetting common words or the names of things time and time again like they are a foreign language at the tip of your tongue just out of reach. This looks like taking days to read books that used to take you hours. This looks like not being able to remember things from episode 1, now that you’re on episode 8, even though episode 1 was a mere hours ago.

And I won’t always be like this.

And I won’t always be like this. I started taking a high dose of B12 a few months ago, against the recommendation of my doctor because he said it wasn’t my B12. Two doctors said that. But I had a nugget of knowledge and a hunch.

And I won’t always be like this. A few months ago I started making my own blood. Test after test has shown my levels rise and stay steady. Well past normal.

And I won’t always be like this. It’s been 11 months since my last blood transfusion. Maybe 6 months since my last iron infusion. I was about due when I started the B12.

And I won’t always be like this. The source of my nugget of knowledge tells me it takes about a year to fully recover from this type or anemia. A year to reach my full cognitive function potential. Whatever that means for me now.

And I won’t always be like this. I have a long way to go. I don’t feel any different. I don’t remember how I used to be. I don’t know what I’ll become in the coming months. But I know.

I won’t always be like this.

You’re Not Writing!

Depression BPD Borderline Personality Disorder BipolarActually, I am.  Just not here.  And it’s mostly poetry.

I’m not exactly doing well at the moment.  I mean, I don’t feel depressed and I’m not suicidal or any of that crap.  I just can’t get out of bed most days.

Logic tells me that’s depression.  It’s weird being depressed, showing so many signs of depression, without feeling overly sad.  I think, honestly, I’m too tired and lethargic to feel much of anything but tired and lethargic.

I really need to talk to my meds doctor about it but I missed my last appointment due to hitting a pot hole (read: sink hole) with the car and shredding two tires and rims.  It was glorious.  And by glorious I mean a pain in the ass.  Luckily we were already planning new tires and rims with the tax return that showed up a couple of days later, but… I missed an important appointment.

I’m not even sure what to really say to her.  “Hi, I’m not sad but I’m not exactly living.”

But then, in many ways I am living.  When I have the energy to partake in life I really enjoy it.  Pat and I went to the ballet a week or so ago.  We saw their interpretation of Alice in Wonderland.  The day before that we went to a friend’s art show at a gallery.  When I can find the energy I make the most of it.  The catch is a slept for 48 hours leading up to and following those 48 hours of energy burst.  96 hours in bed to be able to have 48 hours of normal life is fucked up math.

And I’m getting 105% in math, so I know my math.

Anyway, I’m writing over on my new tumblr blog.  It’s mostly poetry but then, not really.  It’s whatever the hell I want it to be.  There are no rules, no restrictions, no structure.  So it currently fits what I need for my writing.  You’ll notice a theme, should you read.

I loss someone recently.  Not someone I’ve discussed on here.  I don’t want to talk about it.  Not the details, anyways.  They are private to the two of us.  I’ll leave it that.

So, the tumblr: Shakespeare She Is Not   Sister Forget Me Not



BPD Borderline Personality Disorder and LoveYou got the best of me
Rest of me
Tried and true test of me
I lied for you
Cried for you
A piece of me died for you
I wasn’t good enough
Understood enough
I knew I’d withstood enough
You took your leave that day
Slipped away
No words of goodbye to say
You left a shattered heart
Torn apart
Tears won’t stop when they choose to start

The Best Part

So I’ve reached the point of realization of the best part of my job.  Or, at least for this week.  There is always a new best part every week.  Which might actually be the ultimate best part of my job, now that I think about it.

But I digress.

I have found the best part of my job, for this week.

Yesterday.  On a glorious Monday (I know but Monday sees me escaping my kids for a few hours of adult time after the weekend with them.) saw me kicking off my sandals and writing the beginning of a poem.  At work.  On the clock.  With branch manager, and actually district manger, encouragement.

There is a contest at work involving creativity.  Branch verses branch, not employee verses employee.  Though, I guess bankers aren’t the most creative sort.  They can be.  They just aren’t known for it.  The whole left brain verses right brain thing.  I think I wrote about that somewhere before, very recently.  Ah yes, here it is.

So I volunteered to head my branch’s submission.  And yesterday I got to business.

And for the first time in my life, was paid to write something creative.

Go figure it was part of my bank job.

I’ll see about sharing it later once the contest is over.  Sorry, but it’s kick-ass and I don’t want the goods stolen.