Why I Hate Doctors

I went to the doctor today to get my worsening infection checked out. They took a little biopsy of it, tested it, and it's MRSA, just like I thought. But, luckily it's not in my bloodstream, and I caught it right on time, so I don't have to be hospitalized or anything. But that's the good news.

So the biopsy hurt really badly, even though it was just a small piece of skin removed, because the infected skin is incredibly tender. But anyways, once I got the biopsy back, they were like, "Yeah, we're gonna have to remove it." So, I expected them to give me some sort of anesthetic, at least a local one. No. Didn't happen. The woman who did it told me that it was going to feel sort of like getting an ear pierced, which we all know, doesn't really hurt at all. So, you know, I'm lying on the table, and the woman dresses the incision area, and get ready for something that feels like getting my ears pierced, and like a little slice for it to drain out of. WRONG. This woman cuts a freaking half-inch hole in my leg without anesthesia. And this lady is chattering away, while slicing my leg up. She seemed way too happy to be cutting a hole in my leg. Not to mention at this point, I'm like crying my face off, and I'm biting my tongue hard enough to make it bleed, just to keep myself from screaming. Then I passed out right before it was over.

It was awful.

I hate doctors.

For you.

This one's for you, my dear. You know who you are.

I wish that you weren't so far away, because I would come to you, and tell you how wonderful and smart and beautiful you are. And how much I admire you.

I'd reach inside your mind, if I could, and pull out all the monsters. I'd cut a few wires, and tie up some new ones, and I'd show you that you are real.

You are real. You are real. You are real. You are real. You are real.

Even if you don't believe it yourself yet, you will. You have plenty of others out there who are believing it for you.

I hate knowing that you're in pain. You have no idea how much I want to take it all away from you, so you can be happy. So you can be free.

You will be free. I promise.

With all the love in the world,

Margie.

Two Things

I'll start with the bad first:

My weight has SKYROCKETED.

The good:

I finally got into the last stages of designing my next tattoo. It looks exponentially better in person, trust me. I'll try and get a better quality picture. I should have the actual tattoo half-way finished hopefully by mid-December. It still needs a bit of tweaking, epecially the lilies.

But, I've found an absolutely incredible artist to do it, even though he charges A LOT. I'm talking $100 an hour, and the black and white parts of this are supposed to take anywhere from 2-4 hours. Hopefully I can come up with that kind of money by then.

But I'm willing to pay a lot for it, because it means a whole hell of a lot to me.

The Lilies of the Valley are for returned happiness, or at least the hope of returned happiness.

The branch of thorns that the sparrow is perched on represent pain, but they also represent protection and strength.

The sparrow is a chipping sparrow, and I chose this particular type of sparrow for its colouring. I knew that I wanted a bird, to represent freedom from abuse. So I chose a sparrow, because of a song, "Little Sparrow," by Dolly Parton that I grew up listening to. I can't really put to words how perfectly it fits with parts of the emotional and mental abuse that he put me through.

I'm free from him now, and I hope, I hope, I hope, that he has made me stronger.

Here's the song. You should take a listen.

Love you all.
Margie.

MRSA, maybe.

I miss everyone. And I hope all of your are doing well.

I'm not doing very well myself. I've ballooned up to 106.4 lbs. I learned this when I went to the doctor the other day, to get an infected cut looked at. The thing that I'm most worried about, is that it might be MRSA, Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus. In English, that's basically staph that is resistant to the majority of antibiotics. One of my closest friends was in the hospital with it a few weeks ago, and I was exposed to it when I went to visit him. He's fine now, but there's also a two-inch wide and two-and-a-half-inch deep section of his leg that's been taken out. I'd like to keep all of my leg, thanks.

Needless to say, I'm worried.

I keep hiatus-ing

I haven't been able to write much, or restrict much. A absolutely won't let me. He notices every time and tells me to, "eat, spidermonkey!" He's so wonderful though. Really, really wonderful. Which is a problem, because I might be starting to fall in love with him, and I'm trying not to let myself, and I'm trying to be realistic. And he says he isn't ready to be in love yet, which upsets me, because I feel like it's my fault, like I'm not lovable, and I hope it's not that, and it's been bugging me all week. I don't know what to think because I'm upset right now.