Category Archives: Hospital

A WHole New World (Post surgery update)

Hey there out there!!!! How are you on this bright sunny day! I sure sound sparkly , don’t I? Well, I feel it, save for the soreness, the tiredness, and the itchy incisions…I feel like my life has been started over again!!! First and foremost let’s do a little copy and paste from what I wrote on Facebook because I want you to know that the sentiments I carry over there are just as much as the ones I have here. and then I’ll fill ya in on all the gory details.

A week ago I had a life-changing surgery. I have taken the past week to heal, reflect and really take in all the changes not only my body but my mind, heart, and soul were going through. It has been a long road to get here and I have come so far. I reflect on all the upward battles I have climbed, the tears I have cried and the work I have put in throughout this journey. I am so proud of where I am now and the story that I am just beginning to write. I thank all of you for your support, love and sparkle thoughts throughout all of this.

Starting this journey I was 356lbs. At the time of surgery on 9/26/2016 I was 309lbs. I am now 296lbs. I am under 300lbs for the first time since 2014. I am just getting started!

There ya go….I am just getting started, everyone. This is just the first week in my journey and it is so positive that I could sing. I haven’t done that yet, maybe I should. As long as it didn’t interrupt my new sleeve pal. So here’s how everything went down. My surgery was a little more complicated than they had expected. The doctor drew a picture and I added to it so that I could describe it a little better for you. (He thinks this is his big break to stardom!!!)

So let’s talk about my medicated labels….in purple Indent from lap band, in blue Very narrow opening, in pink Shaded part is gone.

So because I had a lap band placed before and my old surgeon placed it rather high there was a lot of scar tissue and a very narrow opening at the top of my belly. A lot of times this will deter a surgeon from doing sleeve surgery as it can make things rather tricky. Because of how well I have followed the rules and how much he believed in me, my wonderful surgeon cut away the scar tissue and made me a short and very distinctive sleeve. My sleeve has a very narrow opening on top and just a little ways in has a divot that makes the sleeve even narrower. The divot is scarred there because of the lap band and right now due to inflammation makes it semi-difficult to get any amount of liquids in a short sitting time. SO  have to take extra time and care to make sure I hit my protein and hydration goals. So what we are looking at is a sleeve that almost acts like a band at some points. It will be a distinctive thing for probably the rest of my life with w a little more restriction in that I may not be able to get away with “cheating” on my healthy eating. You know what, I happy about that! The less ways I can get around doing what I am supposed to do, the better! Don’t you think?

Anyway, at my post op visit yesterday he looked at my belly and said I was healing nicely. I told him My stomach looked like a sad old man. Or that I got into a knife fight in the dark. He told me I wounded him with my words. What do you think?

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Fun fact, my stomach got taken out of incision 1. It is one of the smaller ones but it had such a big job!!!!! Also, my stomach was still full of all the air and gas they filled I with so that they could get in there and look around.

So to round out my hospital tale, I was only supposed to be in there overnight. I was there 3 days. My pain tolerance isn’t very high but because there was so much scar tissue there was a lot more pain involved. My case is not your average everyday case, one of my sleeve sisters was up and moving the next day.

So here I am a week out. I am walking around. Attempting to get in all 64 plus ounces of water and at LEAST 60 grams of protein in. I am not allowed to drive until I am off my pain meds so that will take another day or two. I have already dropped a ton of weight.

Some NSV (Nonscale victories) that have been attained….I can sit more comfortably in a seatbelt. I don’t have to tilt the camera as far up not to have my face look funny in selfies. My pants that I bought pre-surgery that were too tight are nice as baggy on me now (the drawstring post surgery pants). My shirts are fitting in the sleeves and not as tight on the chest. I FEEL better!

And the big thing that has really begun o process for me is my mindset. I have really looked at this as a new start to everything. I have taken each day as it comes, processing old feelings away and really focusing on what lay ahead. I am not letting the things from my past bog me down anymore, why? because this is my chance at a whole new life. A healthy life for myself, my kids and our entire future. A lot of things are in the works for us and it only gets better from here. I hope your day is magical!

Sparkle Sparkle!

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My Girls in Heaven (trigger warning)

If I close my eyes and wish hard enough, dream sweetly enough I can hear your laughter. Soft and sweet giggles on the wind. I can feel your little hands close in mind as we go running through the field of wildflowers into the woods where we play hide and seek. I can see your eyes, bright blue and bright green, your hair in alternate shades of deep and light red, your skin pale as the day is long with those scatter freckles across your cheeks just like your brother and sister. I can hear your soft sweet voices singing on the wind as we tumble to the ground and make daisy crowns for our hair while we play by the water’s edge on our afternoon adventure. I feel the weight of your bodies in my lap as I hold you in my arms not wanting this day to end, this dream to be woken from. Your sweet kisses to my cheeks assure me that you will be there again when I come to visit you, that I don’t belong there to stay, that it’s time for me to go home. And when reality sets back in and I open my eyes to the world with tearstained cheeks, I know that somewhere you are still watching over me.

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I scoop up my babies and hold then tight, whispering to them how much I love them. They ask me why I have tears in my eyes and all I can tell them is that it is because I am so happy to have them with me. It is not a lie, I am happy, I am lucky that I get to hold them in my arms, that I get each and every day with them. The only part I leave out is that part of the reason for the tears is for their siblings who are always watching us and will one day be able to hug us when our souls join with theirs. One day I will tell them about their sisters who will forever be in our hearts. But for today, I will wrap them up in all over my love.

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There is for as long as I have known a stigma around writing about miscarriage, a taboo about the written word of losing a baby before they were born. But my girls were a part of me and I am not ashamed to say that. There is a part of my heart and soul that no matter what anyone says or how much time has passed that won’t stop hurting for the loss of them. They were part of me, I created them, I saw them, I knew they were there in my soul and then they weren’t. And that loss is soul crushing.

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When I found out I was pregnant in 2008 I was beyond the moon, a second baby when I was told I couldn’t have a first. I knew that this pregnancy was going to be different because I couldn’t even stand the smell of sugar, oh it was terrible. I was somewhere between 7-10 weeks along when I lost her that Father’s Day, June 21, 2008. It was confirmed by a test the next day, they took my blood and called me and I remember the phone falling out of my hands and dropping to the ground. I remember feeling crushed. I held my spritely boy that day so tightly as though the heavens would take him from me too. Later than summer I was granted a wish and therein lie the miracle and my Pixie was born 2 months after her sister should have been.

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We thought I was sick in 2015, we thought it was my lap band, we thought it was something with my stomach, I went under surgery twice not knowing. And then the results came in, I was pregnant. I was thrilled, beyond thrilled, I had a wonderful relationship and everything was going well. I was terrified and anxious and excited, I was going to do everything right this time. But everything wasn’t going as planned. The first sonogram showed her smaller than she should have been but that was ok. Then the next one, I saw her heart beating! I saw it, it was slow but it was there and I thought, look at that, this is really happening. I tossed away all the concerned looks that everyone else had because of how small she was still measuring. Then it happened the next week. She was still there, a smudge and actual smudge, I saw her…but her heart had stopped beating and she was gone, just gone. And so was I., This time, it wasn’t just let nature happen, it was medical intervention happens. We didn’t know exactly how far along I was. But June 8th, 2015 was her day, her birthday I suppose but as she had passed while still inside my body I don’t know what t call it. She was about the age as her sister had been, but the whole experience was different. This one included contractions and pain and the whole experience I had with my live births. I was devastated. My life would be forever changed.

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Why am I writing this now? Because it is June, because June for me is a hard month, one of plenty of happiness but one of a lot of pain. One that will bring about the summer and one that will forever remind me of my angel babies. May-June one day be a month of rebirth for me and not hold my heart so heavy, this is what I can wish for. So today I will go and make a flower crown with my faerie kids, we shall run and we shall play and we shall laugh. And our laughter will bring us smiles and I know somewhere our angels are smiling down on us.

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Mommy loves you

Always

Shaye

xoxo

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Bohemian Lullabye

Yes this may or may NOT be the prologue to Shaye’s tale

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Prologue

“What are you doing?” my brow furrowed as he first turned his gaze and then his entire body away from me.

I was met with silence, that cold ring of silence that makes you uncomfortable and anxious all at the same time. I stared at the ceiling and tapped my fingers together wondering if I was going to get an answer from him.

We had been in a lull between tours and we had just another few weeks before we went on the road again. There had been talks of separate buses, because who wants to deal with a weepy Oliver when he can’t see the baby. I didn’t even know if the entire family was coming along this time. The last month long tour we did on the west coast we were ramped and it just blew.

There was a crack in my ceiling; I idly made it into various shapes as he still was silent. I knew he wasn’t dead, how morbid of a thought, because he was still breathing. And he wasn’t snoring so he wasn’t asleep. He was just waiting. Just fucking waiting. For what? I didn’t know. I had nothing left to apologize for. I tried to make amends for my past, for being distant, for not wanting to jump his bones every five seconds, hell I apologized for not making the bed the other day. But it wasn’t enough.

I took a deep breath “Baby, why did you turn away from me?”

“Because I needed to, because sometimes I don’t even think you realize that you aren’t a person anymore.”

I winced, sighed and let my head drop. “Alright, if that’s how you feel.”

I slipped out of the bed, feet hitting the cold stone of the floor, and quickly yanked on a pair of yoga pants and a sport tank and headed off to the kitchen. I almost expected him to follow me. I knew he wouldn’t, when he gets like this he never does. I half hoped that the guys were coming over to snag him for a rehearsal today. As the coffeemaker began to drip I scooped my hair into a ponytail on the top of my head. He called me pebbles when I did that, not that he had done that lately. I glanced around at the quaint stone cottage and made a face at the boxes I had yet to unpack.

I just didn’t have the strength or energy lately, honestly all I wanted during this break was to rest and spend time with Eric. But my time with him kept leading to these petty fights and I just, I just didn’t know what to do. He’s so logical and I’m so not. I’m spontaneous and he’s organized. I love clutter and he, well he can’t leave dishes in the sink overnight.

Adding some coffee to my sugar and cream I plopped down in my oversized armchair and flipped the lid open to the box closest to me. Pulling a manila envelope out of the top, I frowned because I didn’t remember when or how that got there. I opened it slowly and placing my coffee on the table next to me, reached in tentatively. It was full of pictures.

I pulled them out one by one, studying each and every detail. Some were from even before we hit it big. Way before. Some were from high school, HIGH SCHOOL. When my hair we all kinds of curious colors, and there was smiles on all of our faces. Each of the pictures as they fell into my lap brought back memories I hadn’t had in so long. Some bad and some good but each had lyrics and poems attached to them. I knew what I had to do to get out of this funk. I grabbed my pone and loaded up a bunch of songs and stood up letting the pictures flutter to the floor.

I hastily wrote a note and left it on the table:

Eric,

Went for a run to clear my head. Technology free day, soon as I come home. Yes I have it on me, and my knife and my pepper spray.

Love you,

Shaye

 

Placing my ear buds in, I stretched my legs out and headed out the door of my small stone fortress, and out into the woods. Taking in a deep breath of that green fresh mountain air I began to slowly jog, losing myself in my memories.

© S.R. Gray 2016

This is NOT a Love Story

The first of many books I stated, let me know what you think

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This is NOT a love story! And what I mean by that is that this is some mushy gushy story about love triangles, about some guy or girl shaped my world or any of that nonsense. Though if I really think about it those aspects are in there. However, this is NOT a love story. I will not let you categorize it as such, much like Disney categorized Frozen as a sisters story when it WAS a love story. This, at least I think is more of a suspense thriller, but most people would disagree…Granted most people can’t see inside my brain. Hell I can’t even see inside my brain. Ok off track here a little bit. Anyway, now that we are clear what this isn’t, let me tell you what this is.
This is MY story; yeah get your chuckles out now. I know what most of you think of me, even some hell probably some of those who I’ve chatted up in the grocery store line. I know what you’re thinking. And no, I am not a conspiracy theorist or any of that nonsense, I just know what mask I where when and how people judge me in relation t such. Hell, I’ve burned some of those masks years ago and people still remember them. They are seared so hotly into people’s brains that I will never be who I am today but always who I used to be. So, this is a story without the mask, or at least I hope I can be brilliant honest and make it through. This is the story I should have typed a thousand times in a thousand different ways and I didn’t…
I have a lot of good excuses why I didn’t, but nothing that really gets me out of it. I have 5 fucking stories on my computer, 5! And they each have at least 2 chapters…One of them even had a PROLIGUE! And they are genuine stories that I hope to finish someday, but I can’t put my heart back in the place it was when I was writing them, does that make sense? Ok so by now you know that in person I have many masks, I make a lot of excuses and totally judge books (and movies) by their cover (and tag lines…see first paragraph). Let’s add to the stack shall we? I often go off on tangents that no one can follow (be prepared), I can be very sexual and potty mouthed, and sometimes I just out and out lie…Granted I think it’s more of a retelling of the story in a more fanciful fashion but when push comes to shove, I lie. If you have to ask why at this point I would tell you because I like to. See I told you a suspense thriller would be more my story.
So here I am baring my soul, to the world. Or at least I hope to. In this story that is not about love, though there is love in it. A story full of stories, full of unheard truths and confessions. Maybe I’m repenting for some bad shit I did in a past life, but all I got from all the oogie boogies down in New Orleans where that something really bad happened in a past life but they couldn’t tell me. I think I am writing my story because it is time, or that I am running out of time. No I am not suicidal, I am literally running out of time, I was supposed to write 50,000 words by the month of December and as of right now my word count is 607. I think if I can pound out 50,000 words in two days I would be incredible proud of myself but incredibly worn out. But I made a promise to someone in New Orleans that I would finish a book by the beginning of this year and I broke that promise. I hate breaking promises. So now it’s time to promise myself I will finally finish what I have started. For once in my life have something to look back on and say hey you…look at that, not only do you make beautiful kids, bake a mean apple pies and have a gay harem that puts the world to shame…but you wrote a fucken book. Go team you.
Now that I have gotten a minor introduction out of the way I guess we should start with my childhood right? I don’t have a lot of memories as a kid, but I have flashes of them, if that makes sense. I look through photo albums and I know faces and names and not a lot of details. Every once in a while a very clear memory will pop up in there and I will blurt it out, but those memories are so sporadic, sometimes I wish they would either stay or go away completely.
©S.R.Gray 2016

Waiting…

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32 years old

32 years old
Sitting in a waiting room

32 years old
sitting in a waiting room
Tears on her cheeks

32 years old
Sitting in a waiting room
Tears on her cheeks
Trying to bite her tounge

32 years old
Sitting in a waiting room
Tears on her cheeks
Trying to bite her tongue
Because the pain is too much to bear

32 years old
Sitting in a waiting room
Tears on her cheeks
Trying to bite her tongue
Because the pain is too much to bear
She was only 3 minutes late

32 years old
Sitting in a waiting room
Tears on her cheeks
Trying to bite her tongue
Because the pain is too much to bear
She was only 3 minutes late
And she called them to say so

32 years old
Sitting in a waiting room
Tears on her cheeks
Trying to bite her tongue
Because the pain is too much to bear
She was only 3 minutes late
And she called them to say so
They said no problem

32 years old
Sitting in a waiting room
Tears on her cheeks
Trying to bite her tongue
Because the pain is too much to bear
She was only 3 minutes late
And she called them to say so
They said no problem
But there was a line

32 years old
Sitting in a waiting room
Tears on her cheeks
Trying to bite her tongue
Because the pain is too much to bear
She was only 3 minutes late
And she called them to say so
They said no problem
But there was a line
So when she gave her name

32 years old
Sitting in a waiting room
Tears on her cheeks
Trying to bite her tongue
Because the pain is too much to bear
She was only 3 minutes late
And she called them to say so
They said no problem
But there was a line
So when she gave her name
She was 16 minutes late

32 years old
Sitting in a waiting room
Tears on her cheeks
Trying to bite her tongue
Because the pain is too much to bear
She was only 3 minutes late
And she called them to say so
They said no problem
But there was a line
So when she gave her name
She was 16 minutes late
So now she’s waiting

32 years old
Sitting in a waiting room
Tears on her cheeks
Trying to bite her tongue
Because the pain is too much to bear
She was only 3 minutes late
And she called them to say so
They said no problem
But there was a line
So when she gave her name
She was 16 minutes late
So now she’s waiting
As the line has come and gone

32 years old
Sitting in a waiting room
Tears on her cheeks
Trying to bite her tongue
Because the pain is too much to bear
She was only 3 minutes late
And she called them to say so
They said no problem
But there was a line
So when she gave her name
She was 16 minutes late
So now she’s waiting
As the line has come and gone
And it hurts to sit, to stand, to breathe

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32 years old
Sitting in a waiting room
Tears on her cheeks
Trying to bite her tongue
Because the pain is too much to bear
She was only 3 minutes late
And she called them to say so
They said no problem
But there was a line
So when she gave her name
She was 16 minutes late
So now she’s waiting
As the line has come and gone
And it hurts to sit, to stand, to breathe
But she sits quietly

32 years old
Sitting in a waiting room
Tears on her cheeks
Trying to bite her tongue
Because the pain is too much to bear
She was only 3 minutes late
And she called them to say so
They said no problem
But there was a line
So when she gave her name
She was 16 minutes late
So now she’s waiting
As the line has come and gone
And it hurts to sit, to stand, to breathe
But she sits quietly
With tears on her cheeks

32 years old
Sitting in a waiting room
Tears on her cheeks
Trying to bite her tongue
Because the pain is too much to bear
She was only 3 minutes late
And she called them to say so
They said no problem
But there was a line
So when she gave her name
She was 16 minutes late
So now she’s waiting
As the line has come and gone
And it hurts to sit, to stand, to breathe
But she sits quietly
With tears on her cheeks
In the waiting room

32 years old
Sitting in a waiting room
Tears on her cheeks
Trying to bite her tongue
Because the pain is too much to bear
She was only 3 minutes late
And she called them to say so
They said no problem
But there was a line
So when she gave her name
She was 16 minutes late
So now she’s waiting
As the line has come and gone
And it hurts to sit, to stand, to breathe
But she sits quietly
With tears on her cheeks
In the waiting room
At 32 years old

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Maybe Dumbledore Isn’t Always Right – Rebecca Ethington

One of my favorite authors and closest friends posted this on Facebook a few days ago. I found it so profound, and you don’t usually find stuff like that on FB anymore. It summed up so many things, what ifs and lonliness, bullying, and just not knowing when to reach out and help someone or when to ask for help for yourself.

Never be afraid to reach out and help those in need, never be quick to judge because you never know what that woman behind that mask or the man behind the curtain are really like. Sometimes it isn’t east to click your heels together three times, sometimes their is no faerie godmothers. But there is always you, and that is good enough for me.

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“There is a scene in the final Harry Potter where Harry and Dumbledore meet at a place between life and death, and in that space they see a piece of Voldemort’s soul – this quivering, whimpering, ugly child, shoved underneath a bench.
And Harry, tries to go to it, convinced it needs help. And Dumbledore tells him not too.
I’ve always hated Dumbledore for that. Yes, Voldemort is evil, did he probably deserve what’s coming to him – yes. And I am in no way comparing myself to that quivering whimpering child, hidden away in pain.
But we have all been there.
We have all been so full of loss and heartbreak, and agonizing defeat, and sadness, and rejection. That we have all been there.
We have been that forgotten child in the corner, a deep part of us just shaking and crying and desperately hoping that someone would just come over and pull us out of the dark and hold us while we cry and comfort us until it all goes away.
I know I have.
And chances are, when you are there, you don’t know how to ask, or maybe you don’t have anyone to turn to anymore. You are alone, and you can hear people talking on a bench and your crying out for help, but they don’t come to find you.
So take this with a grain of salt. But you know those “whiny” posts everyone complains about on Facebook? Yes, some of them are just negative people. But what if some of them… just maybe… where people so lost and alone and scared and so desperate for help that they are asking for help the only way they know how. That maybe they just need that hug, or that phone call with a real voice.
I can’t believe I’m going to say this… but maybe sometimes we shouldn’t listen to Dumbledore. Because maybe sometimes they need our help, our compassion, our empathy and our love. Don’t be afraid to reach out – because people are people – but they are also human. And in this crazy world, we can’t do it all on our own.” – Rebecca Ethington

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Don’t give up on me

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That is ALL I wanted to hear from my doctor. Ok that’s a lie. I would have loved for him to say, ok I screwed up you are still in the program. But I knew when he came in that room it was going to be a tough conversation. I know I was defensive and Charming was my rock during the discussion.

What it came down to was the psychologist thought that I relied on doctors too much and that I seemed to think that getting surgery was going to magic away all of my problems. what the WHAT? It killed me to hear that, and I didn’t mean to dissect the Doc but I was hurt and pissed and trying not to cry.

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I’m sorry I have 5 autoimmune diseases one of which needs to be treated by antibiotics every time I get sick. And not once did I every say surgery was magic, EVER. It is a tool to keep fighting for what I need. I have an issue losing weight and the sleeve is a tool to help me.

I know the Doc understood, and he asked the inevitable question. Can you get back to the weight you were when you first came in? He meant pre lap band. I said yes, I have no doubt. He said ok, well I am not giving up on you. I will talk to the team, tell them what we discussed and see what they think. I will talk to you in a month. That all I needed to hear. *Deep breath* from 327 to 283. With Fibro…in 30 days.

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That’s the challenge

Think I can do it?

I can

Sparkle thoughts

Shaye

We Have Apples

So there is this wonderful mental illness blog that I follow by Rachel Griffin called We Have Apples. A little bit ago she had put up a post asking for pictures, both uplifting and at our times of trouble to put in a music video for a project she is doing. Let me give it to yo in her own words (it pasting it from her site)

“As a lot of you know, I’m a singer/songwriter in New York City with a fabulous life…. and a mental illness! (the two can go together! And errr.. it wasn’t always that way! LOL) I am so passionate about mental health awareness, ending the stigma, and connecting with other warriors like you! I am also writing a musical about these topics.More about the mental health musical I’m writing, We Have Apples, can be found on the website. You can also hear songs there. (But the song for this video is not released, yet- You’ll be the first to hear it, though!) If you want, you can sign up for the show’s mailing list to be kept posted on the development!:)

I was just selected as a Dramatists Guild Fellow, which means this year I will be working on developing We Have Apples with Broadway professionals!

More about my career as a singer/songwriter at: Rachel Griffin Website. This info I’m giving is not because I want to brag, but I want to tell you a little about my career so you know this song and video we are going to make will be high quality and could do very well! 🙂 I’ve won two National songwriting contests, recently wrote a song for an internal Macy’s campaign, and I have a publishing deal for a few of my pop songs.”

Well I participated in this as mental health is a very important subject to me….Obviously. I am keeping my fingers crossed that I will get to work it Rachel in the future. But here it is…..My debut in a music video….Pass and share it is so important!!!!

Shenannigans

So there may be a few posts coming at you in a row. The first, let’s talk about Fibro and how much it sucks. It sucks when you’re moving but can’t help, it sucks when you want to play with your littles and can’t move. It sucks when you want to snuggle close to you sweetie and his skin feels like sand paper on yours. And it sucks to shower and be exhausted afterward.

It sucks not knowing when it’s going to flare up, having the people you’re with think you just being lazy. It sucks when you get hives from an allergy to a hormone your body produces so that the hives hurt and all the docs say it the fibro clinic will help. Here’s something to sleep.

But what about the pain. When THE Cymbalta Isn’t WORK ING AND NIETGER IS THE Otc stuff…Then what? Then apparantly my phone goes all wonky and yells.

Regardless invisible diseases suck. They wreak havoc on your mental state, you anxiety and depression. They keep you on the verge of friendships. And you end up driving people mad. Because they don’t understand you. There’s my rant.

Sparkly thoughts
Shaye

Superhuman Spoonie Squad

Recently I made a group on Face book called *see title of post* I was tired of joining groups with over 1000 plus members and trying to find my niche.

Superhuman Spoonie Squad

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This was my callout for my members

I have started a group for all of my spoonies. Because sometimes it’s nice to have a place to go, when you can’t have a friend to hold your hand, and there isn’t over 2 billion strangers to try and converse.

So raise your hand if you need a voice, a hand or just to lurk and hear what spoonies like you have to say.

Safe space. Is what I intend. Rant, vent, laugh, cry…..

Comment, pm, tx, email….get in touch

Superhuman Spoonie Squad

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This was what I had to say about me.

So let’s see….
Graves disease
Immunothrombocyticpurpua
IgA Deficiency
Chronic fatigue syndrome
Fibromyalgia
Uticaria focal caused by who the fuck knows anymore
Bipolar II
Borderline personality disorder w/narcissistic tendencies
Anxiety disorder
Binge Eating Disorder
PTSD from all forms of abuse, violence and my miscarriages
Oh and I randomly black out for reasons they still don’t know

At least I don’t have cancer?

Well yall know me. I’m a sassy, snarky survivor that tries (sometimes too hard) and pushes myself (definitely to hard). So as I get my computer fixed I can continue writing the books that I have started. I am going back to school in the fall to get my bachelor in therapy for teens with mental and personality problems.
My dream is to open a coffeeshop, with mismatch in cushions that is a safe space. A Place Where IF YOU NEED help YOU HAVE someone to talk to. It’ll have books and board games and at ni h t there will be optional group meetings. THE Walls Wil BE DECORATED By PHOTOGRAPHS AND Art From Local artists. My photography studio will be in the back.

They are still fucking with my meds so if I say non sensible things In here I’m sorry. My fibro flares seem to be worse because of the rest of my diseases.

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I know some of my readers and fellow bloggers use this world as a safe space to vent. I want you to know that there are other places as well. I have my degree in therapy as does a few in my group, but that is not what the group is for.

This is what my group is all about.
Friendship, handholding, venting,laughing, crying and being the incredible human beings we are….even if we don’t see it some times.

If you want to you are invited to join us, to lurk, to talk, to listen and to make or 5.

Superhuman Spoonie Squad

I belive in you.

Sparkly love

Shaye

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