I try not to complain too often, but I've had one of the crappiest of crappiest weeks and I needed somewhere to let my anger and frustration out. I just need to write it out and share it with people who can truly empathise in order for me to pick myself back up, readjust my attitude and move on. Yes, my friends, it's an angsty rant with colourful language. You've been warned.

Last weekend was lovely. I was feeling semi-okay, so I thought I would make the most of it. A stupid idea really, but weekends like these don't come around very often.

 

I had a great time on Saturday catching up with a school friend while enjoying some pancakes for lunch. The pancakes were much more edible than the ones I blogged about last week- so much so that I ate too much and went to bed without having any dinner, which is a rare thing for me. Not only did I overeat, I overdid it.

 

In hindsight, I should have left it at that outing, but no, I had to keep going. Why? Well, because I'm silly like that sometimes. I think I push myself out of frustration when I have so many things that I want to do. Deep down I know that I can't manage to do everything, and at times I really hate that reality, so I ignore it and try to do everything out of defiance. Stupid, I know. You would think I would have learnt by now, huh?

 

So on Sunday I continued in my rebellious partying ways and went out with my family for ice cream in the city. I went because I knew the trip would be worth it- I just couldn't resist a cup of nutella and honeycomb ice cream topped with a wafer. BEST. ICE CREAM. EVER!

 

Sometimes I don't want to miss out on things and make sacrifices for a stupid, dumb, absurd illness.

 

After ice cream I continued rebelling and went to the shops. Now you would think that I would have had the common sense to say "okay, that's enough for this weekend," but when you're a craft addict and you discover that your favourite craft store is having a VIP day with special offers and free make and takes, common sense does not prevail!

 

It really was a wonderful weekend, and although right now I'm questioning whether all that activity was really worth it, I am glad that I had a weekend where I enjoyed myself because it was the calm before the storm...

 

Everything went downhill from there. This week was another one of those weeks from hell.

 

At first it started out okay. After that big weekend I managed to go and get my hair done, which was something I had been meaning to do for a few months. It was well overdue for a colour and in desperate need of a good cut. It was getting too long and too difficult to manage, so I got it cut short for a change. It's amazing how simply sitting in a chair and having someone do your hair can be so exhausting for someone with CFS, but it needed to be done.

 

I continued forging on and made a quick dash to the shops to find a pair of semi-comfortable shoes to match a dress I was wearing to a friend's wedding at the end of the week before going into hibernation to save my spoons for said wedding. That was my Monday.

 

On Tuesday all hell broke loose. Thanks to the combination of severe post exertional malaise and PMS, I turned into a screaming psychopathic bitch (my poor family). Everything hit me hard that day- the depression, the loneliness, the anger, the feelings of guilt, worthlessness and hopelessness. The intense and indescribable fatigue, pain and the roller coaster of emotions got too much and I cracked.

 

I was all:

 

"I HATE THIS BEEPING ILLNESS, I'VE HAD ENOUGH! I HATE MY LIFE, AND I HATE THE WORLD. IT'S NOT FAIR: NO ONE GIVES A FLYING BEEP AND THE LACK OF SUPPORT IS JUST BEEP. DOCTORS ARE BEEP. CFS AND FIBROMYALGIA ARE BLOODY STUPID AND THEY NEED TO GO TO BLOODY HELL."

 

Ah, when PMS and chronic illness collide. Chronic illness, and the emotional baggage that comes along with it, is hard enough to deal with on its own; throw PMS into the mix and it makes everything ten times harder to cope with, and things get ugly. I think I turned into much more of a monster this month because everything throughout the year had just built up and taken its toll.

The unexpected increase in fatigue, the frustration of being unable to work (and regularly do the things I love), having to deal with the headache from hell and the hardships and disappointment that this year has brought made me explode. I felt like such a failure that I didn't take greater care to reduce the impact of post exertional malaise and let everything get the better of me, but I guess it's only normal that being stuck at home for seven years will send you freaking nuts every now and again.

I need to make this cake.

(source)

On Wednesday I picked myself up again, apologised for being a grumpy bitch and went back into spoon saving mode. Then on Thursday I thought that I would attempt to make a nice wedding card for my friend. For months I've been trying to make a really nice card for her, but brain fog has been a real hindrance, and inspiration has been as dry as the Sahara Desert. I had bought some pretty papers at the VIP day, so I thought I would sit down and give it another shot. I had hoped that some new paper would help get my mojo back and help the inspiration flow again, but nope, no such luck.

 

It took me three hours to come up with a colour combination that I liked and that's as far as I got when brain fog stopped me in my tracks. I was so annoyed. All that I wanted to do was to enjoy some cardmaking and make something special for a friend, and because of the stupid cognitive impairment that CFS causes, I couldn't do that. It really upset me.

 

Later on I ended up driving five minutes down the road to buy a suitable card. SIGH.

 

Wedding time. I had spent all week psyching myself up to attend this wedding, trying to reclaim some of the spoons I had lost out of stupidity. I was excited about going and I really wanted to be there even though my body wanted otherwise. So on Friday morning I got up early to pull myself together and put some lipstick on so I could tag along to my mother's MRI appointment in the city at lunchtime and get a lift to the wedding from there, as the venue was too far for me to drive to. So I sat in a waiting room, well and truly overdressed, all dolled up for a wedding, expecting there to be plenty of time for me to get to the ceremony after my mum's scan.

 

We soon learnt that it wasn't a very good plan.

 

At first my mum didn't get called in until over an hour after her appointment time. No big deal. We had time for a bit of a delay. What we were not expecting though was for her to be gone for over another TWO more hours. By the time she got out it was too late for me to get to the ceremony in time against peak hour traffic, so I missed my old school friend's wedding and headed home instead. I was fuming. Over THREE bloody hours just for an MRI is a joke. I get that these type of appointments never run on time, but over three hours when you have been given a scheduled appointment time is a bit RIDICULOUS! I could have had a laparoscopy and been home within that time. GEESH!

 

Had I known that would happen I would have tried to make other arrangements.

 

So I spent the whole of Friday afternoon sitting in a radiology department, exhausting myself unnecessarily. The buggery would have been worth it had I got to see my friend get married. The sad thing was that I put a lot of energy and effort into looking nice because I like to make the most of events like these. It's not often that I get to go out all dolled up. I was so excited about having a new pretty dress to wear. I shaved my legs so I could wear said dress and I even put on my nice expensive makeup. Heck, I even curled my hair, and I haven't used a hair curler in years!

 

I was so upset. I didn't even realise how much I wanted to be at that wedding and how much I was excited for my friend until I knew that I couldn't be there. I said that I would be there, and I wasn't. I felt so awful. I even got angry at myself for having such a stupid illness, because if it wasn't for CFS, I would have been able to drive myself.

 

On the way home Jason Derulo's song "Marry Me" came on the radio, just to rub it in. And when I got home I sat on Facebook like a loser, waiting to see if any photos would pop up. Then I scrubbed my makeup off, had a good cry and went to bed.

 

So I've been spending this weekend watching TV shows on my laptop, stuffing my face with food while feeling sad, sore and disappointed. Because I wasn't already feeling crappy enough.

 

I feel like this rooster right now.

 

Yes, some weeks the only good thing is that I survived without needing any bail money.

 

Did you have a horrible week? I'm all ears.

Wondering what I mean by "spoons?" Go and read The Spoon Theory.