It sure would be nice to get this sleep business under control. Pregnancy is kind of a nightmare. Pregnancy is such a nightmare that Noah keeps telling me that even if I happen to be pregnant with twins he is strongly of the opinion that I will want another pregnancy when this one is over. Because I’m that kind of masochist.

Oh sweet cheese.

What information do you need to have before you respond to people?

What information ought to be offered or it is a betrayal? What can you forgive not being told?

I think it is easier for me to deal with someone telling me something I don’t love hearing than to not be told something I really need to know. Really really really need to know.

On what do we base our trust?

I miss Puff. I keep wanting to wander around the house looking for her. I miss her every single one of the 9,321 times I go to the bathroom in a day. She has been sitting on my feet while I use the toilet for a long time. And now she is gone.

I’m really happy she is no longer crying from pain. That was unfair. But I miss her so much.

I’ve never had a cat who lived longer than three years before her. This feels like a huge chunk of my life is ending.

In 8 hours I have my first groino appointment of this pregnancy. I won’t be meeting the person who will deliver me. I will be meeting with someone who can help me figure out who I can stand to work with. I’m looking forward to it. I am absolutely terrified of disclosing my marijuana usage but the pain doctor said I have to. He’s afraid if I don’t and they randomly screen me I’ll get in trouble. The hospital I plan to deliver at only screens “If someone is a walk in or if they have a reason”. I called and asked.

But he wants me to talk to my groino person because in his medical opinion marijuana is the single best medication I can be on for my constellation of problems. This is the first doctor who has been really certain and I can’t express how that feels.

I’ve got a real fucking problem with needing validation from someone with a god damn set of letters after their name before I believe the experiences I’m having in my body. It doesn’t help that most people with letters after their name tell me I’m doing everything wrong.

Hey, there was a recent study overseas showing that CBD helps bones knit better after a break. Because marijuana is magic.

In five hours I have a phone call appointment with the charter school. Sounds like the kids did make it in. Phew.

I just… want… slightly less responsibility this year.

Today Beautiful is coming over for tea. I feel so lucky.

Tomorrow we are hosting a kid RPG event. I suspect it will go well because Noah has put rather a lot of planning into this and he plans well. The age range could be substantial. I think we go down to four and we might get a teenager. He’s been braced that he will be helping the youngest ones learn the mechanics of gaming. But he thinks it sounds like a fun way to spend a few hours. Before he decides he needs to see if he will sleep through the event–because, teenager.

I get it. Totally cool.


For years I’ve been saying that exhaustion is a lifestyle choice for me. Now that I’m essentially being told I have adrenal fatigue that’s… a bad fucking idea. I have to stop. How? This is going to be hard.

My calendar is filling up. With medical appointments. Therapy and other medical support. I have to go back to the pain doctor three times in the next four weeks because going through these test results takes so fucking long they won’t try to give you that much information in one go. Your brain will drop too many important details. So they break it up. Sigh.

I told my physical trainer about what is going on. “At this stage it looks like exercise recommendations are gentle walking and stretching. I don’t know where you fit in.” First: HE DOESN’T THINK STRETCHING IS A THING AND HE NEVER DOES IT. That blew my forking mind. Whu? You are a physical trainer who doesn’t believe in stretching? How does that work. He thinks rolling out with a foam roller is totes enough. Second: with a combination of pregnancy and the need to stop raising my heart rate… where does strength training come in? That’s complicated as shit.

So we paused until I talk to the pain doctor more. We’ll do the last two sessions after we figure out what I should be doing. He’s going to talk to folks he knows in the physical training world because surely they know how to handle this problem. I worry.

Based on the research I’m doing… there’s a big difference between someone who has had these issues for a few months or under five years and… my whole damn life. The pain doctor strongly hinted that he doesn’t know if it is even possible to rewire my system after 30 years of this shit.

If only I had sought medical care sooner.

That sound is my heart breaking.

I’m FINALLY getting a sleep study. I’ve been asking for years.

In my head I keep coming back to “He doesn’t think a better medication exists for me.” On repeat. That has been the conclusion I have operated under for a long time based on my experience of living in my body. I don’t think a better medication exists. Finally I’m not being told that I just haven’t tortured my body enough–surely there is a more “approved” medication I can tolerate without wanting to die. Because it is not ok that I feel good so a medication that makes it feel good to live in my body must be bad.

It is hard living in a body that hates you as much as mine does. And then I keep getting pregnant because I’m fucking serious about my masochism.

I got 2 hours and 40 minutes of sleep.

fuck my life

I need to schedule an appointment to renew my medical card. Bah. One more appointment. Well, at least I’m already driving to forking San Jose a bunch. Sigh.

I got to have breakfast and dinner with friends yesterday. It was a lot of driving. I’m so happy I don’t leave my town today.

We have scheduled Sunday as a bed day. The kids say they would be happy to trade food delivery services for free screen time for a day.

I’m super thinking about it.

Noah and I haven’t had a bed day in…. years.

Rest. Oh glorious rest. And the Sunday afterward… the only thing scheduled is the kids coming back from Aunt Sarah’s. I don’t plan to do much of anything. See, I am resting more than usual for me.

I think I’m going to need to have a rule that I am back in my house by 6pm every day. I can’t go out to dinner with folks any more. By 7pm I need to be brushing my teeth and climbing into pajamas. I just have to. I can read… not on the screen… after that until 8 or 9. I’m not going to enjoy this. But I have to do it if I want to stop being in horrible pain All The Time.

So if you want me to come to your sex party, it needs to end by 5pm, mkay?

I can’t make exceptions any more. I can’t burn the candle at both ends. That candle is out of wax.

I keep seeing references to the idea that recovery from this is awful because when people feel the slightest surge of returning energy they want to “go back to normal” then they fuck themselves up extra. Yeah, that sounds like me. Ahem. Which is to say… even after I start feeling way better I have to keep acting like I still feel like shit.

Next week I only have one medical appointment. It feels like a miracle. There are five the week after. Four the week after that. I’m tired. This week had six. Not all of these are for me (thank goodness) but still.

Being disabled is a fucking job. And I’m barely disabled in the scheme of things.

I told the new shrink I’m working with to be careful reading my book. Do it in chunks and make sure you have emotional support when you finish a section. They said, “Wow. You are worried about me and you are checking my boundaries.” I said, “I don’t really want to be responsible for traumatizing you. It’s a hard book.” They thanked me and said they will read with caution, but they want to read so they can help me more. Sounds like a good approach.

I’ve tried to go back and reread No Shame, No Secrets, No Silence and I can’t because it feels so fucking upsetting. And it’s my life. Yeah, read it with caution and support.

It’s worth knowing that such things happen to human beings. But it hurts.

Privilege is such a funny thing. If you read that terrible, sad, horrifying book it’s kind of hard to say that I’m a person with a lot of privilege. Only I completely am. Even when I was a kid I had a lot of privilege. But bad things happen to people regardless of privilege. It’s orthogonal.

I deleted the birth board forum app from my phone. My hands hurt and I need to stop. I will just have to cope with not getting that kind of interaction. It’s a drama fest.

It’s not like I have a shortage of real life interactions with humans. And if you include Skype I’m deepening relationships with fantastic people who know me who live far away. So I’m not really in a position to truly need the online forum stuff. I feel like I was way more isolated during Eldest Child’s pregnancy. At this point I have so many friends that scheduling with everyone is practically impossible. I’m… in a good place. Now if only I could convince my brain of that.

Shit. This week I’ve had six friend dates and we are having a gathering at our house. I’m not fucking isolated.

I have five social engagements next week too. I’m not hurting for seeing friends. (Have I told y’all enough lately how much I appreciate that you show up when you say you will and you are honest about what you have to offer? I’m so fucking lucky.)

None of this happened by accident. I built and culled a network until I have a rock steady group of people who carry me when I can’t carry myself. I don’t have the biggest network of people inviting me to raucous parties… but I can’t be that person ever again any way. I’m in a solid place.

I’m going to stop for just a minute and think about the fact that *I* built this. It didn’t happen by accident. I was not born into a place and position. I don’t know these people because it was inevitable and mandatory. I know these people because I picked them and pursued them and they reciprocated.

Sobonfu told me I would have to build my own community because I would never fit into anyone else’s. She was right.

My friends are older than me and younger than me. They are a wide range of nationalities and ethnicities. They span the socioeconomic spectrum from filthy rich to barely surviving. My friends are incredibly diverse. My friends inspire me to think that I could be different, because look at the fantastic variety of life they represent. I have so many beautiful models of how to be happy or healthy in my life. They all do it differently.

I never imagined that I would get to this place. I don’t feel this was a slam dunk. This was not inevitable. It’s a fucking miracle.

And now I need to figure out how to internalize that this network really exists. I need to figure out how to calm my body down so I can just enjoy the hard work I’ve done.

I am so very lucky. And in 32ish more weeks, I get to meet Lightning. What do I have to complain about?

2 thoughts on “can’t

  1. Michelle

    Ah this is so familiar. I wish you smooth transitions in figuring out where your physical boundaries need to be. I wish your tests to be informative and for pieces to fall into place.

    As far as sleep goes I am able to deviate from my schedule some with naps and or multiple days of sleeping 12 plus hours. I have actually slept at a few play parties. It is so hard for people to understand sleep boundaries. Sometimes I feel cut off from big life stuff but you know pushing myself to breaking wasnt actually helping me be or feel more connected.

    1. Krissy Gibbs Post author

      That makes a lot of sense. Unfortunately I don’t nap so trying to juggle sleep doesn’t work. And I’m physically incapable of doing a makeup 12 hour sleep session. I’ve been falling asleep during more and more visits and I have to just pray my friends forgive me for my lack of stamina.

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