Werewolves.

    I like to think that I have a pretty good pain threshold. It's not often that something hurts too much for me to deal with, but every couple of months, that pesky condition I have crops up and beats the shit out of me.

    I have a standard level of pain that I deal with every day. My hands, as they deteriorate further, are usually the biggest daily toil. Easy to deal with, however. I know that I can't open jars or give firm handshakes, and I've dealt with the fact that I will drop fifty percent of all things that I pick up.  I fucking hate that of course, I miss my dexterity. I can handle it, though.

    What I can't handle, however, is twelve to fourteen hours of feeling like my insides are being ripped out with a red-hot poker. I play a game with the animal savaging me inside, trying to fight down enough painkillers to put me to sleep before I'm forced to throw up everything in my stomach again. At least three or four times a year, I am right on the verge of killing myself, taking that ten too many pills and never waking up again. Not on purpose, mostly, although I've certainly contemplated it. Since I already feel like I'm dying, killing myself presents itself as an easy alternative.

 I cannot walk when this is happening, I have to crawl on my hands and knees, the dizziness is so severe.  After eight hours or so of the intense muscle spasms, I don't even have the energy to writhe in pain anymore. I just lay there and stare glassy eyed at the ceiling as my organs rearrange themselves into new and horrific shapes, trembling, sometimes praying, telling whatever deity will listen that I would do anything to just make this stop.

    So that's been my day. No energy left for the witty ending line. 

    

    

A forced perspective on relationships, and a small stroll through already discussed topics.

Since my customer service mask is firmly in place before I arrive at work, various coworkers and regular customers have come to the vexing conclusion that I am capable of, and inclined to, give advice on romantic mishaps.
    I can't even begin to describe how irritating I find this to be, but I digress. This maddening situation did inspire a blog post, after all. Anyway, let's get to it before the spite turns this into an angry diatribe on the gall of people.
    So, related to a previous post, we all have a list of attributes that we deem necessary in order to invest in a relationship with someone. We make our own lists with our own criteria, and we get to decide when and how we score it. Yada yada yada. Check the Nice Guys post if you need a refresher. What I'm talking about today is after the scoring, when we enter into what I shall call the Contract. Whatever your particular provisions may be, the essence of the contract is the same for every relationship.
    I will give to you, Relationship Applicant, my time and emotional support so long as you give me your time and emotional support in return. Pretty basic, one size fits all. Both parties have the right to terminate the Contract, at any time and for any conceivable reason. What you do not have is the right to terminate and then still expect the other party to fulfill their end of the bargain. That, ladies and gentleman, is one surefire way to make me call you a selfish asshole. Loudly and publicly, and boy, does my voice carry.
    If you are unsatisfied with a friend or partner, then do whatever you need to do to fulfill your needs.           Renegotiate your terms, terminate, even bitch endlessly while doing nothing. Whatever. Deal with it. I will never advocate staying with someone you don't want to be with. What's the point of freedom of choice if you can't exercise it? But once you have terminated, that is it. This person now owes you nothing, regardless of which end of the termination you may have been on. Any culpability you may have for someone ends as soon as the relationship does. Whatever you give them beyond the breaking point is emotional largesse.
    Maybe this is a capability that only the overly pragmatic person has, but when someone tells me they no longer want to be my friend or lover, I take them at their word. I assume that if there was something I could do to fix the relationship, they would have brought it up before that point. Breaking up, to me, is absolutely literal. Our relationship is broken, and I am not required to fix it. I can certainly try if I am so inclined, but I have been relieved of duty. Any further action is on my own time, and by my own choice.
    Termination is not a form of punishment, either. If you are breaking up with someone, or ending whatever relationship you have, and you are doing this in the hopes that you will scare them into doing whatever it is that you want them to do without any attempt at negotiation on their part, then that is flat out abuse. If you crack open a psychology textbook and look for the definition of emotional abuse, you will find a picture of your asshole face, looking out all asshole-like.
    I hate bullies. I always have, and likely always will. When I see manipulative, emotionally damaging behavior, I can't help but to call it out. Breaking up with your partner in an attempt to control them is bullying. Threatening isolation and eviction  from a peer group to make someone comply with whacked out wishes? Also bullying. I don't much care what super secret motivation one may have for acting in this way. I don't really give a flying fuck about feelings in general. The emotions of others are never, ever my business, not even with my husband or my best friend. Anything ever shared with me, feelings wise, is just insight into an action that has already taken place, and I measure the worth of a person based upon their actions. It may soften my heart a little to know that you act the bully now because you were the bullied way back when, but the behavior itself is unacceptable. I myself have worn that mantle, I'm ashamed to admit, but I don't believe it is somehow excused by the fact that I've been on the receiving end more often.
If you have the ability to be better and you aren't, that's what I see.


(It looks as though i went too long and it did turn into an angry diatribe after all. Oh well. Magic edit button is my favorite.)