There Are Ten Of You Left, Which Means One Of You Must Go Home Tonight

I'm hardcore addicted to reality competition shows. Currently, I'm watching all the seasons of Top Chef, back seasons of Project Runway, and wishing that the original Skin Wars wasn't over. The format, the music, the fact that someone goes home every week, everything about them is gold. Fashion, dating, makeup, cooking, it doesn't matter what it is about. I will watch any competition show. Is there a show about contestants watching paint dry? I would watch it. I even suffered through a few seasons of the body-shaming Biggest Loser. Oh, and y'all remember "The Swan," that TV show that proves that everyone can be Hollywood-beautiful if they go through weeks of intensive plastic surgery? And "Bridalplasty," possibly the worst TV show ever created that my first real-world roommate and I binge-watched like there was no tomorrow. These brides wanted plastic surgery, but had to win wedding-related challenges to get a surgery off their list each week. You know it's a good show if between episodes you question what the heck you're doing with your life. I love to hate the "villains," knowing full well that the producers are manipulating the contestant and the footage of the contestant to create said "villain." But come on, Corrine from this season of The Bachelor? The 24-year-old napping nanny's girl with a need to be the center of attention and cravings for "cheese pasta" and cucumber water? Straight-up reality TV gold. "Can I steal you?" Yes, Corrine. Steal Nick! Make the other girls spew hate in their mini-interviews while I sit on my couch with a glass of wine and cackle! Who is here for the right reasons? Whose intentions are pure? Is Nick there for a wife, or for a good time? I love when a girl interrogates the Bachelor about kissing all the other girls on the show. I'm forever mad that I can't find old seasons of "Dating In The Dark" to indulge in. Or "Holidate." Anyone remember these shows? No? Yeah, I'm in deep. I've seen some things...er...shows.

And can we talk about the hosts' hushed tones when they send someone home? It's a full-on sympathy whisper. I wonder if Tyra Banks started that strange host-whisper, or if she is just the best example of it. And the way that she re-explains math to the models every show is forever my favorite thing. "There are ten of you here. Tomorrow, there will be nine. That means that one of you will go home tonight." Cue the camera cutting away to the shocked faces of the models as they realize that ten minus one is nine. And then there's Heidi Klum. Heidi might be my favorite reality TV host. She knows the market that she is in, and she doesn't take crap from anyone. And she has Tim Gunn at her side. Anyone with Tim Gunn at their side is immediately a winner. Tim Gunn is love. Tim Gunn is life. Make. It. Work.

And can we talk about literally any wedding design show ever? "Rich Bride, Poor Bride," "Say Yes To The Dress," "My Fair Wedding," if it has anything to do with people sealing their vows with kisses while plunging themselves tens of thousands of dollars in debt, I'm in. I'm so incredibly in.

I think it all started in High School with sneaking episodes of "Parental Control" on MTV whenever I could. The parents hate the boyfriend/girlfriend so they set their kid up on dates with people they choose and then the kid decides between those people and their original significant other. I was fascinated by these people. Who the heck signs up for shows like these? I don't know, but I'm so grateful that they exist. And then there was "Next." Y'all remember that show? There was a bus full of guys and they'd get off the bus one by one and try to date the girl. And when she got bored of a guy, she'd say, "NEXT!" and that guy would be done and the next guy would get off the bus. The longer they managed to date the girl, the more money they earned. I'd sit dumbfounded with my bowl of cereal, watching these absolutely trashy shows, invested in the guy earning money or hoping the girl would see through the money-grubbing guys and end up alone and happy.

Competition shows with kids! Masterchef Junior? Project Runway Junior? Child Genius? Yes. Anytime you can hear a seven-year-old say, "My wepewtashun (reputation) is on the line," it's a good show. Yes, tiny talented children. You've been waiting your whole lives for this. Make it work, small ones.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got an old season of Project Runway to indulge in. What are your favorite reality shows? Tell me. Please. I need more.

Rock Bottom?

(Because I know many of my readers suffer from things similar to what I am writing about today...TW: Trauma, Medical things, Mental health. Read safely, loves.)

There was no post yesterday because my body decided it was done. I had a full physical breakdown. I slept for fourteen hours and when I finally awakened, it was because my angel of a husband physically shook me awake. He knew I was dehydrated and hungry, even though I could feel nothing but the severe pain. He helped me sit up and forced my reluctant body to take pills and drink water and eat food. He helped me to walk to the couch where he could keep an eye on me. I had a few good hours where I was awake and coherent. Then, suddenly, I collapsed again. Apparently, Husband spent an hour warming me up with blankets and heating pads and tea while massaging my convulsing limbs to get my blood flowing properly. I remember hardly any of it. I am so incredibly grateful for him. He is amazing.

I'm going to be brutally honest here. I know I have a lot of young people who I have taught in past years who look up to me and who will read this and be shocked, as they think of me as upbeat and a positive person. And the number of people who know I have mental illnesses is very low. I'm sorry, guys. I'm human. And I'm scared.

I'm terrified. My mental health is severely slipping. I've begun losing hours of my day as a routine thing now. Instances like suddenly realizing I am at the grocery store with my husband and having no memory of the day prior to that is a normal occurrence. The voice inside my head that tells me to die is getting louder and more insistent. The panic I fight is becoming an overwhelming tidal wave that is rendering me incapable of going a single day without hysterics. The medication that I am on is helping me hold on to my mind by the fingernails. I've begun dissociating very noticeably. And just the other day, I realized that the voices I have been hearing are not going to go away. They've been getting louder. There are three of them, and so far they just say my name or "Hey," but my word, it is terrifying. If I had a dime for every time I have broken down sobbing in front of my husband, saying, "what is happening to me?" or, "you're not real. This is a dream," I could pay for mental health reform in America. And the flashbacks? Let's just say that my service dog Riley is definitely earning her treats. I finally called my EFMP (the program the military has for disabled family members) sponsor and told her I need to see a psychiatrist ASAP to get a proper diagnosis and proper treatment. The asshole who "treated" me before (in 2014) literally sat down with me for three minutes, didn't let me talk, and then laughed at me outright when I told him I was having flashbacks. He told me that doesn't happen and young women like myself are usually prone to anxiety. He then called my therapist in (who was in the same building) and, laughing, told him that I was having flashbacks. The two of them openly giggled together. And I still had to go see that therapist, as he was my only hope at not killing myself. When I told him that I could never trust him after seeing him laugh with my "psychiatrist," he was shocked and told me he didn't realize that would offend me. I should probably pray about that, I was told. He himself did not believe me that I actually was ill until he witnessed a flashback. When I came to, I told him I wanted to die. He suddenly realized I wasn't a "hysterical female" and demanded I be on medication and possibly permanently institutionalized if it got worse. From 0-100 in less than 60 seconds. Impressive. He hadn't ever seen anyone actually go through something like my episodes, and was completely at a loss as to what to do for me. He also was not aware that people could go through more than one trauma in their lifetime. Worst. My only experiences with mental health professionals before that was countless (at least 10) psychologists and therapists who were hired by my insurance company to get me to say that the physical illnesses I had were all psychosomatic (i.e. I was doing it to myself because I was an attention whore. One counselor's words, not mine) so they wouldn't have to pay for any of my medications or treatment. Spoilers: I have three debilitating chronic illnesses that are worse than they would be because I wasn't treated properly for 25 years. Here's hoping that this upcoming experience with mental health professionals is better.

I don't know how much longer I will have my mobility. My next doctor appointment, I'm going to be talking with a physician about getting a wheelchair. I haven't danced in months. I haven't been able to drive a car for any distance by myself for two years now. And yesterday, the pain was unlike any I have ever had (with the exception of the pain from surgeries, because holy shit that hurt). My body is telling me that I am doing too much. And I'm upset and terrified, because all I am doing is sitting on couches or sleeping on beds and yes, I'm cleaning and taking care of a small pup but my goodness, that's nothing compared to what some people do and here I am completely unable to even do the smallest of tasks? It's upsetting.

I get these urges to just do stupid things to my body because who the hell cares, right? What is it going to matter if I drink myself to death or smoke until I have cancer? Or eat until I throw up? Or go walking in a bad neighborhood by myself at 3 AM? Or smack my head into a wall until I see blood? The self-harming voices are getting loud. Thankfully, I haven't done anything yet. I have a service dog who recognizes the spiraling thoughts and comes to jar me out of them. And she's teaching little Jeph to do the same. Human hasn't spoken or moved in a bit? Time to lick her. She's already taught Jeph to climb on my lap and lick my tears while she licks my hand. And my husband refuses to let me get away with saying everything is "fine" when he knows damn well it isn't. If I didn't have them, I would have been dead by now.

So here I am, on a Sunday morning, having not showered in days. I'm completely exhausted mentally, physically, and emotionally. My service dog has "grounded" me at least six times while I was writing this. I know I might lose people. I know I might only have three views. But I have to be honest.

Stay safe until tomorrow, friends. And I will try to do the same.

Showing Love Through Dessert

I'm absolutely in love with baking. I like bringing joy to people through pastries. Is it your birthday? Have a cake. Did you have a big test? Have some cookies. Is it Tuesday? Have some scones. Fresh baked bread, anyone? What about extra frosting from scratch? Are you gluten-free? No problem. I got you. Lactose-free, nut-free, everything-free? No worries. I will show up at your door with food made just for you.

One time in college, I baked five cakes for my own birthday and went door to door giving cake away. Another time, I baked five batches of chocolate chip cookies for a group of exhausted students. And yet another time, I showed up at a friend's door with their favorite cookies because they texted me that everything sucked. I do things like that all the time.

There isn't a lot I can physically do. I can't always wake up at 4 AM to help a friend in need, as sometimes my medication makes me dead to the world in the night. I can't help anyone move as I can't physically lift anything heavy. I can't babysit a young mother's kids, as I never know when I will fall or get horribly ill out of nowhere. But I can make amazing desserts and I can show up at your kids' soccer game with snacks or feed you homemade fudge while you cry over a break-up or feed an army of movers with homemade pizza and brownies. I can't do much, but I can show love to my friends in the best way that I can.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go frost the layer cake I have made for some new friends who are coming over tonight. And then maybe make some cookies. Or fudge. We will see. But it's definitely all going to get paired with ice cream sundaes.

Time Out

Today, I am exhausted. There is pee on every blanket we own except for two that are currently on the bed. These two are totally inadequate for sleeping under, but you do what you have to when you're hopelessly behind on laundry. Thank God for my husband who spent three hours cleaning our house with me tonight. All that is left to do is the mountain of laundry before we have friends over this weekend. Jeph had no accidents on the floor today. But the bed...oh, the poor bed. He had a shower today (he prefers them to baths) and was so upset by how cold the world outside the shower was that he just couldn't keep control of his bladder. So while I was getting a new towel for the shivering pup, he cried and walked slowly around the entire bed, peeing a trail of sadness. I of course did not blame him. Showering is a pretty big deal for the little guy. And he watched his poor sister get subjected to a bath before his shower. Tonight, he learned the command, "Quiet," with copious amounts of treats. After that, he was just so exhausted that as we were cuddling he looked at me with pure guilt and whimpered as drops of pee spurted onto the new bed covers. So now here we are. Late at night with all the blankets and sheets in the laundry with some form of dog pee on them.

Sometimes, Jeph or Riley will get too wild or too demanding or just plain too wolf-like and they get a brief time out. But they are not the only ones. I've noticed that when I take my own time outs, I can handle the stress of puppy parenting a lot better. My husband has been insisting that I take my baths that I am told by doctors are essential to my healing. So every day this week, he has taken Jeph to another room and I have sat in a muscle-relaxing, toxin-sucking bath. Riley is my service dog and she stays with me during baths in case I need her, but she is very quiet when she is working and it is easy to relax and to try to calm my nerves. I also have been relying on Riley's older sister skills. I have been letting Jeph and Riley outside and actually closing the door behind them and only glancing occasionally through the window to make sure they have not tunneled under the fence. Riley is taking pride in taking care of Jeph and teaching him how to play and investigate outside. She also has been using him as her own personal itch-reacher. When she cannot reach a spot, she indicates it and he bites into the spot until she licks his head. It's adorable and weird all at the same time. But I digress. Anyways, when she takes Jeph on an outdoor or indoor adventure, I get a few minutes to breathe and re-focus my mind. These "time out" moments are heavenly, and I hope to continue to find them.

An Open Letter To Men Who Have Daughters Yet Are Against Feminism

We will return to our regularly-scheduled cute posts later because I am furious right now.

To the men who have daughters yet "like," "post," and "share" nasty posts about the Women's March and Feminism on social media:

You have daughters! You have little girls that you say can do anything, yet openly degrade the women who are fighting to keep your daughters' lives open to every possibility? You want to give them the world, yet you are okay with keeping our country forty-fifth in equality? You're okay with the government deciding what your daughters do with their bodies? You're okay with your sweet baby girls being told that what they contribute to men physically and aesthetically is more important than what is in their brains and their hearts? You promote your daughters continuing to only have makeup, dolls, and clothes in their pink aisles while the boys get science kits and cars? (Nothing against makeup, dolls, and clothes. I love all those things and had a massive collection growing up. But you better believe I also played with my brother's slimy bug maker. And if a girl really does want to only play with dolls, more power to her. It is about there being a choice that each child makes and about them having that choice.) If, God forbid, your daughters fall on hard times and need gynecological services, you're okay with defunding the one place that would have provided them with those services within their price range? On a personal note, I have been on birth control for chronic women's issues since I was twelve and have had so many issues finding the right birth control for my body. I had no idea Planned Parenthood would have helped me with my birth control issues as all I ever heard about them was people screaming about abortions. Because of this, when I fell on hard times, I put off going to a doctor and let the pill I was on cause irreparable damage to my body. Had I known I could have gone to PP for help, you better believe I would have. If your kick-ass daughters fight their way to becoming CEOs, you're okay with them being paid less than a man would be paid to do the same damn job? If your daughters and their partners decide that your daughters will be the "bread winners" in the family, you want them to be subject to ridicule and scorn and questioned as to their family loyalty every single day? If your babies come home crying because a boy hit them and the boy was not punished, you're going to be okay with that? If your precious girls come home sobbing because someone touched them against their will, are you going to ask what they were wearing before pulling them into a hug? Do you want your daughters to not be able to walk at night? Do you want your sweet girls to be told to sit down and shut up and be happy with the way things are, or do you want them to stand up, fight back, and find their voices? What exactly is the takeaway from this? What message are you trying to send to your girls? I'm so confused. And angry.

The women you are demonizing are fighting for your daughters. They are fighting for your sweet babies. And they are fighting hard. They want to make absolutely certain that our country does not backslide and that it continues to move forward. The work is not done. If you think it is, look up statistics. America is not number one. There is no equality yet. We are trying. We are fighting. Fight with us, or be prepared to explain to your girls why you think they should be happy to be second-class citizens.

Sincerely,
Feminist and Not Ashamed

(Little note: Men with any gender child sharing these misogynist posts infuriates me, but I wanted to address this particular group.)

Videos Of My Dogs!

Would you like to see my cute dogs doing cute things? Don't be silly, of course you would.

Here is my channel:
The Grand Adventures of Abby

Just have time for one cute video? Here is the latest:
Riley and Jeph have a Pillow Fight

And in case you really cannot watch a video at the moment (you're supposed to be working, aren't you?), here are a few pictures of my pups to get you by:

                                           Bae caught me sleeping. No, seriously. I was asleep.

                                  Rare photo of Jeph and Riley sleeping together on the couch.

                                           Not so rare photo of Jeph sleeping on the couch.

                     Seriously, why is he so tired? Is being adorable all the time really that hard?

Small Battles Won

This morning, Jeph and I had a little battle of who could be more stubborn. I wanted him to pee outside, and he wanted to play inside the house with his older fur sister. After an exceptionally long time of picking him up, turning him around, and setting him back on the grass, he finally took care of his business. He glared at me the whole time. Now he's asleep, the horror of realizing that his mummy can be more stubborn than he can having taken its toll.

Ms. Riley likes to pretend she can't hear me when she wants to play with Jeph. She has discovered that I am very quick and can catch her and scold her faster than she can say, "I was going to listen eventually."

Today, I enjoyed a morning free of bites. Jeph has stopped biting me altogether. I also have no new scratches. It seems my methods of yelping like a tiny puppy when he bites have been effective.

Jeph sits upon command now. I've only had the little fella for a week and a half and already he knows his name, "sit," and "come."

I feel accomplished. And my little baby boy still lets me scratch his tiny tummy to put him to sleep. And Ms. Riley still cuddles up to me every afternoon and demands I hold her like I did when we first met. I am loved by two dogs and my husband. I have won, and will return again to fight tomorrow.

Fibro-Friendly Clothes!

(The opinions expressed in this post are all my own. I am not being paid anything by anybody to express these opinions.)

You guys. You GUYS. I found the most amazing clothing store! It's called Lovesick and it's by the same company that runs Hot Topic and Torrid. But the clothing selection is so much better than Torrid's! And everything is so incredibly soft. I haven't worn jeans without severe nerve and stomach pain ever in my entire life. And now, thanks to Lovesick, I have six pairs of pants to partner with their incredibly soft tops. All their clothing can be mixed and matched. I regret zero of my purchases there. Everything seems to have a bit of spandex in it. I suffer from a lot of swelling issues, and I like clothes that aren't restrictive and don't cut into my skin during swelling episodes. Their smallest size is an 8 (000 in their sizing), so smaller Fibromyalgia friends won't be able to shop there. But fear not! H&M is also a great go-to. While their selection of soft, Fibro-friendly garments is smaller, it was my go-to before medications caused my weight to do some crazy things. You'll need to touch each garment individually at H&M and look at what fabrics are in the garments before trying them on. I can usually tell by touching the garment on the rack whether or not it will be itchy or painful on my body. Cotton/Polyester blends are hit and miss, but Cotton/Polyester/Spandex will usually be alright. Rayon is straight-up itchy unless it's a super-small ratio. Linen and Wool are also things to look out for, as they will seriously piss off angry nerve endings in the skin, particularly on the arms and back. Make sure you cut off the tags, or you'll be all scratched up by the day's end. Fibromyalgia is a symptom of Ehlers-Danlos, as is easily scratched, dented, and ripped skin. If I had a nickel for the number of times I have had garments cause me bleeding sores, I could buy even more soft, stretchy clothes. I'm sick of spending all my time in pajamas, and these two stores are absolutely making a real wardrobe possible.
I hope this is helpful to my fellow Chronic Illness warriors (AKA Spoonies).

Helpful links:
http://www.lovesick.com/
http://www.hm.com/us

Why Even Blog?

It seems that everyone and their cousin has a blog. Type in any buzz word on a search engine and you'll get at least ten blogs about it. So why would I blog? Why would anyone care what I have to say? Why put myself out here just to see barely-there views and possibly open myself up to online ridicule? Several reasons. They are as follows:

1. My dogs are so damn cute and everyone needs to see them. Seriously.
2. I have been helped so much by reading others' experiences with healthcare systems and various illnesses, and I'd like to give back to others by being an online presence for them. I suffer from (i.e. survive/struggle with/fight tooth and nail with) Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, PolyCystic Ovarian syndrome, and a laundry list of complications from the above illnesses.
3. My service dog Riley is the light of my life and we just got a new puppy to train. His name is Jeph. I'd like to chronicle Jeph's training from the beginning and share any knowledge I can with those who are looking to train a dog for themselves or others. Riley, a four-year-old female Lab mix, has enabled me to get out of bed and go out in public and attempt to lead some semblance of a life. If I can help other dog and human teams, I'd be so happy.
4. I'm opinionated as hell. And I'm funny. You'll appreciate it.
5. I'm a writer, but the only big project I have completed is a full-length play about a fictionalized experience with invisible illnesses called Side Effects. I'm proud of it. I love it. I want to be proud of something else I've written. I want to be proud of this blog. I have no idea what this is going to become yet. Recipes? Style? Dog training? Healthcare insights? All of the above? You'll have to wait and see.
6. I want to get better at taking selfies and posting pictures. This is because I think it is important for me to have a reason to get out of bed and get dressed. And if it is just for this blog, it will be worth it.
7. I use medical-grade essential oils and other alternative medicine treatments as well as a drawer full of prescription medication. You'll only get science-based, medically-backed information from me. No "Lavender cures anxiety" crap here, folks.
8. I have to believe that my voice, however small, is important. I have to believe that I am important. And this blog is a way for me to remind myself that I do have a say, a voice, an opinion that matters.

So, on to the strange world of Internet Blogging! Here I come! Be ready, friends. Be ready.