At the risk of being berated, threatened, and called every name in the book, I have to talk about Lindsay Clancy.

Disclaimer, so she doesn’t try to sue me, too (kidding...mostly): This is all my opinion, based on the evidence that has come out. Everything is alleged until proven in a court of law, and all that bullshit. You get the point.

Note: In the Commonwealth, where Lindsay is being tried, the defense must only create doubt in jurors’ minds as to the prosecution’s claim. It is on the prosecution to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Lindsay was not insane. Keep that in mind.

She has not been formally diagnosed with PPP, and never exhibited psychosis in the times she was in the hospital, so I refuse to use that specific term without irrefutable evidence. I, instead, will use those she did receive a diagnosis for - PPD and PPA.

Stick with me, and read all the way through if you’re interested in what I believe is a more honest take than many I’m seeing. It’s absolutely long as hell, but I personally think it’s worth it.

-Thanks💜

The Problem With This Trial

Everyone Has An Opinion, and Everyone Has A Dollar To Chase

I’ve pored over the evidence and gone back and forth - for years, even, since it happened January 24, 2023 - giving Lindsay Clancy the benefit of the doubt like every other person accused of a crime. However, with more evidence having been released, my personal verdict has landed on guilty, and will not change at this point. I’ve stood and shouted to my husband details of the entire trial - probably much to his chagrin, but he’s an amazing sport - offering him important information that could make the judgment go either way. At one point, I was pretty convinced she was absolutely experiencing psychosis.

In the last several days of trial, however, I’ve become convinced of the opposite. I don’t think she was in a ‘moment of psychosis’ when she murdered her kids. I think Lindsay is narcissistic, and no one wants to admit that women can be cold and callous to children, just as men can.

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I’ll Be Blunt.

I’m quite honestly tired of The Lindsay Show being the only one that matters. We have lost the entire plot here, as well as what truly matters most - nay, who matters most - those 3 beautiful children, Cora, Callan, and Dawson, whose lives were snuffed out by the hands of their own mother, regardless of reason.

TikTokers, Redditors, Threaders, and other social media ghouls, attempting to profit from the suffering of others, are tearing at the throats of everyone involved in this case, save for one key person - Lindsay, herself.

I do have to give it to her; She’s a good manipulator and a pretty little wannabe poster child for PPD/PPA, droning on endlessly about the system that failed her - forgetting to mention she had much more access and wealth than most, and lamenting about needing help while simultaneously refusing treatment.

She’s gotten the attention of the world because she’s wealthy and white, claiming to have been done horribly, horribly wrong by the mental health system, as a whole, but especially by the specific women doctors treating her. I do think the healthcare system at its core is highly flawed, and mental health, in particular, lacks full comprehension and acceptance. In this situation, though, I’m not sure there was much more doctors could do without crossing boundaries around her legal rights.

I have struggled immensely with this case, and I’ve been terrified to write what I think because women - especially white women - have been viciously defending her and painting anyone who rejects her insanity defense as anti-woman and ignorant. I have to disagree wholeheartedly. I actually think it’s anti-woman to infantilize, coddle, and support her white woman tears despite evidence showing her callousness and cruelty - especially in regards to her oldest son, which I will go over later - if I am being perfectly honest.

Rather than bothering to take five extra minutes to fact-check, social media darlings have adhered to the sensationalized misinformation in this particular case, spreading it as far as the ocean is wide, as if it were a fact as plain as day. So, this trial became a witch hunt, just like the Moscow, Idaho murders have. Both of these highly publicized tragedies happened years ago now, and we still have Youtuber after Youtuber, influencer after influencer, spreading absolute nonsense about them, attacking family members and grieving processes without bothering to wonder how it might make them feel to read something so awful if they were them.

Then again, they don’t care.

Let me remind you of the THREE INNOCENT CHILDREN who are DEAD.

They are gone. FOREVER.

They “don’t matter anymore” because they’re already dead.

They “don’t matter anymore because they’re DEAD?”

This is the way they all sound - callous and cold-hearted. I genuinely couldn’t believe what I was reading when I saw this response. I had to go back and reread a few times to make sure it actually said what I thought it did. That comment, in particular, was pretty devastating to read...

Children. Dead, so the point is moot when it comes to protecting the victims. No mention of the father, the grandparents, the cousins, aunts, uncles, friends, coworkers - all of which were victims of this tragedy in some way - unless it’s to blame them, of course. These murders affected everyone around them, not just the children, and not just their father, Patrick.

And look at the like ratio for the original post, which accused Patrick of killing them. People online with no connection to the case in any shape, form, or fashion are convinced her husband set her up and tried to kill her, but didn’t account for lifesaving measures thwarting it. Hasn’t anyone ever heard the saying “the simplest answer is usually the right one?” This isn’t a fucking play. It’s not a movie, it’s not a show. It’s a goddamn trial for a woman who killed her 3. Innocent. Kids.

I’m so damn tired of the show of it all!

What Does The Evidence Tell Us?

It’s Not As Complicated As The Defense Would Like You To Believe

The details of this case, the true details, not internet sensationalism, do not add up to ‘poor Lindsay.’ They simply don’t. Everyone is being blamed, but Lindsay, when she herself wrote about being thankful for Patrick because he was taking care of the kids when she couldn’t, even taking them out across country to do things to give her a break.

Yet, internet sleuths have been absolutely determined to conjecture against Patrick, calling him a lazy and negligent father, despite there being no evidence to support their theories. Patrick has come under fire simply for finding love again with a woman after his children passed, and he married just this year. I know TikTok said so, but he did not appear to have an affair, and he definitely did not marry again 4 months later. He just remarried in April 2026 - this year.

Let’s Talk About The Medications

Lindsay supposedly obsessively tracked her medications, carefully writing down each pill she took and at what time. When you look at these lists, though, you start to notice she didn’t want to take the medications approved for depression or for the bipolar disorder a Nurse Practitioner thought she had - she wanted benzodiazepines. Ativan, to be exact.

She even lamented about her fears of becoming addicted, wondered whether she already had, yet continued to ask her doctors for more when she couldn’t be bothered to try the other medications for the several weeks it takes them to work.

This woman was a nurse. She would know better than to expect psychiatric medications, in particular, to affect her mood immediately. She’d already taken Prozac for about a year in nursing school with no ill effects. Doctors are also very open about the titration period, letting patients know the first few weeks may be really rough, but that they should typically start seeing results within about 4 to 6 weeks. Some could notice improvement in as little as 1 to 2, but again, Lindsay didn’t even stay on most of these medications longer than 5 days.

In her phone notes, Clancy spoke of her troubles with motherhood, describing sleep training and precociousness in long-winded soliloquys that read more like a memoir than her actual thoughts and feelings in the moment. It’s almost as if she were telling someone in the future about her life, knowing she would no longer be there - like she knew someone would read them one day.

These notes Lindsay started writing were during the months she says she was “changed by medication,” and slipped deeper into depression and then psychosis, but she was searching for things like “can you turn the airbags off in a kia sorrento?” in the weeks before the murders. How can she have had a “moment of psychosis” if she was already forming a plan well before that day?

Sure, she had bounced from medication to medication, largely because she refused everything offered by her team of psychiatric doctors, or claimed to have awful side effects from the medications within a day or so of starting them, wanting to stop them immediately. I think her practitioners were doing as much as they thought they could, and became frustrated when she deviated from the plans laid out for her.

She was never on more than 3 to 4 medications at a time, and I think that is incredibly important to find out. Psychiatric medications are a lot of trial and error at this point in medicine, and if you have barely started, say, one SSRI, you often don’t need to taper down to swap to a different SSRI. I have done this multiple times while trying to find the right “cocktail” that works for my various conditions, including severe OCD that is highly debilitating without treatment.

Clancy’s doctors offered her the proverbial kitchen sink, but she only took a glass of water. She wasn’t compliant, was hesitant to take any new medications unless it was one she approved of, - cough benzos cough - and seemed to demand an experience that doesn’t really exist with psychiatric conditions - immediate relief.

So, it seems to me, her doctors modified their treatment plans to what Lindsay was more likely to comply with. This is not unheard of, in the least.

For example, in veterinary medicine, veterinarians will offer to clients what they think the client will actually agree to. This means, simply put, veterinarians use how you care for your pets (whether you refuse or accept the recommended routine bloodwork, prevention, or otherwise) currently to tailor their future treatment plans to your budget, knowledge, fears, or whatever else has you debating - whether that’s for testing or treatment.

When it comes to treating mental health conditions, doctors are forced to essentially diagnose based on what their patients tell them, as well as the behaviors they observe in appointments. Blood tests will show abnormalities like elevated white blood cells, indicating an infection is somewhere in the body, but struggles with mental health can be much harder to diagnose and treat. It takes time, trial and error, and I think that has become lost on laypersons tuning in to this trial.

Clancy genuinely had everything she needed to get help if she’d truly wanted it, but it seems to me she just expected to have 3 kids and still have a certain amount of time alone to decompress or rest. She wanted alone time with her husband, too, time for them to really connect on a personal level again. She wanted so many things that were nearly impossible once she had several small children.

I also have to ask, while Lindsay is starring in her own mess, where was concern for Patrick’s mental health in all of this? Was he overwhelmed, too, but doing his best? Was he struggling to keep everyone happy and foot the bills while Lindsay did whatever she needed to get better? Who knows for sure? All we ever hear about is Lindsay, Lindsay, Lindsay.

I think Patrick knows deep down she wasn’t insane when she killed their children - suspiciously, while he went to both CVS for Cora’s Dulcolax and to get the dinner she had searched up, mapped out, and ordered - but I think he’d rather go his whole life not knowing or confirming it to be true. He essentially said as much in a 2024 interview with the New Yorker.

This mother of three, now 35 years old, wanted to ‘pour into herself’ each morning for an hour and a half, and get a solid 8 hours of sleep each night. Most mothers don’t ever get that, especially in the first several months after a new baby arrives, and she had multiple people willing to watch her children, including both sets of grandparents, a gym daycare, and Patrick himself.

What did she expect? Sunshine, rainbows, and perfect little children she never had to discipline or work through problems with? She spoke in her private writings about how difficult her second child, Dawson, was. He was a toddler, barely old enough to get around in the world without taking a tumble every few steps, giving him limited ability to run, but the spunk and go-getter attitude to do it anyway.

She chose to get pregnant 3 times. She even wrote about still wanting a fourth! She chose not to comply with her doctors’ suggestions and prescriptions. She chose to pick and choose the medications she took. She chose to tell specific people specific things and kept everyone around her at arms’ length so no one could see any imperfections in her parenting. She chose to get Patrick out of the house, and she chose to kill those kids, brutally and systematically, before attempting to kill herself.

There, I said it.

She chose to kill them. I wholeheartedly believe that she wrote a suicide note/manifesto blaming mental health and did not expect to live to face the consequences. I think she searched about treating a sociopath because she saw and felt something in herself that pulled her in that direction. She didn’t search for ways to ease anxiety while working away from kids, nor did she ask Google about getting back to nursing while mentally ill. No, she searched for “Can you treat a sociopath?”

I think that distinction is important.

Note: She did code twice, but they performed CPR to get her heart beating each time, successfully resuscitating her on both occasions. Lindsay asked for a DNR, but a doctor would not allow her to change her status while actively suicidal.

Thankfully for the prosecution, I believe Lindsay left several holes in her plot, including leaving these performative messages and broaching the topic of Andrea Yates to a coworker. It’s all just a little too ‘on the nose’ for me, and it’s all coming up roses for Lindsay - at least, in her mind. She is ‘hopeful for the future,’ now, after all.

So, What About Her Medical Care?

Was She Failed, Did She Fail Herself, or Both?

This case is setting a dangerous precedent for mental health going forward in a climate that already stigmatizes medication. Could things be better in health care? Oh, hell yes. I could go on forever about it. However, Lindsay’s doctors treated her, with the evidence they had, as she, I believe, manipulated them & purposely left out information.

I think the system itself needs work. I think health care in the United States, in general, needs a lot of work. As a very chronically ill person, I know more than most just how bad the system itself can be.

However, I want to be clear. Her doctors were doing their best to follow the standard of care in their practice. A patient who refuses to accept the possibility that she’s Bipolar, as well as one who has no problem taking Benzodiazepines, getting a Covid and flu shot, or even Benadryl every night with the risks associated, but is scared of a medication she had already responded well to in the past (Prozac), strikes me more as a patient who will hide information or manipulate to get what she wants than one who truly wants help.

Were they supposed to read her mind? Commit her? It would have been damned if they did, either way. That’s the reality of mental health care, as unfortunate as it may be. It tends to depend on an honest patient, & with mentally ill patients, oftentimes that is not the case.

So, maybe her doctors failed her in one big way - they failed to see her manipulation tactics, I think, because she was a competent labor and delivery nurse. I don’t think they were negligent or at fault for what happened to these kids.

I think what her doctors are probably guilty of is blindly trusting her word because she was a registered labor and delivery nurse who, in their minds, should have been an ideal patient when it comes to being honest about tracking symptoms, medications, etc. I think they trusted that her profession made her a good, honest, compliant patient, and it may have even been the opposite. Her profession could have given her tunnel vision, which didn’t help her, either. But at the end of the day, Lindsay is still responsible for Lindsay. She is responsible for alerting her doctors to her true thoughts and symptoms so she can receive the right kind of help.

I think it’s very possible that Lindsay was too obsessed with being perfect and keeping up appearances to let anyone know that she was resenting her children and rethinking their births. I think it’s also possible she didn’t have hallucinations or intrusive thoughts, but homicidal ones, instead, prompting her searches.

If she really wanted help, she would have had herself committed indefinitely, away from her children, for as long as necessary to get the right diagnoses and regimen of medications. If she really wanted help, she would have relented and allowed Patrick’s parents to watch the children so she could take a break. So what if she “was anxious” about them being there? She could have sent Patrick along. She could have had the whole house to herself to rest and recover. She even did, at times, yet the voices waited until the day she methodically planned for her husband to leave the home just long enough for him to come find the children and his wife gone?

She didn’t do any of that.

She wrote about her “dark thoughts” in her journals and phone notes, lamented about how miserable she was, pestered her doctors with needless medication changes without giving them time to work, picked and chose medications she was okay with, and those she was not, and she edited a note she titled like a manifesto -
Medication Stole My Motherhood and My Life - within 24 hours of the murders.

Where is the accountability? Where is the effort, the work, the actual will to make things better for herself?

She was coddled by everyone around her - even by the doctors, at times. She was able to use their personal cell numbers, and they were texting her, even on weekends. Patrick was taking the kids out for fun events without her, letting her relax when she needed. He even took Cora skiing. She had 2 daycares at her disposal, a nanny, a husband who started working from home to help, and 2 sets of grandparents offering to help, yet being refused.

There was no “everyone failed Lindsay.” Lindsay failed everyone else, and most of all, Cora, Callan, and Dawson.

So, What Did Lindsay, Herself, Say?

Lindsay maintains - since she hired a lawyer and has struck up a conflict of interest with a provider whom the plaintiff has seen multiple times since the murders - that she heard auditory hallucinations telling her it was her last chance to kill her kids and herself.

It sure is mighty convenient for her, isn’t it?

The damsel in distress is left alone to fend for herself and her children while the husband goes to pick up their meal. Immediately after Patrick left, Lindsay got to work, systematically strangling each of her tiny children to death.

Lindsay has nothing to say about why she hurt Dawson with more anger and intensity, nothing to say about why she didn’t stay in treatment, nothing to say about why she wasn’t truthful with her doctors, nothing to say at all, unless it’s about Lindsay.​

The family seems to cater to this woman’s whims, provide anything possible to aid her, then sprint to her rescue like it were the marathon Lindsay ran just a few weeks postpartum.

What I want to know is why she is punishing the very people who did anything she asked of them until it bit them in the ass. I want to know why, as a nurse, she feels compelled to sue and potentially ruin careers of women who accomplished becoming a doctor and get a fraction of the respect they deserve.

She knows all of this. She just doesn’t care because it’s not in Lindsay’s interest.

The ‘Secret’ Notes

As mentioned above, Lindsay was writing more than speaking. She was entering long notes into her phone storage, filing them away as if she knew she’d need them later.

She was titling these little notes like stories, almost like she wanted them to be read when she was no longer there to explain them to those she claimed to love. I’m not sure Lindsay has the capacity to love, to be quite blunt.

To be fully open to help, a patient has to take what their doctors tell them seriously, and work with them rather than against them. As a nurse, she’d have known every last bit of this. She’d also know precisely what to say if she really thought she needed commitment. She failed to protect her children because she didn’t want to. They were the problem to her.

The Other Side of The Coin

“But Why Did You Have To Bring Race Into It!?”

Hush. I’m getting there.

Coincidentally enough, there is actually a similar case that played out in the same courtroom, with the same exact judge Lindsay now faces. However, that case played out a lot differently, with a lot less attention. We all know why.

Latarsha Sanders is a mother with schizophrenia - unfortunately, diagnosed too late - who also killed her children. Her two sons, Edson “Marlon” Brito, 8, and La’son Brito, 5, were killed in what police have called a “ritualistic” practice, supposedly indicative of ‘VooDoo rituals.’ The judge - again, the same judge presiding over Lindsay’s case - refused to allow thousands of pages of evidence and documented bizarre behaviors exhibited by the defendant. She was sentenced to life imprisonment in 2022 - December 28th, 2022.

Lindsay murdered her children less than one month later.

Does Lindsay’s case sound so similar to you that they should be given the same fair treatment?

If so, there’s one detail I left out. Latarsha Sanders -

Is Black.

Now, does it sound so similar to you that it’s almost like a white woman is taking the real mental illness of a Black mother and whitewashing it to suit her own life?

Maybe that’s too big of a reach, but what if it’s not?

Lindsay could have pleaded guilty at any time to end this whole trial - BOOM. Just like that. She still can. This trial is happening solely because Lindsay refused to plead guilty. That’s it.

Why hasn’t she, if she “can’t do this anymore?”

Then don’t, Lindsay. Don’t do it anymore.

She could spare everyone the entire dramatic show she’s acting out with her lawyer. She could have spared her husband the trauma of listening to and seeing the worst day of his life replay for millions all over the world to see.

But she didn’t.

I think the truth about Lindsay may just be darker than anyone is willing to see. I think the truth about Lindsay, at her core, is that she has narcissistic tendencies - not to be confused with a diagnosis, but to illustrate she was very focused on herself and how her parenting looked or measured up to those around her. She struggled to tell the truth to her doctors, nurses, and family out of what appears to be shame. I think the truth is...

Some moms just kill their kids for selfish reasons-

-and I think Lindsay is one of them.

I think Lindsay wanted to die, but didn’t want to leave her 3 children with anyone else, even Patrick and his family. I think she was too prideful in her own little version of motherhood that she led everyone to believe was real, and maybe she couldn’t handle people getting close enough to realize her and the kids’ lives weren’t perfect, or allow another woman to be in their lives if she were gone. I have my suspicions that Lindsay was a control freak and couldn’t handle trusting anyone else to parent the kids, but wanted to complain about no one helping.

There are things I just cannot reconcile, like her heart rate surrounding the times of the murders, with her explanation of psychosis. She was cool as a cucumber once she ‘dealt with her problem.’ If she were experiencing some episode of psychosis, wouldn’t she be hyped up on adrenaline, something? But she was just...calm...while murdering them one at a time as soon as Patrick left.

Today’s witness was grilled by the Commonwealth for taking notes with direct quotes, yet somehow forgetting to mention those voices she claims Lindsay was hearing. I’m sick and tired of this woman parading around like this is a high school theater assignment. She stole the lives of her 3 innocent children because she couldn’t handle all her responsibilities anymore. Those kids were collateral damage to her, for the greater good of Lindsay.

Why I Feel Uniquely Close To This Case

And Admittedly, Therefore, Emotionally

What I am just now learning through this trial and my research is that I also exhibited OCD-type psychosis symptoms with postpartum depression after I had my daughter. She could have been me, or I she. But I think there’s a glaring difference. Lindsay did not want to be well, at least not enough to do what was actually best for her children - step away from keeping up with the Joneses and commit to actual help long enough to see improvement. She wanted people to think she just wanted to be well. I personally believe Lindsay had a vision of what motherhood would be like for her, and was frustrated when she didn’t get it; that it was harder than she expected.

To that, I say: tough shit for Lindsay. She worked in labor and delivery. She had to know more about these conditions than she was letting on, and would have to know true postpartum psychosis would be quite rare.

My time postpartum with my daughter is part of why I didn’t have more children. I didn’t think it would be fair to that child to possibly subject them to having the illnesses I now am diagnosed with, and my daughter was born with Autism and ADHD, as well as likely POTS & hEDS inherited from me. I feel awful enough having unknowingly subjected her to any of it at all.

In The End...

No mother who is remorseful about murdering her children would use the same color exercise band as one she used on her kids weeks after. No mother who is remorseful laments about the possibility of never walking again the first chance she got to speak.

I am absolutely disgusted by the rabid support given to a wealthy white woman so quickly and viciously, without anyone ever observing what Lindsay herself was saying. This last witness was not even saying anything new. That information was already out there, but no one bothered to look for it, likely because there were over 800 pages of documents. I personally just wanted to know the truth, so I kept digging into the court filings rather than taking someone’s word at face value.

TikTok, and social media, in general, have become a vessel for mis- and dis-information galore, where no one is forced to fact check and anyone can say and post just about whatever the hell they want, as long as they add a little disclaimer. This has hurt so many families of victims, including those in the Clancy case, and it’s going to push someone over the edge one day. It’s going to break someone mentally to suicide, and it will be the fault of Instamoms and influencer-wannabes who essentially profit from murder.

If you truly want to support women with postpartum mental illnesses, support Latarsha Sanders, and please, check your privilege & whiteness for a second to understand that you fell for a white woman’s tears while a mentally ill Black woman was sentenced just 1 month earlier in the same exact court with the same exact judge.

Lindsay is just a female Chris Watts, and those white woman tears are getting her everything she wants.

Please support Latarsha Sanders. She truly needs to be in a psychiatric ward, not just thrown into prison.

As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. I know it’s a bit different from my norm, but this case has taken over everything lately, and I really needed to get my thoughts out. Again, I will not tolerate your beratement, harassment, or snarky-ass comments.

💜Cammy

Everything I touch turns into a hindrance, something my body wholeheartedly rejects while my actual heart sits beating in the background, desperate for the healing of first, losing dance, then veterinary medicine in the same way - ill. ​

Having dream after dream rip at the seams brings a level of intense grief, a longing for what was your outlet, your goal in life, wishing with everything in you that things could be different.

We like to talk about mental health as a monolith, a cohesive 'big bad' we have formed strategies to combat. Medications, therapy - pick your poison, or more than one; they're always the first line of attack. But what about when your body is just as ill as your mind, if not moreso?

Yeah, that's where people tend to get silent. Their eyes glaze over, their smile drops, and they can only manage to spout a few words of comfort - 'I hope you get better soon.' But the truth is, we won't. We typically just continue to worsen until eventually, we get that infinite relief no doctor can provide.

Moreover, we are systemically ignored and belittled, unbelieved and mistreated. We are called drug-seekers and addicts, accused of faking for attention. I would love to know what my reasoning would be for having devastating career losses that were completely out of my own hands, but I digress. We are dying, slowly tortured to death by our bodies, ​and frankly, I'm tired of pretending I'm okay. I'm not okay.

Again, I couldn't resist. It would be a crime not to reference one of MCR's most iconic lyrics.

A Day In The Life

Life as a chronically ill person is honestly dreadfully boring, not to mention lonely as fuck. I don't even have family other than my husband and daughter to rely on for any kind of emotional support, because they've historically been the ones causing my trauma. Yet, people think I must really enjoy 'getting to stay home all the time.'

There is no 'getting' here. There is only 'having.' We have to stay home all the time. We don't have the choice to work like an able-bodied person, the choice to get up each day at our full capacity, ready to tackle the world. We just don't.

Personally, it now takes all my strength just to get up and go to the goddamn bathroom when, just 1 year ago, I was monitoring veterinary surgeries as a career, moving into the work I always wanted to do - the work I am meant to do. I have a bond with animals unlike most others, and it's a beautiful gift that I cherish. I cherished my work in surgery, too. Alas, my body gave it up for me, and a wave of sadness overwhelmed me again, just like when my body stopped dancing.

On top of the pain of losing my life's work, I have doctors at every corner, giving me the runaround and refusing to treat with anything but low-dose narcotics and NSAIDS my body metabolizes much faster than most. My pain doctor even noted how rare it is for him to see someone so lucid so long after pushing Propofol, but that's still not enough for him to realize my body isn't responding to the regimen I'm on.

The way doctors, the media, and the government have treated pain medication has become so restrictive that it's not even being used when it drastically improves quality of life. I'm going to be brutally fucking honest right now, which​ may make you uncomfortable, mad, or both. I don't care.

I would rather die of an overdose than continue living with excruciating pain no one pays any attention to. At least I would die having had my goddamn pain controlled until the end. Doctors like to cite the addiction risk, but that's not how legitimate chronic pain patients tend to work. I mean, we sit and wait for a doctor to help us when, realistically, we could be taking our chances on street drugs since we are such 'drug-seeking attention whores.'

So, why don't we do just that? Well, because we don't want them. We aren't addicts, and certainly don't want to get something spiked with Fentanyl. We just want our pain controlled. There is a vast world of difference between depending on a medication and being addicted, and doctors rarely ever make that clarification unless confronted with it.

So, we force ourselves to get through each day, one at a time, miserable and unable to be present for the lives we used to have - the ones when our illnesses were in control or maybe​ just less severe. Regardless, it is literally torture making someone spend their life in pain that's off the scales, day after day, because they might overdose. Well, I won't overdose, thanks to doctors, but my career is over and I'm in a wheelchair at 35. I guess that's an acceptable life for me, according to them. It's not an acceptable life at all. It's miserable.

So, Where Does That Leave Me?

I spend my days writing when I'm not suffering from intense brain fog, reading, playing video games, and sleeping. The time left between is appointments and medical tests. That's my life.​ That's me 'getting' to stay home all day every day.

But it's not enjoyable. I am in severe debilitating pain day in and day out, 24/7, 365 days a year, unless I'm in a pool, just floating around - but even that leaves me with full-body rashes and other symptoms due to the sun simply existing and having the audacity to shine.

I wish I could stroll along a boardwalk, dance, perform veterinary medicine, and be the person I busted my ass to become. But I can't. Not anymore.

I have no income, no savings, and no remedial action. ​​I simply exist in my own little world, not the real one. Not the fun one.

And I wish it could be different. I wish I could trust my own body to perform tasks I've asked it to, but I can't.

And it's brutally painful, physically and emotionally.

And I'm so tired of fighting.

But I have to continue. I can't leave my family like that.

So I'll stay in my little world, hoping for a miracle that will almost certainly never come.

The Medical Field Needs A Revamp

If universities taught medical students more about chronic and invisible illnesses, doctors would be more equipped to deal with these conditions when they are presented.

Doctors are lacking compassion, empathy, and care across the board. Women and POC, especially, are left with abysmal care and incessant gaslighting from the very people who take an oath to do no harm.

Simply doing nothing is harmful.

I honestly don't know what or how to change it, but there are so many things that could be implemented to give better care, and it starts with patients speaking up, talking about experiences with medical professionals, and refusing to stop fighting for better care for all.

Because we all deserve better.

GOOD.

That means you’re learning something.

Why Wishing Us Well Is Actually A Problem

You’re probably sitting, staring at the screen, dumbfounded by how being kind could ever be a problem. Trust me, I get it. It sounds ludicrous, but hear me out here for just a second.

Every time you tell a chronically ill person you hope they “get better soon,” we are reminded yet again of our disability and its permanence. Chronic illnesses don’t “get better,” they typically just gradually get worse over the course of our lives.

Here’s the thing. You only see us in specific settings, while we are masking, trying to hold everything together so no one else gets uncomfortable around us. We are constantly accommodating everyone else when they should be accommodating us.

What you don’t see is the hundreds of doctors’ visits, constant blood tests, imaging, check-ups, the never-ending new diagnoses - the list is long. You don’t see the million different prescriptions, refilled like clockwork, so we don’t crash out. You don’t see the struggle to get adequate pain relief in a country that views suffering as a badge of honor. Whoever suffers most ‘wins.’ We are not okay. Trust me.

We know the ins and outs of our illnesses, the things we can and cannot do in life, the dreams we were forced to wake from, and haunting echoes of the life we expected but were on the wrong timeline. I often think of what I would be doing in a parallel universe. Am I out there somewhere, dancing professionally, starring in music videos, going on world tours? Am I a veterinarian, an advocate, a mentor?

In this universe, I’m just tired. Is there a universe I can get a free trial of, or something? One in which my life is essentially the same, but I actually have my career back, no car accident, no chronic illnesses. I would be unstoppable in the animal field if I had a body that was supportive instead of constantly tearing itself down - literally attacking itself for no good reason at all.

Photo by engin akyurt / Unsplash

What You Should Say, Instead

There are so many ways in which you can choose to respond. Instead of offering a ‘feel better soon,’ leave that phrase at home. Bring along your empathy and your helping hands, let us proceed at our own pace, and offer assistance if you see us struggle - we won’t tell you we need help, so just step in. I promise, help is always appreciated. We just aren’t used to getting any, so we’ve stopped asking for it.

See, people talk all the time about bringing awareness to chronic illness, breaking the stigma, & showing the world the faces behind the diagnoses, but they rarely ever walk that walk, unless they’re walking something back. Follow-through is rare, because it turns out no one actually wants to hear ‘your story’ if it’s a tragedy. Those are no fun. They want laugh-out-loud comedy, a whirlwind romance, a happy ending. They feel every story has one, that they deserve to hear them, entitled to them for some reason.

Maybe it’s the fault of fiction, or maybe it’s simply the human urge to look away when something makes us uncomfortable rather than confronting hard questions and realities head on. People don’t want to hear them. I think some of it is fear - if they acknowledge never-ending pain and eternal illness exist, then they’d have to admit it could happen to them, too. Fear is a very compelling force for people, especially of the unknown.

Regardless of how uncomfortable my story might make someone feel, I cannot bear responsibility for that burden. Sitting in discomfort signals learning important - hard, but important - lessons that change the fiber of our minds, showing us a better way to approach conflicts later. ​

So, the next time you’re around your chronically ill friends, family members, co-workers, simply tell them you’re there for them if they need you. Tell them you have their back through everything, no matter how difficult it may be to bear witness to the reality they live in.

So, How Can You Accommodate Us?

Start with asking how we are feeling using words like, “Is today a good day or a bad day?” or a fun little “Hey, where are you on the scale from Shit to Shittiest today?” Joking around is welcomed by some, myself included. The way to my heart is with a dark joke. Results may vary for that, though, so tread lightly.

Another thing you can do is simply ask how we are feeling at the moment and if there is anything you could do that may help. If we are in a work setting, and it’s possible to turn lights off, that’s something that could be helpful. Maybe a dark, quiet room to sit in when we just need a breather every once in a while throughout the day.

For those of us who aren’t holding down a full time job right now, checking in on us is always appreciated. It always makes my whole week for someone to text me just to ask how I’m doing. I will always return the sentiment, of course, but it’s nice to have someone go out of their way to check up on me. My own family, outside of my husband and daughter, doesn’t do that.

One more thing you can do? Stand up for us if you see or hear something. We are quite accustomed to sussing people out, finding those who seek to discredit our ability at every corner because we are ill, but we can always use someone behind the scenes looking out for us.

Key Takeaways:

1. Chronic illness means FOREVER.

2. No more “Get better soon.”

3. More “Is there anything I can do?” (There typically isn’t, but you asking is greatly appreciated.)

4. More asking us if we want to hang out at home. We do. We absolutely could use some company.

5. More asking us to Netflix and chill, and I mean actually watch Netflix and chill. Give us a good recommendation and then binge it with us!

6. Just be supportive and considerate of our disabilities. Have our backs, and we’ll have yours. We’re probably some of the most loyal people you’ll ever meet.

Thank you so much for reading! If you made it this far, leave me a comment down below! Tell me your experiences with people constantly telling you to ‘get better’ despite the numerous times you’ve explained that’s not how it works.

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What Happened In Moscow, Idaho?

If you’re like me as well as millions of others, you’ve been enraptured by the horrific quadruple murder in Moscow, Idaho, since it occurred in the wee morning hours of November 13, 2022. The news stations were quick to identify the victims - Maddie Mogen, Kaylee Goncalves, Xana Kernodle, and Ethan Chapin - as four young students at U of I living in the house together, 3 women and 1 man. I still remember the sinking feeling I got immediately upon reading the headlines, and then I saw the photo - those who have followed along will know the one - of blood dripping through the wall to the outside concrete foundation of the home.

An argument broke out amongst the populace, debating whether it was blood or simply rust from old plumbing - but I think most of us knew immediately there was nothing else it could be; rust doesn’t typically coagulate like blood, nor is it often seen dripping and creating run-off in the way these photos showed. It was very clear by that early afternoon that something unspeakable, incomprehensible, had happened that morning in that oddly arranged house. What we didn’t know was who was responsible, whether they were still a threat, or even if these kids and their families would ever see justice.

I think many of us that day were sure it had to be someone connected to the individuals in the 1122 King Road house, because this crime seemed incredibly personal - stabbing is often referred to as an intimate crime, preferred by those with a tremendous amount of rage they want to take out on their victim(s). Immediately, though, one family stood apart from the other three - Kaylee’s, the Goncalves family. Steve Goncalves, Kaylee’s father, stepped out in front of the case as soon as it began accumulating attention, to try to get ahead of rumors and initiate a call for action when it came to finding whoever killed his beautiful - and by all accounts, kind, caring, welcoming - daughter.

So, who would want to kill these kids, and why?

To read the rest of this article, click here!

Story time. Buckle up, buttercups, it’s gonna be an anger-inducing ride if you’re also someone who suffers from excrutiatingly painful chronic illnesses.

I have been very vocal and honest about my 2025 car accident and what it’s done to my life, career, and body. What I haven’t been as vocal about is the fact that my husband and I tried a social experiment with doctors over the time I’ve been fighting to be heard and taken seriously.

The Kind of Care I Receive From Doctors

A few months after my accident, I was still having immensely painful days that I could not make it through without relief. There was simply no way. It was miserable and completely intolerable, so I begrudgingly went to the ER, knowing what was likely to happen. When I got there, my husband helped me in by holding me up so I wasn’t putting much weight on my feet until we got to a wheelchair.

The nurse came in and asked what was going on, and he had the doctor with him. I was shaking uncontrollably and bawling - I couldn’t get much out in the way of words because it hurt so badly. He offered me 1 Norco after telling him I had already taken some, and it did nothing. I complied, and waited until they came back 15 to 20 minutes later asking how I felt. I said I felt no differently, so the nurse asked me what typically works. I hadn’t been on narcotics in years before my accident, so I struggled to tell him, “It honestly depends - I don’t really know what might work.”

The nurse told that to the doctor, and he then offered me “something to calm down.” I was perfectly calm, just painful. I didn’t need a fucking anxiety medication, for god’s sake. I knew, then, that I wasn’t going to be receiving any care. The doctor refused to even come in the room, glued to his fucking Cowboys game so he could watch them lose for the umpteenth time - so important.

As my husband was trying to help me get out of bed and to the car, the doctor looked me straight in the face and ignored me when I said “thanks for nothing.” My husband had to hold me back from walloping his ass as he walked past, because I was so angry. Just another misogynist who thinks women are hysterical and everything they experience is anxiety. I am so sick to death of it.

So, we decided to have my husband go to the ER for 1 disc herniation. ONE. Mind you, my spine is herniated at all levels, including every single cervical disc. I also have multitudes of other issues, and it was blatantly clear I was in pain. I rarely ever even cry when I hurt because I’m so used to it. I was bawling.

The Kind of Care My Husband Receives From Doctors

He walks into the ER with a fake limp, is in there for maybe 15 to 30 minutes, and walks out with a script for Hydrocodone, the very same opiate I struggle to even get prescribed by my pain doctor every month. Tell me how that makes sense. Tell me how any of that is fair treatment. It’s not. And tell me why his story is one paragraph, and mine is 4 times the length.

It’s very simple.

Women are not treated equally by doctors, and I’m sick of it. We have to start speaking out more, louder. We have to start letting people know, far and wide, how doctors are treating chronically ill women, especially. And BIPOC individuals experience even more discrimination than non-BIPOC people do. This has to stop.

Say it with me.

Pain control is suicide prevention.

Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate you being here. 💜

I live a good bit of my life in bed, with my dogs. There are so many days I can’t bring myself to do much, other than scroll the internet and watch trash TV. Sitting up hurts, regardless of back support. It’s excruciating just to sit on the couch.

My hips are displaced, but apparently ‘not displaced enough’ for anyone to acknowledge how incredibly painful it is having my bones misaligned, rubbing into each other. I just want to know what doctors find to be an acceptable amount of pain, and what the threshold is for them to do something about it?

I have tried everything under the sun; you name it, I’ve tried it, grasping at anything that may improve my life, even iust a little. I tried exercise, physical therapy, I lost a ton of weight, I went to therapy, I tried yoga, pilates, cardio. All of it is too painful after my car accident and I sadly can’t do them much anymore. I actually really miss working out. It’s something I have always enjoyed.

But of course, for doctors, it’s all due to anxiety, my weight, my posture - ​​everything but the actual issue. Getting doctors to take me seriously as a petite woman is like trying to climb a wall with absolutely nothing to hold onto. It’s pointless. I find myself dreading every new doctor I have to see, because it’s always the same old song and dance.

I want my life back. I want the version of me who was excited to get up each day just to go to work. I wanted to work? And now I’m so burnt out from running myself ragged then suddenly being halted that I don’t even know how I was getting up and going to work 4 days out of the week, 12 hour shifts plus one weekend a month seems impossible now, mentally, not just physically.

Unfortunately, I think that version of me died on February 7, 2025, when an off-duty cop careened into my vehicle as I was at a full stop, going at least 50 mph. I’m so surprised there wasn’t more damage on the Nissan, but that bitch is a baddie, and she did a great job of protecting me from even more harm, so I’m incredibly grateful. And let me just say - the Wagoneer I was driving as a rental while she got fixed? Awful. I’m so sorry. It was absolutely horrible and I hated it with every fiber of my being, even being several tens of thousands more expensive than my Pathfinder. 😬 Do not recommend, personally, not that you asked.

Being home has made me realize just how much I missed my family. I missed my daughter, my husband, my baby dogs. They’re all so incredibly important to me, and I’m so lucky to be able to call them all mine. I knew I was working a lot, which made me exhausted by the weekend, but I didn’t realize just how much time I’d lost with them. But I still miss vet med. I’d probably go back, if I could - with a less demanding schedule.

I don’t think I could kick it anymore with a four day, 12 hour shift schedule every single week. My body and mind have completely readjusted to having an infinite amount of family time, my body is worn and tired, and it would be very difficult to give it up again. But I could use the money. I can’t even make my car payment now, and I don’t really know what we are going to do. It’s our only vehicle.

My days are now relegated to my bed for much of the day because sitting hurts, standing hurts - even lying down hurts, but it’s significantly less. I feel like I’m trapped, doomed back to my bed like I was before I got well enough to work. I promised myself I wouldn’t let myself get there again. So much for keeping that pact.

But I can’t let it get me down. I can’t let it make me give up on life, on trying to find a way to bring in income while staying at home, writing in bed where I’m safe and comfortable, and I can be alone with my dogs and the word swirling through my mind, begging to be let out. I have to keep going for not only my family, but for myself.

I owe it to myself to keep living, and keep fighting through the pain.

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My parents were top fans of corporal punishment, doling out spankings, whoopings, like they were going out of style, daily, and for every little thing. My tone was wrong. Spanking. My words were rude. Spanking. I was too direct. Spanking. I cried too long. Spanking. I got upset over something they decided I shouldn’t be upset by. Spanking. It didn’t really matter. Always spanking. Spanking. Spanking.

My poor butt was worn raw from the amount of whoopings I received each week, and I couldn’t figure out what I was doing that was so inherently wrong. I never got much of an explanation for a spanking, just anger. Anger has always been my parents’ love language. I thought if I chose to have kids, I’d raise them differently.

When I got pregnant with my daughter at 17, it certainly wasn’t planned. However, I quickly started to get really excited about having a little one. My husband is, and always has been, an amazing partner and father, so I knew I wouldn’t have to worry about him ditching me halfway through the pregnancy.

When our daughter was born, we unfortunately followed my parents’ lead. We did spank for a while when she was a child, and I’ve regretted it every day of my life. She was never spanked anywhere near as hard as my parents did me, but it was hard enough for it to hurt her, and no hitting is ever okay, no matter how “soft.” By the time she was around 6, we had ditched spanking entirely, realizing how damaging it can actually be for the child after reading a published study.

I immediately stopped spanking that same day, and encouraged my sister to stop spanking her children, but they are still spanking her at 17 years old. It’s fucking weird, and it’s disturbing, and it’s wrong. Kids don’t need spankings, they need direction and guidance. They need help understanding when they do something wrong, and why it’s not okay for them to do it. They don’t need to be smacked into submission. You aren’t actually teaching your child anything other than he or she should fear you - and they will fear you.

It finally dawned on me that I was psychologically damaged, but I was too involved, too close to my parents for me to really see it. I have a lot of trauma from all of those whoopings. They escalated far past just spankings, into slaps and throwing me across the floor. I could never do that to my daughter. She is 16, nearly 17, and I have such a strong bond with her because I stopped spanking and started actually parenting.

The problem with kids today isn’t that they need a spanking. They need attention. They need involvement, they need compassion, love, restraint, patience…I could go on. Parents don’t want to do the hard parts anymore, they just want a quick fix and for their child to leave them alone. That’s not conducive to raising a functional human being capable of contributing to society in any meaningful way.

I chose to tell my daughter that she could come to me with anything, and actually meant it. She can come to me with the most heinous shit I’ve ever heard, and yeah, I’m gonna turn her ass in, but I’m also going to listen and hear her out with empathy for what she’s feeling. That’s what kids need. They need to be listened to, heard, and understood. They need someone they can come to on their absolute worst day and know their parent is going to pick up their mood when they get home.

Don’t be your kid’s friend. Be their confidant. Be their safe space. Be the person they can come to with absolutely anything, knowing that you will always have their back. I can be my daughter’s friend when she’s an adult and no longer needs my daily guidance for every little thing she does. I look forward to having that relationship, but for now, I am SO good with where we are right now.

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“Agghhhhhhh” my mother screeched in pain, trying to hold it together enough to make it to the hospital for delivery. A little head falls right into the vaginal canal, ready to burst out at any moment. The cloth seats sink in terror, knowing full well what’s about to happen to their brand-new, squeaky-clean upholstery. “Faster, *Dan! She’s about to come out on her own! I’m not gonna make it!” Dad screams from the front, “I’m going as fast as I can, Brenda! Calm down and stop yelling at me, for Christ’s sake.” Even in utero, I was impatient, never wanting to miss a thing.

My mother had just been to the hospital earlier that day, telling them she was in labor. However, she was dismissed and told that it was just Braxton Hicks. Well, she hopped into a warm shower not long after she’d gotten back home, and pop! Her water broke right then and there. Well, so much for her cramps just being Braxton Hicks - she was in active labor and quickly running out of time to get back to that hospital for her doctor, a good 20 to 30 minutes away.

Surprise! I didn’t wait. I came shooting out like a slip-n’-slide covered with soap right in the parking lot of the wrong hospital. I was promptly whisked away from mom, just so they could make sure I wasn’t contaminated from the environment I arrived in. That birth set the stage for the rest of my life - I was different; a problem child. To add insult to injury, I was also an infant who was difficult to console. It’s likely I had colic and acid reflux, but that wasn’t as well-known or understood like it is today.

I also found out within the past couple of years that I have both ADHD and Autism, which would have been wonderful to have known before age 34. It also would have explained a lot, including my family’s incessant need to misunderstand me in every way physically possible. My mom got frustrated with me a lot as a small child and constantly overcorrected in response. Same with dad - he has always been much more violent, and much less likely to give a shit when he hurt me.

Nevertheless, I was attached at my mother’s hip. I didn’t want to go anywhere, be anywhere, do anything - without her. I would bawl when she left me with my sister, panicking about whether mom would make it home safely or I’d be one parent down, and then it’d just be dad...Oh, god, was that thought terrifying. He never tried to understand me, and he never will. He doesn’t care enough to. He has his golden daughter and her children, and that’s all he needs.

I thought my relationship with my mom was different. Was she abusive, too? Absolutely. Was she - seemingly - more willing to hear me out, understand where I was coming from? Also yes. At least, I thought. My mom and I have had some really great times together, with some really amazing bonding experiences that I will always be grateful for. We had girls’ nights, days when I’d give her a manicure, play with her hair, do her makeup, watch a movie...whatever we decided didn’t really matter. I was just happy to spend time with her.

As much as I love my mom, she’s also always been very negative about anything I do, with the exception, maybe, of my veterinary medicine career. I think everything else I had done was ‘just a job’ to her, not exactly ‘successful.’ I think I finally made my parents proud for once with my vet med career. That all changed when I got in my car accident. Then, instead of being supportive, she became negative all over again.

In the time that I’ve been out of work, relegated to weekend duties once a month, when able, I’ve done a lot of soul-searching and reevaluating my life. I’ve had no choice but to do so, because my body likely won’t be able to handle being a vet tech ever again. I’ve also come to be able to tell my mom a lot of the things I had been terrified to say - I’m not religious, being one of them. That didn’t go over well, and she started telling people, including my niece, that my daughter is going to go to hell. Who does that? To a teenager, no less?

It was my mother being taken to the hospital without my knowledge, her nearly dying without my knowledge, and then her not standing up for me after the fact when I was hurt, having been left out of the loop for nearly TWO days. First, she understood why I was mad and agreed with me, then all of a sudden, she swapped her opinion on me. Dad made me out to be the bad guy, told me I was going to end up sad and alone, all because I sent him a text that simply told him not to “ever fucking leave me out like that again.”

This man cusses like a sailor, but decided me using the f word in that moment was just so disrespectful - nevermind him and my sister leaving me out of the loop entirely. Apparently, that’s not disrespectful. He just wanted to be a goddamn victim, as usual, instead of taking accountability for anything ever. All I wanted was an apology. That’s it. He could admit he was wrong to my mother, but not me. Still not a word to me, other than a text saying Happy Birthday on June 18th. No “I’m sorry I left you out. I’m sorry I brought your daughter into this by guilting her. I’m sorry I didn’t apologize because I’m too narcissistic to admit when I’m wrong.”

No, that’ll never happen. Instead, he brought mom to his side, maybe even using her hemiplegic migraines and their effect on her brain - they are like mini strokes every time, according to her doctor - to manipulate her. Either that, or my mom has never been who I thought she was, and she has never been my friend at all - never even loved me. She sealed the deal on our relationship recently by trying to accuse my husband of trying to murder me, as payback for me being honest about how I felt about the abuse both as a child and an adult.

That man would never harm a hair on my head. He’s not got a violent or murderous bone in his body. She just wanted to sow doubt in my mind about my marriage, the one thing I have always been sure of, and the one thing that has made me the happiest and given me the most wonderful daughter. Lucky for me, I know my husband and what he’s capable of. He isn’t capable of trying to kill me by putting pills in my frozen Slurpee. I was overmedicated and having major psychological reactions at the time, and my husband actually took that cup away from me. He had told me about it...a couple of years ago, maybe?

I likely either put them in there because of the medication or I accidentally dropped them in there...or I was trying to off myself. I was incredibly depressed, looking for answers and diagnoses but getting none. If she had truly been my best friend, she would have notified my husband of what was happening when he was at work so that he could step in and get me help. Instead, she let me essentially put my daughter in danger so that she could have my daughter to herself. I’m not a fucking idiot. I know damn well she thinks I fucked up raising her because she’s not religious, she’s gay - and no, mom, that’s not a phase - and she’s me made over. Not sure what she expected...

In the process of her and dad’s bullshit, they’ve managed to do nothing but push my daughter away. Texting her about how awful I am, how I just hate them, and I just lie about how they’ve treated me is not the way to win her over, considering I make myself an actual parent who makes myself approachable with absolutely anything. I may have been told I could tell my parents anything, but all that got me was getting called a whore.

I actually provide a safe space for my daughter, and I will provide friendship when appropriate - when she’s an adult and doesn’t need her mom as much anymore. I have given her the space to be herself without shaming her for it, because there’s nothing for her to be ashamed of - there was nothing for me to be ashamed of, either. There still isn’t, and I refuse to be backed into a corner and made to feel guilty for spending the short period of time I’m given on this earth to live the way I want to, not the way I’m told to.

A true best friend would have always been supportive and gentle, even when telling me I’m wrong. A true best friend would have never tried to make me turn my back on the partner she spent decades raving about. A true best friend wouldn’t tell people I’m going to hell behind my back - same for my daughter. A true best friend wouldn’t still be making me the black sheep of the family at the ripe old age of 35. Thanks for ruining my birthday, by the way, if you’re reading this. Doubt you are, because none of you even read the article I asked you to. What a surprise.

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“How selfish, so self-centered,” they say.

But, is it really?

Let’s get really, truly, brutally honest. I have quite literally never met a single suicidal soul who wasn’t considering their loved ones in the moments before an attempt. I’ve never met a soul who wasn’t suicidal, in part, because of how much of a burden they have felt they are to their family.

That’s the main crux of it for a lot of people, actually. It’s the deep sorrow of thinking everyone around you would be better off without you. Depression clouds judgment, making the irrational seem rational. But the decision to leave this world is not inherently selfish. It’s misguided; it’s thinking no matter how much your family loves you, you’re holding them back.

No one wants to go through life feeling like they are the reason family didn’t get to fo or see things, have experiences, money, things, if they weren’t having to pay for all our doctor bills.​ We are in an insane amount of medical debt because of all the hospital visits, scans, tests, appointments, surgeries, medications, the list goes on. I wouldn’t be surprised if my medical debt topped a million dollars. It wouldn’t be a shock at all. The shock would actually be if it were lower.

The thing about being called a warrior all the time is that I simply don’t want to be. I would much rather be a softie who doesn’t experience much pain. I would rather be dancing again, rather than having to give that up. I’d rather be working in veterinary surgeries again, rather than also having to give that up. Every dream I make come true, I lose because my body betrays me. It not only affects me, it’s also affecting my family because I now have no income, save for my one paid subscriber whom I appreciate so much, and I don’t know if that will change any time soon, or at all.

I just want to be a normal person, and I don’t think I have ever been that. I’m Autistic, I have ADHD, OCD, GAD, and a multitude of painful chronic illnesses, and I feel ignored and invisible to doctors. I feel like they all look right through me, and don’t even see my humanity. They just see me as a number, another appointment, another steroid injection candidate to further line their pockets. If I can’t be normal, I’d love to have doctors who seem to give a shit. I have one. He’s a rare breed who has saved my life and the lives of family members multiple times. He was the only one to listen to me when I said I was in horrific amounts of pain.

The pain wraps around me day in and day out like a boa constrictor, squeezing the life out of me slowly, but surely. It’s unbearable, but I must bear it - I have to, because it’s the life I’ve been given. As much as I don’t want to be a warrior, I am because I have no other choice. I’d get nowhere walking around crying out in pain 24/7. They would probably throw me into a mental hospital rather than do anything for my pain. Women are just emotional, after all.

I genuinely just want to live a life with less pain. I know it will never be completely gone, but I also know it can be managed. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for chronic pain patients to get pain relief that is actually sufficient, regardless of any chance of addiction.

People in pain need analgesics. Would you rather give us pain relief that we aren’t even likely to be addicted to as implied, or have us commit suicide because we literally cannot take the pain anymore? I personally would rather take my chances with the medication, but what do I know? It’s just my life.

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I was Autistic with ADHD, OCD and a host of other mental and physical ailments neither of you seemed to believe I had, even after diagnosis; or if I had it, it wasn't that bad, or that big of a deal...but it was. No one in the family ever took the time to understand me at all, nor has anyone acknowledged the hard fucking work I've done unpacking the trauma of growing up in your home and vowing never to perpetuate that kind of harm on my daughter.

You both seem to have the misconception that you can turn my own family against me; the family I have built and nourished, despite your bad examples. I chose to structure my family differently for a very good reason: I refused to continue the cycle of abuse. On this side, that shit ends with me, & you can never take that accomplishment away from me.

My daughter is very much like me, except she is me, fully unmasked, unapologetic, & 10000% more confident in her convictions than even I was toward you two and you think she's going to put up with the horrible things you say to and about her mother? You know, the one who accepts her fully for who she is, rather than hoping and praying in the back of my mind that her being gay is 'just a phase?'

Well, she comes by it honestly, because I am pansexual, I just never told you. You seem to think I have been some bad influence on her, 'poisoning her mind' when it comes to the two of you. If anything, she's the bad influence on me, because she showed me the strength to not only come out to this family, but also, I don't have to continue following your religion, and I don't want to. I never have. I TRIED to believe in God and the Bible, but I'm sorry. It, and many of its believers, just come off like a lot of mysogy​nistic, 'Rules for thee, not for me' bullshit to me, and I no longer have time for it. Life is short, and I want to spend it doing life my way.

All that should really matter for either of you is that I am safe, happy, and loved. I learned that was never going to be the case as soon as you tried to tell me my own husband, the only one who has ever loved me for me, attempted to murder me by putting pills in my drink 12 years ago. No, mom. I was incredibly suicidal, overprescribed multiple meds - including Topamax, which made my memory shit - and I was in and out of it.

I don't remember much of that time before I went to the hospital and got my medications properly prescribed. I do know that my husband doesn't have a murderous bone in his body, and that I probably put those pills in my own drink - which he took from me, mind you. He has never even yelled at me. Never. The man even drove you to your hair appointment while you trash talked me and told him I'm not Autistic, I'm 'just bipolar.' A. Stop villainizing people who DO have bipolar disorder and B. Stop telling people you know better than the PSYCHIATRISTS who diagnosed me.

Honestly, mom, all you did was make me think you tried to kill me. I think you resented me. Maybe it was because I got pregnant in high school. I don't know. It's not like I set out to plan a baby at 17. Or maybe it was because I had a psychological reaction to medication over 12 years ago that made me hallucinate and have other issues that you never mentioned to my husband so he could step in and help.

It would have given you an opportunity to step in and take over to 'parent her right.' Well, at least, that's probably what you think would happen, but at this point, he's unwilling to set foot in the same rooms with you. He's disgusted by the levels you've stooped to, as am I. And he would never have let you parent her. He already knew and was on board with you not watching her at all if you weren't going to abide by our no spanking rule, amongst other rules, anyway.

In your quest to see her more, you have done nothing but push my daughter away from not me, but you. When my own father is telling her I'm a liar about the abuse he inflicted on me, she's not going to just take his side. She has seen me SOBBING on the floor throughout this entire ordeal, all because neither of you can be adults and take accountability for doing some really fucked up shit when I was a kid, and you have continued to do it to me as a grown adult.

That's another thing. I am a grown adult. I do not need your permission for jack shit. I also don't need you infantilizing me or my husband because, again, we are GROWNASS ADULTS. 35. Thirty fucking five. Not 5. I can make my own decisions, my own choices, my own way of life, and all you should have to say is how happy you are for me that I have such an amazing husband and daughter.

I guess that's just too hard. Honestly, this is probably still on me for having any faith in the two of you to do the right thing in the first place. Mom, you sat and ​watched as my father beat the shit out of me multiple times. You watched him pick me up and toss me to the floor, and then conveniently 'forgot.' Yeah, of course you did, because then you'd have to admit you were a fucking accomplice.

You protect dad at all costs, and it's sad. He treats you like gum on the bottom of his shoe, and yet, you still flock to him. You still act like he's not an adult capable of washing his own clothes, for gods sake. That's not a husband, it's a manchild, and you are his mother.

Dad, you need to learn how to take accountability. You really, really do. If you could just admit when you're wrong and apologize to me, not just admit it to my mother, I wouldn't have to go no contact. You're abusive, abrasive, and you need a fucking reality check. You should be caring for mom, not the other way around. You are able bodied while she is absolutely not. You should be doting on her because she fucking doted on your lazy ass for decades.

I'm so tired of the narrative that I have to respect you because you provided for the family. No, the hell I don't. You never respected me, so why should I respect you? You go behind my back and talk shit about me, even in texts to my daughter, and you expect me to be okay with that? You expect me to just deal with it and keep subjecting myself to your inability to accept responsibility when you hurt people.

I don't know why I thought I was exempt from your shit-talking, mom, but I did, until you did it to my husband and he told me straight up. He and I are a team; one that actually works together, and you can't take that away from me with your lies. You're jealous. I get it. He's a fucking catch and handsome as hell. The whole package. But it's not my fault you married an asshole.

I hope that half-assed lie was worth losing your daughter, son-in-law, and possibly even your granddaughter. Tread lightly with that one. She's ruthless. I've taught her well. ☺️

Disclaimer - If you are expecting sparkles & rainbows in your news, I’m not your girl. I am here to tell the truth, no sugar coating. It may make you uncomfortable. Good. Sit with it. Learn something.

2019 to 2023 - Thousands of Kidnappings

Because murdering our ancestors, relegating us to reservations & boundaries that were never honored, and attempting to ensure we never left the confines of the reservations or its poverty wasn’t enough, a large group of people targeted Native Americans to come to “sober living homes,” expecting to go to a place of nurturing and healing. Instead, many of them ended up homeless for months, missing, and even possibly thousands dead.

Over eight THOUSAND people are thought to have been victimized by this scheme, and no one is talking about it. WHY is no one talking about it!? Oh, right. Because we still don’t fucking matter in this social-experiment-gone-wrong of a country. We are still very very low on the totem pole around here, despite being the ones here first, caring for the land and its creatures rather than obliterating it all to make room for an infinite array of stuff. Things. Trash.

These people, human beings, were lured by ‘fraudsters’ into sober living homes, promising 90 days of treatment they didn’t need to pay for. In 2018, a meeting at which an Arizona Congressman was in attendance, warning of fraudulent sober living homes across the nation, victimizing thousands of people looking for help navigating a new, clean, sober life. 41 people have been convicted for this scheme, to the tune of BILLIONS of dollars - no, that’s not a typo. They defrauded Medicaid over 3 billion dollars! Wasn’t Elon’s job supposed to be ‘trimming the fat’ or whatever on Medicaid fraud? Is that only when the fraud isn’t against people of color?

The victims were members of the American Indian Health Program through the Medicaid agency, the Arizona Health Care Cost Containment System (AHCCCS). The leaders of these ‘homes’ that were more like torture chambers than living spaces were billing AHCCCS over $8,000 a DAY per patient!

And get this. In 2018, a congressional hearing warned about these fraudulent sober homes, and an Arizona congressman was in attendance.

Where The Hell Was Law Enforcement?

I’m sure they’re all reallll busy with their group rub and tugs at the department, but they were made aware of Natives being kidnapped from reservations as early as 2019, and did absolutely nothing. In 2024, a class action lawsuit was filed by thousands of Natives seeking restitution for the horrors they endured.

At least 180 people have been indicted, the 41 mentioned above were convicted, and 200 cases are still in the investigation stage. While these patients were living in squalor, being fed drugs and alcohol - the exact vice they were trying to escape - beaten, and raped. The lawsuit filed is alleging that 2,000 people are missing or have died as a result of the poor conditions and treatment in these homes.

Is It Still A Threat To Native Americans?’

Emphatically, yes. Officials, of course, are keeping things on the down low, but we know that where they found those, they’ll find hundreds more like them across the nation, preying on vulnerable individuals in need of kindness, compassion, and care, but they got none of those. Their lives have been irrevocably changed in the process, and there will be thousands more victims if there is no one paying any attention.

This is the first I am hearing about it - and that’s because I follow Native News Online and other publications to see what’s really going on out there. I’ve never seen anything on national news, despite it being a multi-state issue, and it’s still going on today, particularly in Arizona. There are always more racist opportunists willing to carry the fucked up torch.

A volunteer with Stolen People, Stolen Benefits is a grassroots group that helped a group of Montanans get home after their horrible experiences in Arizona. Instead of providing treatment, the leaders of these group homes were pocketing thousands per person in their “care.” When a group home is shutting down, they will contact other homes to “sell” them their patients. They negotiate a price to take each patient, and then they are transferred, and the predatory cycle starts all over again.

It’s vicious, and it’s cruel, and it’s targeted. This is a statement, not just people asking the vulnerable to come to group homes and stealing from them. This is a group of people who specifically set out to kidnap Native Americans and throw them in group homes for money without ever having to provide any treatment at all. They specifically called and recruited Native Americans for their so-called treatment.

The Blackfeet and Navajo tribes declared public health emergencies due to the severity of their members being defrauded and kidnapped. Then, it was Northern Cheyenne victims turning up in Billings, also initiating a declaration of emergency.

Victims were subjected to fraudulent mental health treatment, then held prisoner before being tossed in the street or dropped off in a remote area that is much harder and more dangerous to navigate home. They are leaving people for dead. Taking them somewhere remote isn’t even defensible as “oh, we knew they could get back to safety” kind of thing. Taking someone to a remote area and leaving them there is intentionally leaving them there to die.

Arizona might not be willing to declare them hate crimes, but I am.

Here are the “sober living homes” that have been shut down; there are a LOT:

SOURCES

Please read for more information and subscribe to the publications, if applicable! And please let me know if any links broke in my transfer!

Native News OnlineElyse Wild

Q2 News (KTVQ)

Q2 News (KTVQ)Brianna Juneau

Q2 News (KTVQ)

https://www.azahcccs.gov/Fraud/Downloads/ProviderSuspensionsTerminations.pdf

With summer heat rising to record-breaking highs, and pet parents desperate to keep their furry babies happy and healthy, I’ve noticed an alarming trend - a shit ton of people do not understand the consequences heat stroke brings, or how quickly it can do so.

In case you didn’t know, heat stroke can kill a dog in as little as 10 to 15 minutes. That’s all - one car ride to work, one bus ride home from school, one brew of coffee, one unbridled moment of passion with your partner. No, I’m not exaggerating. That’s literally all it takes, and you don’t get a do-over. You don’t get a magic spell that brings them back to life. That’s it. Fin. End.

Below, I’ve written some tips for dog parents who are serious about ensuring the safety and well-being of their animals - that should be all pet parents*, but I know, in reality, it’s not.

Ideally, you should follow several guidelines for keeping your dogs safe in the summer heat. Not only should you take into consideration them getting hot, in general, but you should also give thought to details such as their fur type & thickness, whether they are brachycephalic, and at what temperature they need to be wearing shoes to prevent the concrete from burning their paw pads - yes, dog shoes. Yes, I’m serious. YES, I use them for my girls, and I love them!

I even have proof! 👇🏼

If there is one thing to know about me, know this: I will always tell you the truth, and I will taste my own medicine to do so. The truth, brutal even, is of utmost importance to me, morally. I hate a liar. That’s the fastest way to get me skedaddling away to the nearest exit I scouted for as soon as we got to the location - C-PTSD dies hard, and I don’t think I will ever stop looking for exits, just in case. 🥴I’m not hurting anyone, just raising my heart rate a bit; should be fine. It’s fine.

Anyway, back to the pups. I’m awful about going on tangents, seriously.

So, How Can You Keep Them Safe?

The most important aspect of heat stroke you need to be very aware of is time. The longer you wait when you suspect heat stroke, the lower the chances become of bringing your baby home alive. That’s just the simple, scary truth.

There are ways to prevent your pets from getting anywhere near that fatal brink. It’s just time, consideration, and knowing the basics when dealing with potential dangers - all of which anyone can do, especially with the endless wealth of knowledge and websites to push out that newfound information.

Golden Rules

1. No walks if the weather is 90 degrees or higher; this can be bumped all the way down to 80, depending on factors such as whether it’s breezy and chaotic or still and calm. I personally don’t take them out until it’s 85 or below, which ends up being around 8:00 pm in the Texas summer - or not at all. They can’t have one if it never gets below 90, and it’s already hot in the early morning.

2. No more than 10 to 15 minutes of outside time each potty break; Dogs can die within those 10 to 15, so being vigilant about time is of utmost importance. When it’s above 85 Fahrenheit, the most we let the girls play is a few minutes, and then we go inside. They don’t need to be out in the scorching sun any longer than we do.

3. If you’re hot, they’re hotter. Sure, they pant, but that doesn’t make them any less susceptible to the consequences of extreme heat. They minimally sweat, and it’s only through their little paw pads. If it’s too hot for you to leisurely stand outside, then it’s certainly too hot for them to be out running.

4. If the pavement is too hot to leave your hand there for 10 seconds without moving, then it’s too hot for your dogs to be out without proper footwear, as shown above. We also use them for areas that have more rough terrain than just sidewalk - pro tip.

5. Bring water! You can purchase a little dog water bottle that folds out into a bowl at a pet store and fill it maybe halfway on walks. Keep in mind that if they drink too much water at once and are active, it could lead to Bloat, immediately requiring a veterinarian.

6. If you have a brachycephalic dog, no more than 10 minutes in excessive heat. They are more susceptible. Brachycephalic means they have a face that looks like it was squooshed in. They already have trouble getting air through those tiny nasal passages, and they don’t tolerate heat well.

7. If it’s hot, do not take the long route. I get that they need their exercise, but they also need to stay safe, and being outside in scorching heat is not the way to achieve that.

Symptoms To Look Out For

This is not an exhaustive list of symptoms. Visit the sources at the bottom of the page to read more information!

• Heavy breathing/panting

• Excessive breathing

• Disorientation/Confusion

• Pale or bright red gums

• Lack of coordination

• Dry Mucous Membranes

• Seizures

• Lethargy and weakness

• Thick drool that comes out like ‘ropes’

• Vomiting or diarrhea

• Increased heart rate

• Hyperactivity

• Difficulties with balance

• Uncontrolled bowels or urinary tract

• Unwillingness to move, even when coaxed

You need to get them to a vet as soon as possible for the best chance of a positive outcome. To help start cooling them slowly, put cool, not cold, water on their neck, belly, thighs, and put a fan on them. DO NOT drape cold towels over them. This can be done in the car on the way to the vet, if you have someone to help you.

*If you don’t like me calling you ‘pet parents,’ I refuse to say I “own” members of my family, and I’m not going to say you “own” yours, either. I believe dogs should have autonomy - within reason, obviously. 💜

Author’s note: I want to give a little info on my background, as I’m not sure I’ve done that yet! These are the same rules I have set for my 3 girls. We have managed to integrate 3 females, 2 of whom are large and don’t always get along, I have treated some very rare, and very severe cases of numerous illnesses and assisted in the same types of surgeries. I worked in 2 different kennels - the second, I managed the kennel and set its rules and regulations. I even wrote a 100 page handbook myself. I am currently writing a fully comprehensive dog parent guide!

I treat every single soul with the same love and care I would a human baby, and I have always made the animals’ comfort top of mind, because they are worth it. I love animals more than I love most humans, and I won’t apologize for that. Ask me to clean up after a small child that is not my own? NO. 🤢A dog covered in diarrhea? Of course, that poor baby’s tummy is upset! 🤷🏼‍♀️😝 Here are a few photos of me loving on sweet babies. I still remember their names. 😭

Sources to go to for more information:

• https://www.akc.org/expert-advice/health/heatstroke-in-dogs/

• https://www.aaha.org/resources/heatstroke-in-pets/

• https://www.avma.org/resources-tools/pet-owners/petcare/warm-weather-pet-safety

Election Day 2024

I feel the deep thrums of dread echo through my bones - he won? He actually...won? That can’t be right; no one would be stupid enough to bring back our worst & least professional president. Right?

......guys?

Surely the guy who doesn’t even want AI regulated & hangs out with a known drug and sex addict isn’t being brought back into power. Right?

The guy’s shitting in his Pampers for BIG, BEAUTIFUL BABIES, and everyone around him dances like Barbie in The Pink Shoes, twirling and galivanting around in hopes that no one notices his nasty ass, out of place and permeating the air. What good is the gold in the White House if the stench overpowers the grandiosity he hopes to achieve?

Well, the truth is, it isn’t doing any good at all. He’s a useless, lame duck. He once had appeal brought by power and money, but now the Persimmon Pedophile reeks of rot. We know what he’s capable of, as well as what he’s done. The fact that anyone would choose to willingly vote for this regime boggles my mind.

Once things start affecting their own privileged lives, then they care.​​ And unfortunately, that’s when it’s already too late. I can say ‘thanks for helping fight the good fight right now’ and still acknowledge the struggle, the fear, the heartache, the LOSS they subjected us all to in the first place because people refused to vote for a - very competent & qualified, might I add - Black and Indian woman. I can forgive, but I won’t forget, nor will I pretend to be ‘buddy buddy chummy haha friends,’ sorry. I’m in my idgaf era, and I promised myself I’d stick to it. No exceptions for Trumpers. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Time travel to the transfer of power, okay?

• Yeah, I know, but just try. You’ll never know unless you try. 🥱

Inauguration Day 2025 And Beyond

You Can Time Travel! lol I’m so fucking stupid.

I woke up still hoping and praying to whatever and whoever could hear me that it had all been a dream, just a stunt writers sometimes pull to boost dwindling ratings in television shows. I usually hate that shit, but I’d have made an exception for this one.

Alas, that was not the case. It was true. Once again, this abusive piece of shit was in power, but now, he’s even older, more senile, and somehow, dumber.

And that makes him more unpredictable. More dangerous. More volatile. With access to nuclear weapons, I’m sure he’s been creaming himself, drooling over dreams of obliterating everyone he can’t stand - so, all but himself - while many of his constituents go without food, clothes, shelter, & basic fucking necessities; every day, more are quickly, scarily, closing in on facing those same problems.

The temper tantrum thrown by Trump over the Strait of Hormuz blocked cargo, including a huge portion of the world’s supply of ammonia for fertilizer - such a smart man, that Trump. My eyes nearly got stuck in the back of my head as I wrote those last few words, sorry.

I’m just so tired of the stupid game politicians are playing with real human lives at stake. I’m tired of waking up to more children being bombed, infants being stabbed, hospitals being completely destroyed with everything and everyone in them...My heart is so fucking heavy from holding space for it all, and I’m emotionally spent.

I wake up each morning hoping for a declaration of death from the White House - yeah, that’s pretty fucked up, but you know what’s also fucked up? Raping children, being friends with people who rape children, supporting people who are friends with people who rape children...I could do without all of them swarming around, infecting our planet with their putrid, twisted ways.

What Are We Doing?

Genuinely, what are we doing? Why are our ‘leaders’ typing out ‘strongly worded’ posts about what should and should not be happening in the White House right now instead of FIGHTING BACK to do something about the Pedophile in Chief? We quite literally elected them to do just that - fight for us, not the president, regardless of who it is.

I think money, along with the obvious power, is a huge aspect of the issue. I saw someone mention on Threads that the leaders should be paid based on the hourly minimum wage in their district. I don’t disagree. They should be living normal lives, not boasting in the lap of luxury, a la ‘let them eat cake’ proportions.

Really, I don’t understand why Democrats are following the law to get Trump out of office at all. He’s not following the laws anymore, so why the hell should they? It’s time for them to play dirty and stop taking the stupid high road.

FUCK the high road and the horse it rode in on - wait, but don’t actually do that; I feel I need to clarify because this is the internet, after all.

These are goddamn Nazis. Nazis don’t have feelings. And even if they do, fuck those, too.

Thank you for your attention to this matter. ☺️

Here is yesterday’s article:

Day 10

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this article, please consider subscribing - paid, if you’re able. I offer 3 unique newsletters along with corresponding Discord groups, including one all about pet help!

Right now, I’m on a 30 Day Challenge to post an article every single day for 30 days. This is Day 11!

The Vacation Illusion

For most people, packing takes less than an hour, the airport is a loud but easily manageable overstimulation, and a new bed is just a new adventure in a faraway land. For the chronically ill, it’s a totally different world. Rushing to get packing done the day before takes me literally all day due to the necessary mini pharmacy, the airport is an absolute sensory nightmare, and a new bed is a whole set of new aches and pains that compound upon themselves each morning you wake in it.

Here is how our family trip to the beach in 2012 played out, with 1 chronically ill person:

Leigha* tumbles out of bed, eager to make the long drive to Corpus Christi and take the Selena Quintanilla tour. It’s our first vacation as our own little family unit, and a sense of pride flitters through the air - palpable, tangible. “1.2.3.1.2.3. click click click. 1.2.3.1.2.3. click click click. The door handle is going to loosen and fall off one of these days from the ritualistic abuse of my twisting. My husband emerges from the house holding a holy grail of snacks, chipper and ready to go. A few overfilled suitcases are tossed in and secured, followed by the snacks, and finally, myself.

I pull the car door shut, and we take off; we’re running late, as usual. What even IS time, anyway? God, I’m already dripping with sweat; gotta turn that air up. Why is it so LOW?! And who moved my fan setup 2 centimeters?!

And that’s just the first few moments of being in the car. We hadn’t even started driving yet! One thing is certain: People who are chronically ill, like myself, might be going on a vacation, but we aren’t really experiencing any less pain; we’re just experiencing it in another part of the world. Whether by boat, car, train, or plane...I will always carry it with me, woefully ensnared by its presence amongst even the most thrilling of situations.

The Ever-Present Plus One

I may not want to take my illnesses with me, but uh...I don’t exactly get a choice here. So, I have to adjust and make myself as comfortable as possible, and hope I don’t run into any trouble - but stay prepared, just in case.

It’s in the synapses of my nerves, the fiber of my being, the betrayal by my own personal vessel. I grew this thing myself once they cut the cord! Seriously, though, this pain isn’t something I can sleep, rest, or even wish away. It’s something I will taxi alongside me for my entire life.

• Preparatory Tax - time spent researching the most accessible attractions, as well as the nearest Urgent Care and hospital, just in case.

  • My motto: You can never be too prepared - unless you go overboard and quite literally pack your entire closet

• The Post-Travel Hangover - If you’re anything like me, after you’ve traveled, you end up getting sick as a dog. It’s the inevitable flare-up after activity.

• Energy Budget - Sometimes, a morning event - yes, even a short one - can mean spending the rest of the afternoon holed up in bed nursing whatever body parts are causing the most trouble.

What Can a “Getaway” Be, Realistically, For Us?

Because we know all too well that pain doesn’t take a vacation when we do, as much as I wish it did, how can we make the best of the time we get with our families? I know exactly how much it sucks to be left on the sidelines for everything because you just can’t. I know how it feels to have to return to the hotel for rest while everyone else continues the party like they’re 21 again. It’s not fair, but it is the hand we were given, and it’s what we do with it that shows our character.

Because we have been together for nearly two decades, my husband and I can tell when the other person is in pain just by watching their gait. We know the walk of one another so well that we can instantly sense the bad poker gait. This means he knows what should be my limits, as well as how much further I will typically take it to make sure everyone keeps enjoying the activity for as long as they’d like - I am a glutton for punishment, what else can I say?

For this reason, future trips will have daily limitations. I don’t want to keep pushing myself so far that I am either useless for half the trip, useless the entire way home...or both!

• Just because the pain doesn’t stop when we get to our destination, that doesn’t mean we have to be miserable the entire trip!

• Limiting daily activities can help space things out for you and keep you from causing yourself more stress and anguish by trying to fit a million things in one day, then doing that for several more.

• If you’re going on, say, a 5 day trip to Orlando, Florida, and you want to see all the big theme parks and everything within them...If that’s what you set out to do, you will likely:

• A. Not make it without collapsing in the middle of the walkway at some point

• B. Get to go into all of the parks, but not see much of any of them

• C. Get into one park, and leave disappointed

• D. Both A and B OR both B and C

• So, instead of going through several different parks each day, pick one park per day. You may not get to see everything this trip, but you can spend a leisurely day wandering around a park all day, every day. What’s not to love? Just make sure you bring some emergency painkillers.

How You Should Be Traveling

COMING SOON: Free Travel Tool with your subscription, exclusively here on my site! 🤫👇🏼Be on the lookout for that here:

I Love Free Shit!

Do me a favor, and make sure you give this a like, then share when you’ve finished reading this!

If you’re running around like a chicken with its head cut off, you’re doing it wrong. There is no reason to stress that much over packing for a few days away from home, even with small children in tow. You just need to tailor your itinerary to your accommodation needs. For example, I would likely have to be in my wheelchair if my family and I went to a large event, so I would need to prep to arrange necessary accommodations well before arriving.

If you’re worried about “bumming out” the rest of the group because you aren’t holding up, and need to rest, you shouldn’t be. I’m officially in my “I don’t give a fuck” era, and you should be, too. If the people around you cannot make some simple changes to make you more comfortable without feeling totally inconvenienced, they probably aren’t worth being around to begin with. So, here’s my advice that, once again, no one asked for:

• Don’t return to work the day after getting home: Give yourself a day to rest and recover before trying to expend energy you don’t even have. I have always called it a “buffer,” but you can call it whatever you’d like!

• Easy as Pie Itinerary: Don’t schedule more than ONE activity each day, and make sure even it is flexible, just in case. A lot of places will do several shows back to back, so that everyone gets a chance to watch. Take advantage of that wiggle room!

• Make a Grab Bag: Stuff this motherfucker with all of your essentials for comfort and relief; medications, lotions, rubs, creams, good pillows/my pillows, a heating pad, blanket, & any other odds and ends you deem important enough to be your carry-on, if you fly.

I hope the checklist is helpful, as well as these basic changes that just might make your next vacation travel time a little smoother and more bearable. Have a wonderful summer if we share seasons; wishing you safe and happy travels! 💜

Are you traveling this summer? Did you already go? What’s your absolute MUST HAVE for every single trip, as in you would die if you forgot it? Let me know in the comments below!

• For me, I guess it would have to be my medications - all of them. 👀 Is that illegal? Feels illegal. In my defense, it’s quite dangerous to go cold turkey on a majority of my scripts. 🤷🏼‍♀️😝

Welcome to the Valley!

Since Disney Dreamlight Valley went into Early Release September 6, 2022, it has enraptured me with its casual and enchanting art style, lovable cast of characters, and challenging, charming puzzles to help complete missions and save the Valley from a chorus of villains.

It started humbly, initially planned to be Free-To-Play, with the classic toons being featured first. Frolicking with Daisy, harvesting with Minnie, and fishing with Goofy filled my days with glee, all culminating in rewards given in elaborate Star Paths. Buggy but ultimately a blast, DDV persisted and triumphed to a full release on December 5, 2023.

Every few months, there is a decently sized update, completely free. Then, there is often a large DLC you can purchase each year that typically includes a completely new territory with multiple new biomes. With these updates, there is always a new Star Path, bringing with it numerous brand-new premium items to earn by completing tasks around the valley and what I like to call its ‘sister locations.’

Each week, there is a photo contest called DreamSnaps, for which you’re given a theme, and you must take the best photo representation of that theme possible. On Wednesdays, promptly at 8 am, the shop resets, along with the DreamSnap prompt. Real-money currency in the game, called Moonstones, is the prize each week for DreamSnaps. You can receive as little as 300 for your submission or as much as 4,000, which is the coveted top tier.

I’ve gotten 4k twice now; I just started actually trying on DreamSnaps fairly recently because I didn’t realize you could get that many Moonstones for it without having to be number 1 on the ranking board. Silly me. I’ve spent a lot on Moonstones in the past when I could afford to...and now I know I didn’t even have to. I could have been Snappin’ Dreams for 4k this whole time.🙄

What I’m getting at is, there is always something to do, and if you do happen to run out of quests and tasks, there’s always something new premiering just around the corner. I’ve spent hundreds of hours building, styling, and making my Valley feel like home - only to demolish it all and start over.

It has absolutely become my hyperfixation that I feel like I cannot live without, but honestly, I’m okay with that. I could be addicted to crack, instead. 🤷🏼‍♀️

Getting Through The Trauma of A Car Accident

In February of 2025, I was in a car accident that changed my life forever. It took my ability to perform at work, my strength, and my capacity to walk for long stretches without issue, then threw it all on the ground and trampled it to death. My role as a veterinary technician was taken, just like that. I had worked toward that role for over 2 years before landing it, and then in the blink of an eye, it was gone.

I’ve always suffered from depression, ever since I can remember, so this was no different. I wanted to scream and yell at the universe for giving, then taking it right back. It seemed like the world was playing a cruel joke on me, allowing me to take 3 steps forward, then forcing me 5 giant leaps back. I joke around a lot about it, but I do wonder, sometimes, if someone cursed the Native women in my family in particular. Nothing would surprise me at this point.

In the midst of a stellar case of depression weighing down my every thought, I picked up Dreamlight Valley and booted it up, ready to escape into a world of adventure, completely different from my own. It offered me my childhood in a packaged deal - Stitch, Pocahontas, Daisy, Mickey, Minnie...the list goes on, all priceless to those of us who grew up with them as our staples.

By its full release, DDV was chock full of quests, activities, and characters, and that’s only continued for the past couple of years. We’ve been given new realms based on the worlds the characters hail from, and new characters to save from them. If I want to have a relaxing day doing nothing but hoarding crafting materials, I can do that. If I want to go questing all day long? I can do that, as long as I haven’t run out of quests - that will take a long while with all the expansions, likely even if you don’t purchase the DLC.

Along with a peaceful meadow to relax in, DDV brought me companionship when I felt alone. My husband was dealing with the death of his father and wasn’t fully checked in to our marriage this last year, so I spent a lot of time with my Switch, holed up in our room because I felt like no one wanted to be around me, especially after the horrible conversation I had with my mother recently. I push people away because I’m afraid of getting hurt. My valley characters can’t hurt me, nor can they judge.

I’ve realized now that DDV has been a way for my mind to forget the pain of what’s been happening in my real life, and it’s become one of my absolute favorite games of all time. It’s a no-fuss, no-stress, no-gimmick, raucous good time, and I crave a simpler time in life when I could just be a kid experiencing these characters for the first time.

That’s what it really all boils down to, isn’t it?

It’s the magic of Disney we all felt as children, and many of us would love to feel that spark again. I think Dreamlight Valley has been that spark for me, personally. Even on days when I am doing nothing of substance, just chilling around the house, I boot up DDV, and I am instantly transported back to childhood memories and decor of my dreams.

Basically, Disney Dreamlight Valley has kidnapped me, and held me hostage - and I don’t want to be saved. I’m having a fucking blast in my Valley right now.

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Why I Am Passionate

Every single day, I read a post on NextDoor or elsewhere online: “Lost dog; such and such got out at this time, and hasn’t been seen since. Wearing a blue collar, goes by Buddy, let me know if you see him.” I just sit there and read it, knowing in my heart that the chances of them being reunited peacefully are slim to none in this area. It’s overrun with vehicles and construction, and hungry coyotes and bobcats lurking, waiting for anything they can sink their teeth into.

I live in the town my family founded a couple of hundred years ago, and it used to be a beautiful blackland prairie area, with incredible birds of prey, coyotes, bobcats, all kinds of animals you won’t even find driving down to wilder lands anymore. There are houses after houses after houses after houses - and they are forever building more after a stupid deal with a prominent builder. So, now, the animals have nowhere to go. They have no space, no home, barely any trees around anymore, other than those that are in our yards.

So, now we get bunnies in our yard...constantly. If it isn’t a rabbit, it’s a gecko, and if it isn’t a gecko, it’s a fucking field mouse. I even have to take my girls out separately sometimes, so they don’t get into a scuffle over an animal neither of them should be chasing in the first place. Just this afternoon, there was a small field mouse randomly chilling by the fence in the corner of the yard, and my GSP nabbed it before anyone else even saw it. If we hadn’t been out there with them, it could have turned into a knock-down/drag-out fight.

Now add to that the risk of your dogs escaping from your yard by hopping the fence or digging underneath. A Great Pyrenees can often clear a 6ft fence - maybe even higher, depending on the individual dog. The same goes for several other breeds, including huskies, Belgian Malinois, and even pitties - if they are bound and determined, they can and they will escape. I always tell clients there is a very simple way to ensure your pets are safe and secure - stay outside with them the entire time they go out.

Is it monotonous, tedious, boring? I guess it can be, but what’s it gonna hurt? I am a huge advocate for pets always being safe and secure when their humans cannot adequately watch them or choose to take them where they are not allowed. While I know that your backyard is very low on the danger factor, the risk is not 0%. I worked with a girl at a kennel a couple of years ago whose mother raised Boerboels on their family’s land and adopted them out. I am a rescue kind of girl, but they are beautiful. Well, this tyke, somehow, was left to his own devices all day, and died while digging under the fence, as if he was trying to escape the area. Loss number 1.

Just one person being there on the lookout for him could have given that scenario a completely different outcome. Her dog wasn’t the only one who had a bad run-in with getting out and coming across other dogs. The ‘trainer’ that was hired also had some mishaps. While he was at work, his roommate at the time let his dogs out, and they all killed one of the females. Then, his Cane Corso attacked a coworker, so I had to hop the fence and pour water on his face to get him to unclench his jaw. When that worked, I was able to run my coworker over to safety while we waited for an ambulance. She nearly needed a ton of plastic surgery, and they threatened to press charges against the trainer if he didn’t have him get a behavioral euthanisation. Loss number 2.

I was at work one day, when I was still doing tech work. A little chihuahua mix was rushed in after he ran outside in his own front yard, from what I gathered, and a neighbor’s German Shepherd ran up to him, grabbed him, and shook the hell out of him, likely breaking the poor baby’s neck. When the DVMs were attempting CPR, blood was just pouring from his lungs. There was nothing else we could do, realistically. Hearing his dad’s sobs was something I won’t soon forget, if ever. It’s not even necessarily a matter of parents being “irresponsible” each time a pet gets out. I think it’s partially a case of people not realizing how dangerous being off-leash and outside alone can be, especially when you have a neighbor who doesn’t seem to give a shit. Loss number 3.

Just Stay Out With Them; It’s Safest

Dogs don’t have stellar impulse control, if you hadn’t already noticed. They are goofy, silly, and paying no mind to which way their pendulum of a tail will swing next. When you stay outside with them, you are able to ensure that they don’t get themselves into any trouble. Your dog is much less likely to hop the fence if you are in the backyard with them. They escape a good majority of the time because they were left outside to their own devices. That’s too tempting for a dog to dismiss!

So yes, I know it’s a little tedious having to go out with your dog and stay there every single potty break. However, I know that it keeps your babies safer in the long run. If you have to leave your dog alone, crates are amazing for keeping your pets safe and secure when you leave the house. I always recommend crate training as soon as possible. Crates provide a safe space to go when they want comfort, and then it becomes their little home.

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Lately, I have noticed that people on social media are trying their very best to avoid being mistaken as one of us - disabled - and it’s genuinely heartbreaking. No one wants to admit that even Autism is a disability. People want to argue and say they don’t feel debilitated by it, so that meant it wasn’t an actual disability, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Part of the criteria for meeting the standards for Autism diagnosis is being disabled - it’s right there in the diagnostics. It must cause a level of disability. Any chronic illness, amputations, elderly folks struggling to get around on their own two feet these days - they’re all disabled.

Refusing to admit when you are wrong keeps you from holding yourself accountable and halts progression in its tracks. However, so many will double down if you push back to tell them that they do, in fact, meet the category of disabled. Why is it that everyone is so ashamed of disability? It’s not a dirty word. It doesn’t mean you’re stupid, ignorant, or any other accusatory or derogatory descriptors. It simply means you are not able to do certain things in the same way others are.

My daughter is Autistic - as am I - and she was really hung up on the fact that she was being put in what is called “Special Education.” She felt like it made her seem silly and incapable, even though she worked her ass off to maintain her grades as high as possible and keep up with the workload. It turns out it wasn’t anything but the name that was bothering her. “Special Education” can carry with it a somewhat negative tone, and she thought it was essentially punishment for not doing well enough in her classes.

That wasn’t actually the case. Her counselor and teachers decided it would be best for her going forward, so that she had full access to a whole team of people for the next year. So, last year was her first year under the Special Education umbrella, and the accommodations seem to have helped her immensely. In the end, she learned there is no shame in being in Special Education, and the same applies to disabled adults. There is no shame. So let it go.

I can understand not wanting to admit to yourself that you desperately need accommodations, but I can guarantee you will regret not asking for them in the first place once you finally get them. Swallow your pride and admit it.

Say it with me.

I am disabled, and that’s okay.

One more time!

I am disabled, and that’s okay!

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Guess I was a little late on the cussing TW... Oh well.🤷🏼‍♀️

The Product

I was scrolling mindlessly on my phone, trying to find something to quell the boredom engulfing me that YouTube videos couldn’t seem to cure, when I saw an advertisement for an AI program - one I’d never heard of before.

Meli, made by Full Rank AI, promises an AI companion that not only answers when you message, but also reaches out to you first, checks up on tasks you had planned at the end of the day, and reminds you to take your medications - one review even mentioned it “scolded” them when they missed a dose. How far is too far, and is anyone ever going to draw the line? Our planet is suffering for it.

Where The Problem Begins

AI has begun to take over everything around us, including the jobs of millions, and we are all sitting idly by, with some of us even using and abusing the very tools that are creating our downfall. Artists, in particular, are being quickly replaced with computer-generated, copy-paste, cookie-cutter robots who lack depth and feeling, but are supposed to create some of the most emotion-provoking aspects of humanity itself?

The ‘male loneliness epidemic’ has shown just how desperate people are for companionship, as well as how far they’ll go to get it. As AI advances and becomes more human-like with every update, it is increasingly difficult to detect in photos and videos. It’s being used for people to create entirely new identities, graphic and disturbing pornography - including some that involves children - therapy sessions, business meetings, and even dating.

I personally don’t subscribe myself to the “male loneliness epidemic” theory. I think the fact that so many men are lonely probably has a lot to do with the fact that women are no longer forced into marriages as the norm, and we have autonomy over our bodies for once in hundreds of millennia of womanly oppression. Men were so used to getting away with the bare minimum, or less, that they have had a swift kick in the balls of a reality check, lately, with the millions of women fed up with their shit.

The beauty of freedom today is that we are free to choose who and whether we marry. We aren’t “given” to a man in the US with a dowry, we aren’t forced to remain in the marriage despite despair, and we are no longer compelled to be with men who need their mommies on speed dial for daily check-ins and hours-long phone calls. We don’t need a man. Really, we never did, but I digress.

Men are flocking to AI systems, desperate for “human” interaction. However, they’re not human, they’re anything but. They’re shells of humanity, torn apart from millions of prompts and pieced together again in a pixel abyss of binary code, HTML, and JavaScript - a human-adjacent piece of technology, made off the backs of real women, because men think they can build the “perfect” one.

The ‘Perfect’ Girlfriend Trope

Men are simple, disgusting creatures. They wait for girls to hit puberty like chickens come to roost. One egg drops, and men can seek it out, sharks flocking to waters bloodied by fish. It would be impressive if it weren’t so vile. Men like this want to be in control; they don’t want pushback, just smooth sailing. So they go for the young, the beautiful, the vulnerable. For children, very young adults - girls and women whose minds haven’t fully melded yet.

But not every man does this, of course. Some wait until they’re a bit older, maybe mid-20’s, if you really stretch your imagination. They lure women in with money, gifts - things. Love-bombing. The perfect woman, for them, is she who accepts the love-bombing, yes, but more importantly, obeys. If they can’t control a woman, they feel emasculated, small, insignificant: weak. They view women as objects to be used, empty toilet paper rolls to be shredded and tossed.

Now, though, men are running into problems. They’re realizing that we are so much more than they ever thought we could be. That also comes with the realization that women aren’t as easy to “catch” as they’d thought. Without mommy and daddy there to arrange for them a perfect mai - excuse me, wife - soon after graduation, this isn’t the Oregon Trail anymore, and the men aren’t liking that much.

The Problem Now?

The issue now is that thousands upon thousands of men are choosing to retreat online, and seclude themselves with technology, and technology alone. Many of them are incels - involuntarily celibate, for the uninformed - and often even dangerous for women to be around. They don’t want a woman to love, cherish, and grow old with, they want a maid, an agreeable sex toy that says, “yes, honey” every time he asks for a blowjob.

The problem for these men, in their eyes, though, is not within themselves. No, no, it couldn’t possibly be the man’s fault; that doesn’t happen. 😉

It’s just that women are sluts but don’t want to give it up to the “nice guys,” only the “douchebags, the fuckboys, the man-whores.” It’s all our fault. If we weren’t such ‘dirty whores’, then they would be able to fuck us. They think they deserve that - our bodies - simply because they are a man, one who self-proclaims he’s “nice” while slithering in silence in his bedroom, waiting to spit venom at any woman who has the audacity to say no.

So, when I found this AI app, Meli, I was absolutely floored by the fact that this company was genuinely advertising such a creepy and invasive form of artificial intelligence - one that doesn’t wait for you to reach out, it comes to you. It can check your schedule, speak to your friends’ and family’s AI systems, have deep and meaningful conversations, and discuss how your day went at work. It’s always running in the background of your device, which I have a feeling is going to chew up the battery and spit it out lifeless pretty quickly. RIP to your girlfriend.

What is MELI, And Why am I Telling You About It?

Meli is shrouded in a heavy cloak of mystery, sheltered behind a “Jeffrey D. with Full Rank AI” name tag and nothing much else. My research quickly led me to LinkedIn and the profile of a CEO of the company that supposedly owns the system, but I couldn’t find a last name or any other identifying information with the limited resources I have at my disposal.

While yes, it does offer a boyfriend version, males are the ones predominantly using the service, both in number and consistency. And I think we all know that the main target for something like this is likely a male audience, because of their “loneliness,” their desperation, and their entitlement. Women are less likely to use AI, in general, and I think we crave togetherness a bit more than men do in a relationship. We crave intimacy and closeness, not just sex and sexting.

The ‘perfect’ girlfriend, though? Now she exists, and she can never say no or talk back because she’s a fucking robot. She’s a gathering of pixels and other code, splashed with electricity and a sketchy Silk Road, attainable for every mediocre man, and agreeable enough to appease their need for control. Full Rank AI has created the “perfect” woman who caters to “her” man: a maid who runs in the background, unseen, but constant; eager to beckon to their every whim.

Meli is one of the strangest AI systems I’ve come across thus far, and I’m not sure what its deal is. It has only existed for about 9 months now, and its parent company, Full Rank AI, has barely any searchable information at all. LinkedIn states that the company has between 2 and 10 employees. Who are these people, and where are they? Why is there so little information about the company itself to be gleaned from searching Google, despite my efforts?

Again, I wish I knew.

What I do know is that the team apparently consists of some of the brilliant minds behind several organizations, including Google’s DeepMind, “a team of scientists, engineers, and ethicists who build AI systems to benefit people and the planet.” So, clearly, Meli has some important people on its team - but, who are they? The screenshot below is quite literally the only thing I could find about the team, other than Mr. Jeffrey D.; interesting name, too.

DeepMind

This “agent,” as they call it, becomes the user’s to own. It becomes their “property,” something that is forced to stick by their side. That sounds a little familiar, doesn’t it? The agent becomes the voice responding to the user’s every beck and call, waiting in the background as a robotic personal assistant, girlfriend, psychologist, therapist, mother figure, or whatever label you want to place on her - regardless, she’s not real.

So, where do we draw the line in the AI sand? Are we just going to sit around and wait for all of our water to be used for the rich and their toys while we all squander in ruin? With the current government, I would say anything is possible. We did have actual leaders vote against regulations to keep children from being placed into pornography using AI, after all, the sons of bitches.

Are we just going to continue creating objects and computer software built to replace women for men who can’t seem to find their match, or are we going to start teaching boys when they’re young that women are not their play-things? Women are people, not property, and we belong to no one but ourselves. It’s time men figured that out, and their mothers stopped being so male-centered; teach boys how to treat women, because a lot of these men are momma’s boys who were told they were special, and never heard the word “no.”

Men, get off the computer, work on yourself, and then take the necessary steps for you to even attempt being in a relationship. Women aren’t going to want you when you’re constantly down on yourself, have little to no confidence, and refuse to take accountability for the fact that you are the reason for your own solitude. AI can’t bring you true companionship, but the love of a woman can, if you deserve it.

AI can be used responsibly, but it cannot replace humanity.

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Are your doctors constantly telling you all your problems are in your head?

Mine, too. I have news for you. They’re full of shit.

Even with incredibly well-documented proof of multiple ailments and injuries over the past 35 years I’ve been on this planet, I still get dismissed by doctors - sometimes even the ones who made those diagnoses. It’s a level of frustration I am so tired of carrying, and I see so many other patients getting the same treatment. It makes me angry seeing that it’s such a universal problem. Even hundreds of men on Threads were telling me that they are often ignored and dismissed when they come in with issues as well.

Why are doctors so cold and uncaring? I wish I knew.

What I do know is that there is a shortage of doctors in the United States, particularly primary care doctors, and that’s absolutely affecting wait times and availability. However, it doesn’t account for the callousness that so many doctors exude today. When I was younger, sure, I was brushed off and told I couldn’t possibly have the illnesses I did, in fact, end up being diagnosed with. However, my pain was controlled. I wasn’t having to stick to 1 pill at a time just twice a day, expecting that to be sufficient relief for pain that I would describe as 8 out of 10 on a good day.

Don’t get me started on bad days.

I know that the “war on drugs” has changed a lot for the medical field and placed a ton of restrictions on doctors instead of addressing any of the actual issues at hand, which can explain the lack of doctors willing to prescribe anything stronger than Tylenol 3, but again, cannot explain the uncaring demeanor.

My question is, at what point do doctors decide how much pain is “enough” pain for it to be bad enough to require stronger relief than anything found OTC? Why is that for them to decide? How do they know how badly I’m hurting at any given time simply by looking at me? Patients who suffer from daily pain build a tolerance to it, much like you would to a medication. Over time, we adjust to the new levels of pain we rise to, and you begin to see it less and less on our faces or when we move. We mask well enough to make people think we are fine, because that’s what’s expected of us. We are told to simply get over it and deal with the pain like a big girl.

What if I don’t want to be a fucking big girl anymore? I want to whine and cry and bitch and moan because is fucking HURTS. So why is that not allowed?

If I were to go into a hospital hysterical like that, you know what they’d do?

They would ship me off to a psych ward.

I wish that were a joke. It’s not.

My point is, doctors are not exactly at their peak right now, and many of us are getting the result: shitty ones.

So, if you’re being told that it’s all in your head, but you have been researching for months, trying to find an explanation that would explain away all those random symptoms that have been culminating into a diagnosis, formulating slowly, but surely, just out of a doctor’s detection, but well within yours...

It’s not all in your head.

Say it with me. It’s not all in your head.

If you aren’t being heard, seek help elsewhere. There are good doctors out there who will do whatever it takes to find the root cause of your issues, and they are worth finding, worth holding out hope for, worth the world in gold to you when you get that big, beautiful D - for diagnosis, of course. 🤪

Keep searching for answers. Google can absolutely be your worst enemy - but it can also become your best friend. I know it’s come in clutch for me multiple times when I didn’t know where to turn. It was able to piece together symptoms I hadn’t even thought about because they may have been minor or less common, and therefore not at the top of my mind.

I haven’t been wrong about a diagnosis yet. Not one.

I don’t think you’re wrong right now, either. So keep searching until you find what you think could be the answer, then look for a specialist who works in diagnosing it to find out for sure. Don’t stop until you get your diagnosis, whatever it may be.

I believe you.

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The Stigma We Bear

Chronic pain patients often get told that they are overreacting, they aren’t in ‘that much’ pain, and that their feelings and symptoms are completely invalid. We get told that our bloodwork came back normal, so there’s nothing wrong, yet we can feel our bodies raging from within. We get told we’re “too young” or “too this” and “too that” rather than having our symptoms and experiences validated and working with us to find the answers we are desperately seeking.

Doctors are supposed to be doing no harm, but actively harm people in constant debilitating pain. The way they refuse to dole out opiates at all, even though they are often the only relief we ever get, just furthers the stigma against us, so people call us drug-seekers and addicts when that couldn’t be further from the truth. We simply want relief from the agony that we bear every second of every day.

To be perfectly honest, I would rather risk dying of an opiate overdose than go without any kind of pain relief. It is genuine torture living every day in so much pain that it hurts to move. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to exist. Yet, doctors want to hold our pain to some threshold, some minimum amount of acceptable pain. I don’t think any amount of constant pain is acceptable. Why are we just allowing people to suffer simply because people think that all narcotic use, even when prescribed responsibly, is bad?

It’s okay to prescribe them for intense pain after surgery or during procedures, but I guess when you live with pain on a daily basis, doctors seem to forget that large amounts of pain are unbearable, even when you look like you’re handling it well. We get incredibly stoic when we endure the misery for years on end.

Because narcotics have become so stigmatized, pain patients are struggling to get any kind of proper relief. Then, if we are prescribed, we end up having to jump through hoops to get the pharmacists to fill them. The war on drugs has never been real. The war on narcotics like Norco and Morphine has never been real. It’s a bunch of bullshit meant to keep pain relief out of the hands of citizens, even when those citizens are in dire need. The biggest problem in drugs right now is Fentanyl, and no doctors are handing that shit out like candy.

So, why are pain patients punished instead? Fentanyl is still on the streets while we go like clockwork to appointments and pee in cups to prove we didn’t sell them, even though no true pain patient would give up their one line of relief. Ever. We are not searching streets for any “fix” we can find. We are searching for answers, compassion, and yes - relief.

Is that so fucking hard to comprehend? Is it really too much to ask?

I don’t think it is.

So, What? We Should Just Die, Then?

Genuinely, this goes through many of our heads multiple times a week, I’m sure. I know it does mine.

Pain is a huge driver of suicide. It’s a huge component of so much depression, loneliness, and despair. It gets unbearable living in a body that doesn’t work as intended, and no one believes you when you tell them you’re absolutely miserable and can’t take it anymore.

They wait until we actually go through with it, and then they say, “Oh, maybe we should have done more.”

They should do more. I understand that doctors are overloaded with patients. Chronic pain patients are also often overloaded with doctors, because we are so often in pain from chronic illnesses. We are tired, we are scared, and we are begging to be treated like human beings with feelings. I want to be treated like I actually matter, rather than just a number on a list of patients. Is that too much?

Is it too much to read my full chart instead of repeatedly asking me questions that I’ve painfully written on your dozens of papers that you forced me to fill out on top of the paperwork I already filled out on the internet? I don’t think that’s asking too much.

If more doctors would take the time to actively listen and formulate a legitimate plan with options and choices, I think we would have better experiences overall. However, that never seems to fucking happen because so many doctors are, ironically, too egotistical to put others before themselves.

We end up losing so many people simply because they can’t take the pain anymore. It’s senseless and avoidable with...say it with me! PROPER PAIN CONTROL.

Doctors are constantly throwing medications at us...as long as they aren’t pain relief. Why is that less dangerous than just giving me a medication that actually makes my life a little more bearable? I was once on twice the recommended dose of Topamax, which was very dangerous, but no one said a word - not a pharmacist, not another doctor, no one - until I researched it and realized how overprescribed I’d been. I could barely formulate full sentences and constantly forgot simple words like CAR. How is that less dangerous than just giving me pain relief?

I don’t think I’ll ever understand that.

And why do we keep being told there’s nothing doctors can do when we see celebrities with constant miraculous recovery or the ability to still perform for years, decades even, despite incredibly painful ailments most of us with similar issues cannot do? Money can’t buy happiness, apparently, but I clearly see it can buy more options from doctors that us peasants certainly aren’t privy to.

So, when does the fight end? Are we ever going to actually be heard, or will we continue to fade into the darkness when we can’t go on any longer? I really don’t know, and I’ve lost a ton of hope in the process. As much as I wanted to believe that I could eventually get back to work in veterinary medicine, or at least back to some kind of full-time work, I don’t think my very well-documented illnesses and injuries are being taken seriously enough for that ever to happen.

I take my life a day at a time, even hour by hour most days. I try to focus on my family and loved ones, my writing, and making sure I do my best to stay mentally as fit as possible...but the darkness creeps in, and I have to actively push it away each time. I shouldn’t have to beg my doctors to believe me. I have nothing to gain by being this ill or in this much pain. It has ruined my life in endless ways and I fucking hate it. I would do just about anything to NOT have to endure all of this, but doctors are determined to ignore that fact from so many of us, and I’m so fucking tired.

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As always, stay happy and healthy, always be kind, but take no shit.

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