I have not coughed up blood in over four days now

I have done a bit this week.  Not a lot, but a bit.  And I paid for that bit.

Have been mostly living on precooked meals that midget dropped down, and got a couple of dinners out of a take-n-bake box that Carla got me from Johnny's Southern Kitchen.
Basically no cooking of my own - though I now really have to do dishes.  Failing to do anything much around the house, just on top of laundry and nothing else.

On Wednesday evening I went for dinner and some socialising at a friends place - they picked me up and dropped me off and yet I still spent the next day basically too exhausted from it to do anything.

Friday I walked in and saw my counsellor.  By about half way in my lung stung with every breath.
Had a nice chat mostly just about how I have been too sick and exhausted to have much in the way of emotions.  So mostly my counselling appointment got wasted on pneumonia, but was rather nice and chill.  First appointment I haven't cried at.
On the way home I caught up with a surprisingly large number of friends in the street.  Was really nice.  Even had a very nice chat with Shitlord's flatmates - who still seem like they are on my side in it all.

Today my trans-sister visited for a bit to talk about her exciting social life - there is a lot of catching up happening for having been isolated through her late teens and most of her 20s, now in her 30s she is doing the undergrad style over-socialising.  Sick as I am, just hearing about it was exhausting.

I have been playing a bunch of Pokemon Sword, am now two badges in.  I get tired fast so I can't play for long before I need a nap.  And after the walking of yesterday I am pretty much just sore everywhere today.

But I am recovering.
Slowly.

Hopefully I will be feeling mostly normal again by the time I turn 40.
Assuming I live that long.

I do not like pikachu

Yesterday, I finally felt well enough to give the new Pokemon game a try, more than a week after it was delivered to me.
I don't think people realised I was too sick to play games level sick - in part as I had a game open, but never actually being played, on my computer so that when people visited things seemed more normal.
I picked the water starter and got a female, which worked out well as the androgynous form of the finally stage has a definite female vibe.  Not so bad as some previous starters (especially the fire one from X/Y and the water from Sun/Moon) that looked very female but still had the normal started gender ration of 7 males to 1 female.
And no-one cares.
Rambling about Pokemon will just make sure all the readers vanish again - which is probably a good thing.  The horrible relationship imploding brought too many readers - no-one is supposed to read this, it exits so I can feel like I have told people stuff without ever actually having to tell anyone.

Dullness

The fever passing has helped, but I am still exhausted, coughing up blood and having a bit of chest pain from the lung damage.

So I have basically done nothing all week.

Was cocky about not needing help from people any more, but still pretty sick and failing to do much.

On Monday I saw my GP who was all "you are past the worst, now you are basically fine - though you will feel pretty awful for a few more weeks, you can go back to doing all the usual stuff.  Just maybe a bit slower."

I feel like he doesn't understand the interaction of chronic health problems with pneumonia as I seem to be much more taken out than he told me I would be.
Or I am just a lame, lame-arse.

And still have mustered the energy to even load the new Pokemon game after basically a week.

Random asides of forgetfulness

On Friday when my counsellor rang to see why I had cancelled the appointment, he straight out blamed Shitlord for my pneumonia - being that it is mostly the artefact of having been very worn down.
Which was nice.

I still haven't managed to start Pokemon.  I had to go and check which one I had - having not loaded it yet, I wasn't sure.

Cockiness and coughing up blood

I am feeling much recovered except I am constantly too exhausted to do anything.  Even watching TV is mostly a bit much and computer games are well too much effort.

Also, still coughing up blood.  Mostly just first thing in the morning and immediately after any time I tell people I am no longer coughing up blood.

My sibling delivered the new pokemon game to me on Saturday, a bit before I had Oli and family visit.  Two and a half year olds are weird.

Overcooked brains

On Sunday, on the way home from my first night in hospital, I bought Juicies.  Wildberry ones.
Today I discovered the box unopened in my freezer.

I am glad to have them, but on those bad fever days I sort of needed them but was unable to remember that they were there, or to even look in my freezer for cold options.

Fevers make it hard to look after one's fever sensibly.

Rejected, publically humiliated, it's more than I can bear.... More beer?

Forgot to mention before.  Heard back from examination office on Wednesday.  I was rejected Special Considerations, so I failed uni for the semester.  Not even sure having found out it was partially pneumonia would have made a difference.

And still alive

Just keeping myself sort enough to pretend I am looking after myself is so much work.  I don't know how anyone manages to actually look after themselves.
Haven't thrown up any food or pills since that incident on Monday night.  Though must concede that throwing up when all you have in you in water is somehow more of a defeat.  But have now worked out the trigger and know that if I am not feeling actively cold then I should be nil by mouth until I cool myself down enough that I am.
Am getting very sick of feeling cold - which is weird as I am traditionally quite the coldness fan.

Midget sent over hot pasta dinner on Tuesday evening and a prepared shepherd's pie dinner for me to reheat for last night.
Carla delivered some stuff yesterday meaning I am set for tonight as well.

I have good friends.

And after calling the nurse at my doctor's office about coughing up blood I have a doctor's appointment on Monday, though the nurse suggested it would not be unreasonable to go back to ED about that one.

Still alive-ish

Saturday night was spent in ED, but I got out pretty early and David got me home via the supermarket and I was all sorted to be home.  Wrote the last entry but mostly just slacked about not being up for much of anything.
In the evening I was feeling very unwell, Oli came around with a thermometer and it revealed I was up on 39 degrees again.  So went back in following the instructions on the discharging doctor from my first night there.  Once I finally made it from the waiting room to ED I got a doctor almost immediately (though for the only time until I was discharged) and she decided I was staying the night again pretty quickly.  I got moved to Obs almost immediately and had a relatively quiet night, I think.  Oli stayed with me chatting for a few hours.  I got new sheets just after midnight because I had soaked though everything with sweat and was sleeping under just a sheet that still felt far too warm.  I woke up when the breakfast lady came around shivering under a pile of blankets with the detritus of at least one drip having happened overnight.  Seems at some point over night I had been sick enough to accept paracetamol (which I don't think any of the doctors believed I react badly to).  Thus the "I think" about it being a relatively quiet night.
I was kept in until lunchtime Monday when I cranky old man doctor who seemed pretty certain I shouldn't have stayed at all sent me home and told me to try to tough it out.

Last night while eating some dinner for the many many meds I have to take with dinner now I discovered my body unwilling to keep Paasha down.  No idea how much of my medication also got vomited away.  By the instructions of all but that last doctor I should have gone back to ED.  I did not.

And today I haven't died, and feel no worse than I did for much of yesterday, so I guess it worked out ok.

Every time I cave to pressure and go to the urgent doctor it turns out I should have gone to ED.

After the pressure from healthline I got David to drive me to the urgent doctor.  He even sat and waited with me for well over an hour there,
Once I got seen I was told to go to ED, the doctor even came out and talked about it with David to make sure I actually went.
I could have saved $70 by just going to the ED, except I had been pretty confident it was psychosomatic (which is not something I get beyond anxiety tightness in my chest).
It was not.
I was running a temperature of almost 39, which doesn't sound that high to me but makes doctors and the ED nurses uncomfortable.
The nurse was pretty exciting when the meds had got my temperature down to 37.9.  By this morning it was 36.6 - which they said was normal, if lower than what I think is normal.  So they could send me home with lots of antibiotics.
David waited far longer than is fair to him for me before it become clear I was probably staying over and he finally went home.  He is a much better friend than I deserve.
The urgent doctor, and at the start also the ED staff worried I had meningitis.  Blood tests were inconclusive.  It was the chest x-ray that identified the large infected area in my lung - that had caused no respiratory symptoms at that stage.  The nasty cough started only after the antibiotics did.

Healthline are trigger happy

Have asked a friend to come drop me at the urgent doctor after ringing the health line, my vision and ability to stand up went funky, and being told I really needed to see a doctor.
Probably a sign that I am not alright.

Head pain has got to the point that I understand why trepanation is a thing.


I am very unwell

Menapause?

I notice yesterday that I was uncomfortably warm but also shivering.  A lot.
It started up again mid-morning and the timing made me realise it is very much Shitlord focused.
Yet another weird physiological response to the hurt I keep letting him cause me.
The frequent crying is bad enough.
And the chest pain of anxiety attacks.
Now disgusting thermoregulation malfunctions.

Explaining why his message was not okay on here, and the much shorter simpler version I sent him, seems to have just hurt me.

For some reason the lies he told after we broke up are somehow more disappointing than the ones has had spent years telling me.
Why keep lying to me afterwards?  It just makes no sense to me, but hurts.


[Edit]
Talking about it must have given it more power, now wrapped in a blanket with my arms and legs feeling like I am freezing and my face being so hot it almost feels like it burns.
Feeling this physical awful from what I am pretty sure is mental stuff is just adding to my deep disappointment about still being alive.

Shitlord is a shit

So I got a message, semi-tangential to the brief exchange of Wednesday about how friendship needs more trust than Shitlord has currently given me reason to have.

It is problematic in a few ways:

First, he has not mentioned it before.  He has not mentioned the other guy, who it seems he has settled with, since the night he came over for the talk immediately after things blew up.  Hasn't mentioned his existing or their relationship at all since then.  And in that talk the sentiment he gave about it was not one that matches this message.  He straight out said it wasn't going to work and would be over soon, as was pretty forward in hoping I would give him another shot.  Maybe acting rather too much like it was a given that I would.

Second, I had said nothing that would give any indication I want anything more than friendship from him.  The conversation was about if he could ever prove worth of even deserving any of my friendship.  He is taking some pretty sizeable steps based on nothing I had said.

Third, where was this relationships count for something attitude when the relationship was with me?  I am really not the person to use that line on after cheating on me for years and now I am just supposed to believe you are, by nature, someone who doesn't cheat.  There is no way that isn't a slap in my face.

I could explain this all to him, but what would be the point.  He clearly doesn't actually care about the effect he has on people around him.
Though it helps with one thing, it makes things more clear that he does not deserve my friendship.
Also, I think he has conflated conversations with other recent cast-offs.

Stupid annoyances

Still very irked that the counsellor is so convinced that I am a suicide risk, especially after I was carefully censoring my answers to make me seem better than I have been.

Maybe I should have just asked what a mental breakdown feels like - because "is this what a mental breakdown feels like" has been something I have been wondering a lot lately.

My muscles still hurt from the furniture moving on Sunday.
So weak and wobbly.

Young me would be disappointed

Yesterday I got angry at the Hungarian flag in my flat.  I was going to thrown it out, the friend who gave it to me suggested that I burn it on a Guy, but I ended up shoving it in Shitlord's mailbox as a passive-aggressive slight that will probably be misinterpreted as a sign of friendship.

I did this on my way to counselling and sorting my special considerations application.  I got all the paperwork done and the stuff filed with student health sorted and paid for (which is a giant scam as they make you pay for the certificate separately from the appointment).
Counselling itself got very focused on how I am a danger to myself and not very focused at all on anything useful.  It seems I am considered too suicidal for the conversation to have been about anything more than staying alive.
I didn't think I was that bad.
Apparently my self-harming through food, which I think of as a coping mechanism, is seen as more of a warning sign by my counsellor.
Maybe it is stuff that needs sorted, and I have no idea what it actually is that I need to talk about, but it feels like I have wasted too much of the six sessions I get focused on being alive - which just doesn't seem that important a focus to me.

Last night was Guy Fawkes.  For yet another year running I spent it at home alone with no fireworks.
I haven't done Guy Fawkes fireworks in so many years.  I think 2011ish might have been the last time - whenever it was I did it with Firmin's family.
Young me loved fireworks and would be bitter;y disappointed by how much I have matured into apathy toward them.

Apparently I'm fine

This morning when even making it to the bathroom had been proving a struggle, I managed to get some laundry washed.  Tina arrived while I was very slowly hanging it and helped the process along.  Then she took me with her while she took her car to VTNZ.  We went for a walk in town and bumped into Shitlord's flatmate (who I really want to steal as a friend).  Had a nice chat about Pokemon, I managed to not mention Shitlord for minutes.  Progress.
And the weirdness.  The flatmate and I had just got to the point where a quick manly hug was fine before things went kersplat, but now there was just awkward standing and him patting my shoulder.
That said, I had left the house when I wasn't planning to, so wasn't so washed as I would like.  I would have been bad to hug.

Then I got dropped home, zoned out some, had a hot shower to try and relieve the muscle pain which made me feel sick from the warmth, so ending up having a cold shower.
Being clean proved useful as I had utterly forgotten I had dinner plans, last chance to see Simon before he goes overseas on a trip I had also forgotten about.  Nando's as they have yet to poison Firmin.
Hugging people farewell I discovered my muscle plain from yesterday is still such that hugging people proves horrible painful for me.  Simon, who I have been known to hug a little more firmly than he would like, took some pleasure in this.

I discovered while in Firmin's car on the way to dinner that Shitlord has tested to say he was glad that I am fine.
Fine is not how I would describe how I am.  I am assuming his flatmate had filled him in that I was managing to not burst into tears at any mention of Shitlord now.
But I still took the text as an attack, because I am a moron.

And my constant efforts to prove myself at fault of things as I continue to want to see the best in Shitlord.  This is almost certainly not good for me.
Oh, the many ways that I hurt myself.......

At least I have my counsellor tomorrow, though part of that will go to sorting my Special Considerations application.
I feel like such an idiot for missing my exam, but at the time it didn't seem like a thing I could even pretend to do.

So crippled

I can barely stand today.  Arms and legs both of jelly.
It is almost like I pushed through my chronic illness and did a short burst of heavy lifting yesterday....

Atypical is feeling like an attack, for weird reasons

This morning I cleaning and vacuumed to prepare for gaining extra furniture that I didn't really need.  Was feeling sick and out of spoons, while also very sweaty, before the important part of the day even started.

Oli, Firmin and Ian all helped move a dining table and chair, a big book case and a display cabinet that required some trickiness so get into the building as it is slightly taller than the stairwell.

I have better friends than I deserve.

And the physical effort destroyed me.  I forget that I am actually chronically ill with surprising regularity and then do things and my body then reminds me why I don't do things - it reminds me hard.
I am sickly as fuck.

Then Atypical attacked me by having people argue over how relationships should work in ways that were very much arguments I should have had four to five years ago.  And then having relationship drama linked to people going to Fleetwood Mac with other partners.


Wood polish is making my head hurt.  I don't remember having problems with Neopol before but tonight..... owwie.....

Unless my regular migraine is just angry about my extreme overspending of spoons today.

Today mostly didn't

I missed my exam.
Me.
Me who has never missed much of anything in all my time at uni.
But I woke up, after sleeping through my alarm a surprisingly long time, and the moment I thought about the content of the exam I should be heading to I started to cry.  And I kept crying.  And I decided getting out of bed and going to the exam was a level of humaning that I was not up to.  And I am associating the course with the life events that happened during it rather too strongly.

So I had another day mostly of crying.

The day kind of vanished on me, I might have lost time or maybe I was just too in my head to notice the day happening.

I didn't get washed and dressed until almost seven hours after the exam I had failed to get to finished.  And when I ate dinner I was left feeling very unwell.  Everything is rebelling.

I have done nothing - including none of the tidying of my flat I needed to do considering I am getting more furniture tomorrow, stuff from my grandmother's house that I have no space for.

Still studying... because

I have spent today continuing to study for my exam even though doing so if just making it more and more clear that I should not go.
I only need to get 2 of the 40% the exam has on offer to pass, meaning I basically can't fail to pass if I turn up.  But even looking at the practice questions is provoking uncontrollable sobbing.
I think my mental health requires that I gamble on the risk of failing the paper and applying for aegrotat.  Or just failing something I would pass pretty much just be turning up.

In all my years and my three-ish degrees worth of papers (it may even be more than that by now) I have never missed an exam before.  It seems very weird.
Also, getting the aegrotat doesn't matter.  I am chronically ill and have been over a decade, my academic transcript is never going to matter for anything as my life is too much of a dumpster fire for such things as more failed papers to make any difference at all.  And one failed paper won't affect my loan eligibility.  In the scheme of things it seems much more important that I worry about my well-being than that I care about this paper that was really only done for interest and distraction.

 And the reply to the email I sent to the exam office was very patronising and suggested I should have applied for a separate room months ago - which is an unhelpful response to someone working to find a way around an acute health event that would make him a distraction to others should he be in the exam.



[Edit]
Barely a minute into rewatching the lecture on Theseus and I started to feel physically sick thanks to whatever stupid mental connection with life events of recent months had triggered.
I am giving up on studying and even pretending that I will make the exam tomorrow.  Must accept that I have to prioritise my mental health over a paper that was mostly just supposed to be a distraction from my life/failing mental health.
Why is my brain attaching Shitlord to everything that happened in recent months so much?  It does not help.