Eating a pharmacy

Restless dreams as of late. Dreams of being away from home, trying to get home, and somehow having trouble getting there. A common theme in my dreams the last few years. Irritating but common.

I've been trying to go back and read my LJ in its entirety from the first post. It's a massive undertaking after 14 years of writing, but a couple of entries a day isn't so bad. But my early entries are littered with posts about my mother. Posts filled with sympathy and confusion, which is annoying because these are things I no longer feel for her. I know that I had to feel those things in order to move passed having to feel those things, but it still makes me want to shake 2004 (and all the way up to roughly 2011ish) Teressa.

So much of the struggle seems melodramatic since I've gotten sick. I know that's more or less how trauma works - we rank it on a scale, we triage it. And the struggles were necessary, absolutely necessary, to moving on. I know this. It's just eye-rolling to get through it.

A friend of mine on FB posted a meme about spite being a fantastic motivation for living. It rang true to me because spite was a massive motivation for me for two decades. All of my emotional healing from my family, the continual drive to therapy, was based out of spite. Based on proving them wrong. Based on living a good life as a form of revenge. It worked well. It gave me the energy to fight through some truly traumatic things. Then I got sick and suddenly I had no energy to live my life for anyone but myself.

I still feel a bit un-rooted by that. A bit confused about where to go without spite leading the way. I suppose it's normal to not always know where you're going. I wonder how normal it is to not know why you are going. Maybe it's completely normal. Maybe it's not normal at all. Maybe it's all part of a midlife crisis. (I am on the early end of being the right age for one of those.) I guess no matter how normal or abnormal it is, it is where I am.

I must gather a breakfast together. I take 24 pills a day currently and without food in my stomach, I may as well be chewing down battery acid. I'm still not used to being the person who has to eat the equivalent of a small-but-well-stocked pharmacy just to keep my internal organs from murdering each other. Still, I definitely feel better these days as a result.

An upset stomach is an acceptable price to pay for extending my life by decades.

This entry was originally posted at
Oh, yes... Spite (defiance) can be a strong reason for going on living.
Just because of that reason "I won't bow down to you!".

But, seriously, after a while, it needs more than that... Even if that only is "I know I'm worth it" or "I live by my own conscience, I do whatever I think is right".
I've thought about going back through the million or so things I've posted, and starting from the beginning. But, I think in doing so, I'd stir up a lot of unhappy memories. Things that were painful enough to go through once, let alone twice. Also, not much has really changed since then.