FML

I always hated when people would post or message the abbreviation FML - Fuck My Life. It is usually in response to losing a boyfriend, gaining 20 pounds or just being late for a movie because of being pulled over and given a ticket for speeding. I always refused to use it myself no matter how bad things got. I absolutely refused to let myself even THINK the phrases Fuck My Life or I HATE THIS. It was part of my ongoing efforts to think positively, as if just thinking happy thoughts would let me fly away from it all, pixie dust or not.

Well, I really have to be honest. I hate my life.

It is January 5 and every single social media outlet, news station and even TV commercials are touting ways to make your life better. There are all kinds of sayings about how the only thing holding you back is your own fear or how starting a new path is as easy as taking the first step. Like every other human who follows our calendar I have been using the change from 2014 to 2015 to try and make my life better. All I need is more positive thinking. All I need is something to get me moving and everything will be better.

Yeah, it doesn't work this way. My life is day after day of constant pain and confusion. I walk a sword edge blindfolded and my feet are shredded from trying to balance. And I hate every single moment of it.

I have to do yoga stretches every day or I can't move at all and my muscles and joints are absolute agony. But if I do too much the pain gets even worse. I have to somehow do exactly the right amount but not too much. I have to watch each and every thing I eat or I get sick - this has been particularly hard because my mom hasn't been feeling well so my dad has been making dinner. That means frozen pizza or lasagna or some other meal I can't eat. So we all feel too crappy to cook and what they are eating smells so good I just want to dive in, but I can't touch it. Instead I have to get myself up and cook something with no gluten and no dairy. And if I eat too much protein my stomach gets horribly upset, but if I don't eat enough I feel shaky and weak. If what I eat is too fatty it makes me sick. And it can't have too much sugar. I have to analyze EVERY SINGLE FUCKING MEAL!

I hate that my meds make me groggy and tired. But if I take less, the hallucinations start creeping in and I have massive panic attacks. If I take too much, I'm completely useless and groggy, but no able to sleep. I had to increase the dosage of my antipsychotic during the holidays because of the added stress of having family visit, which in my mind is just sick and wrong. I have to drug myself almost senseless just to have family in the house. But even with the increased dosage I still had one major breakdown while my brother and his family was here. It was too noisy, things were in the wrong place, my chair was taken, there was just too much of everything. And changing the dosage always leaves me feeling weird and gives me headaches and even on the maintenance dosage I'm groggy.

And there is so much of it that is totally out of my control. I can eat the right things, take the right meds in the right dosage, to the right stretches, and I still lose it. My hormones are still fluctuating despite the depo and that throws everything off. I haven't been able to get new glasses in 5 years so I can't see right so I keep getting tension headaches. The weather will change and I'll end up hurting so much I just want to curl up in a ball and sob. Hallucinations still break through and they just reinforce that I am pathetic and useless.

All those positive New Years resolution saying do me no good except to drive home that my life is totally fucked and I don't know how to change it. Fuck My Life. I fucking hate this. I hate the way I am. I hate that the doctors don't listen and don't understand how bad I hurt and how confused I am. I hate that the government has decided I'm not worth listening to and has left me sitting for more than 2 years for benefits I'm entitled to. I hate that the state thinks I'm not worth any kind of support or coverage so I the only way I can get help is through the volunteer clinic. I hate that I can't tolerate social anything so I have become isolated and alone. I hate that my mom thinks she understands but really doesn't. I hate that every single morning I have to debate with myself over whether it is worth getting up and going on living. I hate that I lie to myself and everyone else that shaving my head is for medical or practical reasons and not the self-mutilation that it really is. I hate that I have to carry a stuffed animal with me everywhere like a scared 2-year-old.

It's a new year. And absolutely nothing has changed except the calendar.