Roads to Safe Places

Perhaps the greatest faculty our minds possess is the ability to cope with pain. Classic thinking teaches us of the four doors of the mind, which everyone moves through according to their need.

First is the door of sleep. Sleep offers us a retreat from the world and all its pain. Sleep marks passing time, giving us distance from the things that have hurt us. When a person is wounded they will often fall unconscious. Similarly, someone who hears traumatic news will often swoon or faint. This is the mind's way of protecting itself from pain by stepping through the first door.

Second is the door of forgetting. Some wounds are too deep to heal, or too deep to heal quickly. In addition, many memories are simply painful, and there is no healing to be done. The saying 'time heals all wounds' is false. Time heals most wounds. The rest are hidden behind this door.

Third is the door of madness. There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind.

Last is the door of death. The final resort. Nothing can hurt us after we are dead, or so we have been told.

Patrick Rothfuss is nothing short of a legend.

Literature makes me happy.
Fiction holds truth, just as madness holds salvation.

Everyone has a coping mechanism.

What's yours?

And may I temporarily borrow it until I come up with a new one? Mine kinda left me. Or maybe I left it, who knows. Either way, I'm fucked considering that I currently seem to be reverting back into my sixteen year old self.

Ew.

Anyway, Warcraft is calling.

Once again

the dinosaur's life is not going quite as planned.

I don't know why this surprises me, nothing ever goes to plan but there are limits.

I've always told myself I wont let my shoulder dictate my life, I try and get on with stuff. This seems a bit a daft, I know, but it's how I go about attempting to keep myself sane - or at least feeling sane. Normality would be nice, but it's impossible, so instead I attempt to create the illusion of normality - especially when it comes to those who don't know me.

I don't want people to know the full extent of my nerve condition. It only comes with sympathy or disbelief, and these two things have a nasty habit of making me dissolve into a self pitying mass of ick.

This comes with a problem. Particularly when it comes to my university. I miss lectures, inevitably. Some mornings I cannot get myself out of bed, other mornings I get myself out of bed but am unable to remove my t-shirt which I have been wearing for a prolongued period of time. Some mornings showering is too painful - I refuse to go into university smelling like decomposing human i.e. first year student. I am not a first year. I REFUSE to do it to myself, or indeed those around me.

I have been kicked off my module - due to lack of attendance. My lecturer does not understand my nerve condition because a) I look normal, well, when it comes to my shoulder - I do not look physically fucking disabled, b) he thinks I'm a lazy shite - well, I am a student but that's irrelevant and c) I am not willing to explain to him that I am unable to function like a normal human being because I know full well he wouldn't take me seriously. It sounds fucking made up. And I wish it was.

My lecturer is currently experiencing my very rare dinosaur wrath. I am refusing to allow him to kick me off this module. I have done the fucking work. Nearly. It's so nearly done. My deadline isn't for another six weeks. However, not allowing him to kick me off this module is proving diffucult. I keep emailing the bastard - he is very rude and does not reply. So I email him again. And again. I have emailed my course leader - who isn't quite so rude, but she is very unhelpful. I have demanded a meeting with the guy. BUT. He's not replied. And it will mean I have to get to the theatre - this is something that cannot be planned in advance due to my gashy shoulder. Ironic much.

In conclusion. I am fucked.

That is all.

Facebook groups.

On a whole, annoy the living poop out of me.

Admitedly, the ocassional few make me chuckle, so I can admit to having jonied a few. I believe I am in a group full of members who appreciate dinosaurs, or at least claim to appreciate dinosaurs - that's good enough for me. I am in groups relevant to my current location, I am in a few groups which come with a clever title which holds a nice amount of truth. And yes, I am also in a few groups which are completely fucking pointless but make me giggle nonetheless.

So, where is this going I hear you ask - the answer is this - to those people who feel the need to invite me to every single bloody group they join themselves. It's funny, these people wont have spoken to me in months or years and probably have no idea who I actually am, let alone what the hell interests or amuses me, but still they assume I will want to join a group - they assume I give a shit about stuff which really I don't care about one teensie little bit.

I mean seriously, do I really want to join a group about a University that I don't even go to? Or about a TV programme I didn't know existed? Or even better about a TV programme I wish didn't exist. "I love Dundee" - I've never been, I wouldn't know, therefore I'm not going to join. "Team Edward" - Fuck off, I'm already in an anti-Twilight group - hint? Apparently not. "Facebook Rots my Brain" - No it doesn't! Your stupidity does! Gah.

Another good one, is when you're invited to a group about a terrible event or someting that's happened and people join because they think it's terrible, and the title of the group will be something along the lines of, "Stop TERRIBLE EVENT from happening, by joining this group!" No. Joining that fucking group is pointless. Joining a group changes nothing, except encourages people to sit on their arses all day thinking they're making the world a better place. I might give a shit, I might care somewhat about the terrible thing that's happened, but if I really cared that much I'd get off facebook and go do something about it.

Now, I don't mind the ocassional invite from the ocassional person every now and then because they genuinely think I might want to join a group. That's cool with me. I'll get over your poor judgement, or just laugh and go, "Hah, why the hell would I join a group about that?" but odds are, if you think I'll want to join, I probably will. The key word here people is "think". Please do before inviting me to join a group.

Two people on facebook are the cause of this blog entry. Those two people got a rather snotty email from me this morning. This brought some amusement to my day.

I will always be different

not out of choice, but out of necessity.

It would be naive to believe otherwise.

A well sighted human functions differently to a blind man. A man with an open wound must function differently to a healthy man. Sight I have, but not enough. I have the pain of a wounded human yet no marks to show.

By my next birthday I will have spent twenty years hoping there will be some way of overcoming my poor sight and five years hoping for a cure for my unusual nerve condition.

Is it not time I gave up on such things?

Yes.

And I have, not out of choice but out of necessity. I am bored of "what-if's" and silly little waves of optimism - they achieve nothing, yet still I find myself being re-aquainted with my little friend who names himself Hope but he has left me and in his place Reality has stepped in.

Never will I see. Never will I live a day without physical pain.

I feel like I am sixteen years old again except this time I wont allow a pain consultant to raise my hopes with various drugs and strange ideas. I have just wasted three years of my life living under the impression that trifluoperazine will fix everything.

I am angry, angry at my sixteen year old self for believing such things were possible, angry at my seventeen year old self for allowing that belief to carry on - angrier still that at the age of eighteen and nineteen I still allowed that hope to grow stronger. Why did I get my hopes up? Why for one minute did I believe it would be that easy? Was I really that desperate to find a way of reducing the retarded nature of my nerves that I failed to see it was illogical and stupid? Did it really mean that much to me. Why did I allow my own stupidity and naivety to cover logic and sense?

I do not know, all I know is that I never want it to happen again. The disappointment is too painful. And I can only blame myself. It's about time I grew up.

I thought I was cynical before. Apparently I intend to take cynicism to a whole new level.

FML

Fuck my liver, as in, my liver is fucked.

My answer to this somewhat problematic issue? Drink myself silly on a daily basis so I don't have to admit it to myself whilst sober. Wow. Nice logic there Nim. Well, it works for me.

I wish people would offer their views on it and then shut up. Or just say nothing.

I know you care, and I know you give a shit but that doesn't mean I will openly admit to caring and giving a shit myself. Nor does it mean I will go and make my suggested doctors appointment. If I'm ignoring my doctors advice, odds are I'm going to ignore yours also.

I don't want sympathy, nor do I want words of wisdom on the matter. I would prefer it if everybody joined in with me and my beautiful facade of not caring for it does make things so much easier. I don't care if you consider it to be an unhealthy way of looking at it, but that is how I intend to go about dealing with it so either join me or fuck off.

I can no longer be bothered with people.

And just for the record. Just because I am not taking my meds does not mean I am in no pain. Constant cramp in ones shoulder gets tedious. I am moody, if you don't like it sod off.

I have some vodka waiting for me.

Goodbye, all.

Happy fucking Christmas.

(I pray God it's our my last)

I think it is about time

I gave up on my father.

Every time I come home from a term of University I somehow manage to convince myself that maybe next time I see my father he will have changed. I feel guilty for hoping my father will change. It comes accross as being very ungrateful. I love my father, I think this is what makes it hard.

I do not think I ask much of anybody, I certainly don't demand anything, but a small amount of compassion would be nice every now and then. I do not think this is too much to hope for from ones parent. Time after time, however, my father does prove me wrong with a nice constant flow of unsypatheric, hurtful comments, which in all honesty, are nothing short of rude. And they are certainly condescening.

Maybe it is naivety, or maybe it's denial. Maybe he is just a cunt. I know not. But I have given up. I am fed up of being on the recieving end of comments which achieve nothing but belittle the effect my shoulder has on my life. Apparently, the situation regarding my shoulder is ridiculous. No fucking shit. I know it's ridiculous, I am the one who fucking has to put up with it. Apparently, the situation regarding my shoulder is a perfect excuse for laziness. Excuse me? Apparently, if I am able to lift my fork in order to eat my dinner I am able to do everything else also, and apparently, denying this is stupid. Well, you know what father, sod you. I can no longer be bothered.

My father does not understand why I am currently in quite a foul mood. According to him I am being over sensitive and stupid - again? I think my father should broaden his vocabulary.

I probably am being a little over sensitive about my shoulder. But for once in my life I think this is kind of justifiable. After three years of asking to be put back on a specific pain medication which my doctors didn't want to put me on I found a doctor who was willing to give it to me. Eventually, hope was in sight. There was a high possibility of eventually being on a medication which would significantly reduce the pain I am in. Awesome. However, it backfired. I had a nasty reaction and am once again at stage one; I am in pain and there is jack shit I can do about it. I had been hoping for three years to be put on something that would help, my wish is granted and it fails. Yay.

I should give up on the idea of change. Then I will not be disappointed and everybody will be a winner.