talkativetrashpanda
Talkative Trash Panda
This is where I keep ✨my trauma✨
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It’s been a month since Emma died. Most of the time I’ve kept my grief shoved down, but today something small happened that pushed me over the edge.
I found one of her favorite toys.
I stumbled across it on accident, it wasn’t even in a normal place for dog toys, which was why it was so shocking. It was on top of the fridge, where we keep injured toys to be repaired (when Emma got in a mood, she could destroy a toy pretty quickly)
It sucked all the air out of my lungs.
It was like all the grief I’d been suppressing came bursting out and I couldn’t breathe. I pretty much ran from the kitchen to the bathroom where I tried to collect myself. But the lid was off the pot and I was hit with images of Emma in that little box we brought her home in, saying goodbye to her, mom sobbing and insisting she was still breathing. I made it to my room, where I’m currently trying to hold off a full blown meltdown unsuccessfully.
The way my brain processes trauma is not a healthy one. It’s hard to explain but I’m hoping someone here will understand. Earlier this year, I held my aunt’s hand as she was laying in her hospital bed dying from cancer. Hospice said it would be soon. I know I was there and I know that I held her hand but when I think back on it, I can’t see her. It’s like looking at a censored image, it’s just a sort of blur. My therapist suggested that this was my brains way of trying to protect me, but it’s so weird.
Anyway, that’s how it’s been with Emma, all sort of blurred, but seeing that stuffed monkey just brought everything into hd quality. It’s almost one AM so I’m trying to not completely spiral.
I worry about myself a little bit. I don’t think I’ve really processed any of the trauma from this year, or last year really. I’m afraid one day I’ll just have a complete and total meltdown. There’s only so much a person can take.
I’m going to try to breathe and come back from the panic attack. It’s been a while since I’ve had one and I forgot how awful they are. Enjoy my favorite picture of my baby, which I often look at.
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So I was in therapy earlier today, and I was explaining to my therapist that right now everything just felt kind of numb. We’ve had so much happen in such a short time span that I think my emotions just shut down. And Jenny, being the incredible therapist that she is, managed to find the right spot in my brain and crack it open like a walnut.
It started very simply. I said something along the lines of “I’m tired of saying it’s fine when it’s not.” Jenny looked at me with a cock of her head and said “so tell me what’s not fine.”
And holy shit.
I haven’t really cried over much, because again, my emotions went into shutdown mode. But once I started listing things, the dam broke loose.
It’s not fine that my dog isn’t here anymore. She was only nine and it’s not fine at all that she suffered like she did.
It’s not fine that I’m sick again after being well for so long. I’m terrified of how it’ll set me back. It’s not fine that, even though I’m doing all the things I’m supposed to do, I still managed to get sick.
It’s not fine that I’ve become my family’s therapist, a mediator between my parents. It’s not fine that I’ve been forced into the middle.
It’s not fine that I just turned 27 and I’m nowhere near where I thought I’d be. It’s not fine that Covid completely, totally fucked me over and I’m still sick three years later. It’s put my life on pause and I’m missing this time in my life.
It’s not fine that I have to stand up in court and argue that I’m disabled. That I have to prove myself to a judge and a board of doctors and who knows. It’s not fine that, despite numerous forms and letters from multiple doctors, they still don’t believe me. It’s not fine that I have to fight for my disability to be recognized because I look fine on the outside.
It’s not fine that my aunt was finally free from lifelong abuse, only to have a stroke and dementia. She had less than one year of freedom. It’s not fine talking to her on the phone and trying not to cry because she doesn’t know who I am or where she is.
It’s not fine that the last three years have been a never ending shitstorm of pain and trauma. It’s not fine that I’ve been hit with tragedy after tragedy and I’ve taken more than my fair share. It’s not fine that NONE OF MY FRIENDS understand what I’m going through, or even bother to check on me half the time.
It’s not fine that the world is moving on without me. There are still people that don’t think Covid existed. They weren’t touched by it when I’m still fighting three years later.
So much is not fine and I’M not fine and I’m tired of pretending and telling myself I am. I’m not fine in the slightest and somehow I have to keep going forward like it is. I’ve had no time to process or grieve any of the losses because the hits just keep coming.
It’s fine to not be fine.
#chronic illness#long covid#personal blog#grief#covid isn't over#covid long hauler#trauma#not fine#mental health#mental health issues#mental health blog
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My birthday is the 24th and I’m dreading it. Honestly I’ve dreaded my birthday for the last ten years. They’ve always been difficult and shrouded in grief. Since we just lost Emma, this year is right on track with the others.
I’m trying to reframe my thinking but it’s just not working. I tell myself that I should be grateful to have another birthday after the Covid pneumonia last year. So many people didn’t make it, but I’m one of the fortunate ones that did, so I shouldn’t take it for granted.
I don’t throw a party, because if I did I wouldn’t have anyone to come and it would just be sad. As for family, it’s just me, my mom, and my dad. I can’t go out with any of my friends for health reasons, and it would be unlikely they’d have the time anyway. They’re all moms and people with careers.
That’s my biggest issue with my birthday. This is NOT what (almost) 27 is supposed to be like. I’m supposedly in the best years of my life when I’m supposed to be vibrant and healthy and doing all sorts of fun things. I’d always hoped that I’d be married or at least in a relationship. But how do you date when you can’t go anywhere? Even if I were to have a date outside or something, I can’t drive. There’s just so many things I had thought I’d have and do by this point and it kills me that I don’t. I feel like I was robbed of the “best years of my life” by grief and illness.
The closer it gets, the more anxious I get. If I could skip it, I would. Ugh.
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This is my personal blog, my main blog is @fanartandfanfiction and I’ll probably reply to comments as that because I can’t figure out how to switch back and forth 😩
I don’t actually expect anyone to read this, this is just the toxic waste dump where I leave my trauma. I’ve always felt better typing it out, I don’t know why. I suppose I hope someone somewhere might read something I’ve written and think “hey, I’m not alone.”
So welcome to the shit show ❤️
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One of the things I’ve been dreading has happened. We had to put Emma to sleep. I’ve lost dogs before, but that pain was NOTHING compared to this. Emma was more than just a pet. I grew up with my first dog, Kristen, and she passed away when we were fifteen. I was devastated, we’d literally grown up together, but I was too young to have a deep connection with her like I did Emma.
2013 was a horrible year. Arguably the worst in my life. We lived in a duplex owned by my grandfather, he lived on the other side. I was very very close to my grandfather and we spent A LOT of time together. I literally spent time with him every single day. I was a senior in high school when he had a massive heart attack and died.
We’d just been there. Not even ten minutes before. We asked what he wanted for lunch, and mom headed back to our side to cook. When we came back, he was gone. He’d had a massive heart attack that (thankfully) killed him instantly. But my mom and I found him. It was an incredibly traumatic experience that I still have a crystal clear image of in my brain, but at least I’m able to talk about it now.
He died in October. Kristen died EXACTLY a month later, to the day. It was devastating, trying to cope with two major losses. A few months later, I experienced a third, when my boyfriend of three years dumped me in a text message and ran off to florida with some whore. We’d literally been planning a life together after school. He’d given me a promise ring, which he said he’d replace with an engagement ring once we graduated. He’d given me absolutely no indication he’d changed his mind and I was completely blindsided. It was for the best in the long run, but at that time, it felt like I’d lost everything.
We’d said no more dogs after Kristen, but we were all so heartbroken and lost that we decided to get a puppy. I’ve taken the long way around to explain that we raised Emma, and I don’t know how we would have gotten through all that without her. My mom said she knows for certain that dog saved her life. I know she saved mine.
Trying to go on without her is just…it feels impossible. I got through everything with her. She was there every time I was sick, or had surgery, or had my heart broken. She was the one that comforted me when I was hurting and now she’s gone.
It’s even worse for my mom. Emma was basically her emotional support dog. I’m pretty sure she loved Emma as much as she loved me. When she was coping with my grandfather’s death, she’d sit up at night and hold Emma and talk to her. Emma always listened, too. She’d cock her head when you spoke to her and she’d make eye contact the whole time. And she was so damn smart.
She had such a huge personality too. She’d argue with you, she’d throw tantrums like a toddler. She was smart enough to understand you and stubborn enough to ignore you. God, I still can’t believe she’s gone.
We knew it was coming. We knew she had heart failure and we were on borrowed time. We tried to prepare, but how can you? Nothing compares to the real thing. We were given 12-14 months, and we got sixteen. We could see her deteriorating. We could see her beginning to struggle. But she was so damn happy and playful.
We called her wiggle butt because she’d always wag her tail so hard her whole butt shook. She was still doing it when my parents took her to the vet. But she was struggling to breathe and we swore we wouldn’t let her suffer.
I was worried about how my mom would take it, I figured it would destroy her and I was right. They brought her home and she was in a little box, sort of like a coffin. I’d originally said I didn’t want to see her, but mom said she just looked like she was sleeping so I went to say goodbye. And she did, she looked peaceful. It was what came afterward that’s been really traumatic.
Mom was convinced she was still breathing. She made me feel Emma’s chest and was begging me to tell her she was still breathing. Obviously she wasn’t. I had to tell her. She still wouldn’t let Emma go. I told her she had to and she started screaming that she couldn’t. Having to pull my mother away from my dead dog is something I’ll never be able to unsee. Then she started having a panic attack and I had to make her breathe. She was inconsolable. She heard dad begin digging the grave and freaked out. She’d originally said cremation would be silly and expensive but she couldn’t stand the idea of burying her. Then she freaked out about them burning her. I told her she had to choose. She finally chose cremation and I was able to call a place and make arrangements. A family friend offered to cover the cost.
I haven’t really had time to process my own grief and feelings. I expected my dad to stay strong, as he’s usually the strong one, but both my parents have been wrecks. So I’ve been the strong one, making the arrangements and taking care of things. Unfortunately we had to go to Nashville literally the next day for my wrist surgery. It’s been a time.
My dad said something he meant as a compliment, but upset me. “You’re handling this so well.” That’s something I have heard my entire life, and it was never true. I just got better and better at hiding it. My childhood was pretty damn traumatic in an unconventional way (death, death, medical trauma, more death, etc) and I didn’t deal with any of it. I just packed it away. For YEARS I heard “gosh, Allie has handled everything so well, she’s so mature. I couldn’t have handled it. I’m impressed with how she takes everything in stride!”
No I just got excellent at concealing and repressing and has crippling anxiety and depression and wanted to die a little bit.
But I digress.
Hearing those words again were triggering. I can’t do that again, I can’t repress everything again. I’ll lose my mind. But right now I have to be the strong one, the level headed one, and I feel like it won’t be long before the dam breaks.
#trauma#grief#grief and loss#pain#emotions#repressed trauma#death#dog death#trauma blog#personal blog#trigger warning
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“People your age shouldn’t be sick all the time.”
Well idiots shouldn’t be able to get medical degrees, but here we both are.
#chronic illness#young and chronically ill#young people get diseases too#I’m aware that I’m young#stupid doctors#rude doctors
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Thinking about that time this doctor was mad at me for having arthritis in my knee. “You shouldn’t have arthritis in your knee at your age!” Like sir??? I’m aware?? That’s why I’m here??
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Things are going well lately, my health is improving, I’m getting good reports, my aunt and uncle are doing ok, and Emma (my poodle) is doing ok as well.
And I’m scared shitless.
I’m scared because nothing ever stays good for long. Literally every time I’ve thought “things are turning around!” Something horrible happens. I’m in constant fear of waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s like in a horror movie when you KNOW something scary is coming, and you’re anxious and terrified waiting for it.
Plus, I KNOW the bad things are coming. We were given an estimate of 12-14 months with Emma and we’re at sixteen. My uncle is 90. My aunt is on hospice. So I KNOW I’ll be dealing with those things and it’s making it hard to enjoy the good things now.
Plus I’m coming up on a year exactly from when I got really sick. I had double covid pneumonia and ended up in the hospital on oxygen. I literally thought I was going to die. And up until I got sick, I’d been improving, much like I am now. Then I got sick and was even worse than before.
I’ve made so much progress and I’m absolutely terrified of losing it again. I went downhill so fast and undid all my work for recovery. I have nightmares about getting sick again. I live in constant terror of getting sick again. And the rest of the world has moved on and forgotten covid but I can’t.
Things are better than they’ve been in three years and I’m more anxious than before. Medical ptsd is real and unfortunately not often recognized. I think approaching the anniversary date has really triggered my anxiety and stress. It doesn’t help that I have two surgeries coming up too. They should hopefully help and improve my health even more. But going back into the hospital, even temporarily, terrifies me. The IVs, the pain, the bleeding… I have to stop before I get myself too anxious to sleep.
#long covid#covid long hauler#covid 19#post covid#covid survivor#medical trauma#medical ptsd#ptsd#anxiety#personal blog#health
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Could be fun! Good lord that’s a lot of options
Fanfiction Writing Asks
Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike?
Where do you get your fic ideas?
Do you share your fic ideas, or do you keep them to yourself?
How do you choose which fics to write?
How many wips do you have? What fandoms/pairings are they for?
What’s the last line you wrote?
Post a snippet from a wip.
Post an out-of-context spoiler from a wip.
Does this word [chosen by asker] appear in your current wip?
Do you work on multiple wips or stick to one fic at a time?
Do you write scenes in order, or do you jump around?
Do you outline your fics? If yes, how detailed are your outlines? How far do you stray from them?
Do you listen to music while you write? If yes, what have you been listening to recently?
What is your favorite location and position to write in?
What’s your favorite time to write?
Do you write by hand, on your phone, or on your laptop?
Do you have a writing routine?
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If you could only write one type of AU for the rest of your life, what would it be?
Is there a trope that you’ve written before but are now sick of?
Who is your favorite character to write for? Has this changed since you’ve started writing for that fandom?
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Do you have a favorite piece of figurative language you’ve written?
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In [insert fic], what inspired the idea for the plot?
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Free space - asker can come up with any writing or fic-related question they want!
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I dressed up like Barbie even though l'm not leaving my house today because it makes me HAPPY and that is SELF CARE
do the things that make you happy, even if it's not
"normal"
Buy the stuffed animal. Get dressed up for no reason. Play the video game. Whatever makes you happy.
#self care#self love#love your curves#love yourself#be kind to yourself#be kind to your mind#treat yourself#barbie#barbie cosplay
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525,600 minutes
I love musicals, particularly Rent, and "Seasons of Love" always gets me in my feels. I was thinking about this song today when the chorus sings "how do you measure, measure a year?"
Unfortunately my year is being measured by heart ache. Maybe it would be better if I tried to think of the good things that happened this year, but honestly I can't think of many.
The year started with my aunt on hospice. She had a horrible aggressive cancer that took her out in less than a year. I was able to make the six hour trip twice to see her, but it was so damn hard. Have you ever watched someone you love die from cancer? You watch it steal them away in bits and pieces. It takes and it takes and it takes until you're left with a shell of your loved one.
Waiting for someone to die is like waiting to bleed out from a cut. You know it's coming, you just don't know when or how fast. But it hurts so fucking bad and you almost wish it would be over just so you know. It's like free falling and knowing you're going to slam into the ground, but you can't tell how close you are.
Every day you wake up and wonder if today will be the day you get the call. Or will it be tomorrow? Or maybe this weekend? It's constantly there, clouding everything you do. And you want their suffering to be over, but you don't want your loved one to die. You're walking a tightrope of wanting their pain to be taken away and wanting to keep them with you.
That was my second round with hospice in the last couple of years. I've just begun round three. This aunt is the one I'm closest to. She's basically been a grandmother to me my whole life since mine died when I was young. I spent so much time with her, so many hours sitting at her kitchen table while she and my grandpa drank coffee.
She's had a hard life. A really cruel, unfair life. Her husband was a fucking monster, and the day he was sent to the nursing home was a day of celebration. I still have a picture of her, I went over to her house and she was kicked back in his spot with a glass of wine and a bucket of popcorn. She wasn't allowed to do things like that when he was around. He was incredibly controlling and verbally abusive. So we thought finally, she's free from him, she can have some freedom!
Then the dementia began. It was little things at first, we would notice she was misplacing things more frequently, then she started with some odd behaviors. None of her children lived nearby and we were begging them to take her to the doctor and see if she'd had a stroke. They didn't do anything until it was too late. She had to be moved to an assisted living facility clear on the other side of the country because that's where her kids are. The dementia had been progressing pretty rapidly anyway, but most recently she had a massive stroke after covid that's left her unable to use her arms or legs. She has a huge blood clot in her leg and she can barely speak coherently. Her children made the decision to put her on hospice, because she wouldn't want to live this way. I know they're right, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.
So I find myself, for the second time this year, waiting for someone to die. Actually, three someones. My poodle has heart failure, and they estimated we'd have a year at best with her. It's been 14 months and we know we're on borrowed time. It's starting to catch up with her, and I'm afraid we'll have to make the choice to end her suffering soon. It will absolutely destroy my mom, that's basically her emotional support dog.
My uncle (the oldest of the siblings) is in his 90s and in poor health. He recently had major surgery and isn't recovering the way they expected. His entire goal of getting stronger and fighting is to go see his sister again. I'm afraid when she passes, so will he.
So how the FUCK am I supposed to keep going on like none of this is happening? How the fuck am I supposed to focus on anything else when death and heartache are on the horizon? It's not even just those things, I have long covid and I'm in poor health, I'm collecting specialists like pokemon cards and already have two surgical procedures booked.
I feel like I'm fighting to keep my head above the water. Because if I let it pull me down, I'll sink, and I can't do that. But it's tempting. I'd like to clarify that I'm not referencing a permanent solution, instead saying it's easy to give up and wallow in my depression and just be sad all the time.
I don't really have a point of reference so I asked my therapist. I was like "hey, I feel like I'm dealing with more shit than the average person my age, am I right?"
YUP!
My whole life people have always said "Allie handles everything so well, she's gone through so much, if I were in her shoes I would have given up." And I don't mean that to sound like a humble brag, because it's not. I don't handle any of it well. Not even a little. And it bothers me when people say "oh if I had to go through some of the things you've gone through, I'd -xyz-" because I don't have a fucking choice. I've been dealt a shitty deck of cards and I'm trying to do what I can with it, because I have to have hope that things will get better.
Anyway, in conclusion, I am a fucking mess and I'm writing an internet diary about it, because it does feel like it helps. If you made it this far, hi.
#diary#online diary#journal#online journal#long covid#chronic illness#grief'#loss#suffering#mental health
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