Judy wanted to see Kelto in a hat!  He is also wearing a lovely matching ensemble.

 

Kelto is tired of being told what to do!  I mean, he loved the hat idea.  But those are HIS bra and panties and if he wants to wear them proudly, then I’m not going to stop him.  I’ve had Kelto for over a decade and he has had ENOUGH of hiding.

I was cuddled up in bed with him last night, sobbing because my next door neighbors and my favorite cat moved out.  I was empty and aching.

I realized, though, that I have almost NOTHING AND NOBODY in my life!  And do you want to know why?  I feel sick.  I feel powerless.  A lot.  Because

I AM ALWAYS FOLLOWING SOMEONE ELSE’S INSTRUCTIONS

and I shove everything that I want to do waa a ay down.  And you know what?  Someone else is shoving something else down my throat!  And I’ve been chewing on it and sometimes I can’t swallow.  I’ll explain what that something is:

When my sister and I were young and living out on the farm, mom used to traumatize us by chasing us around the house with a raw cow’s tongue.  Then, of course, when dinner was ready, well, I think that part of the brain that blocks out trauma had me totally forget what the cow’s tongue tasted like.  However, in my tiny memory, and keep in mind I was dropped on my head as a child, I always remember chewing and chewing and chewing on that last piece of gristly pressure-cooked meat and doing so well because I didn’t throw up when I swallowed.  This, of course, is nothing against my mother, but an analogy to illustrate vomiting! My dad encouraged me to eat eggshells once, which I tried, and I did not realize he was kidding.  I swallowed anything I was told.

Young people out there!  There are millions and millions of you worldwide who are suffering from undiagnosed conditions!  In my case, it was (and still is) in the “autoimmune” category.  And sometimes it takes fucking 5 years and 10 doctors to get a diagnosis!  Do you know why I am still sick and without proper fucking care?  It’s because I

GAVE UP.  I SWALLOWED THAT FUCKING GRISTLE of “Nothing’s wrong with you”. FOR 26 YEARS!

I always gave up.  I gave up asking my grade one teacher if I could go to the bathroom because she was so irritated if I asked.  So, out of spite, I sat in my desk and peed all over the floor.  And then laughed when she was forced to walk through it walking down the aisle.

I gave up trying to talk about my feelings.  At 5 years old, if I sat down at the dinner table and didn’t receive my special cup with the blue dog on it, tears would just cascade down my face until someone friggin figured it out.

I gave up a dream nursing job because I swallowed one nurse’s bullshit bullying.  Probably because I had a strong opinion about the profession of law enforcement, not realizing that her husband was, indeed, a police officer.

I gave up talking to my counselors because they understandably thought I was only depressed and plagued with a bad attitude.  More fucking isolation.

THE WORST PART WAS I GAVE UP ON MYSELF WHEN THE FIRST DOCTOR TOLD ME I WAS FULL OF SHIT ABOUT BEING TIRED AND HAVING SEIZURES

I was only SIXTEEN!!!  And them’s were the olden days folks when I thought doctors knew everything.  I am here to tell you today that they DON’T.  Just because they know fancy words like paroxysmal nocturnal dyspnea does NOT make them an authority on YOUR body.

I GAVE UP ON MYSELF SEVEN TIMES.  YES, YOUNG PEOPLE, SEVEN TIMES.  THAT WAS MY BODY LYING TO ME.  DON’T EVER LISTEN TO THE LIES.YOUR BODY IS TELLING YOU THAT YOU ARE SICK AND THAT YOU NEED HELP.  

I’m screaming in glistening orange caps because it matches Kelto’s outfit ok goddammit?!  And this is important!  This is why I started this blog.  There are millions of you out there right now who are exhausted, fainting, sensitive to heat and light, have temperature sensitivity, low-grade fever, possible seizure activity, insomnia, and you go to bed and wake up just as fucking exhausted as when you went to bed.  Or you wake up on the floor.  Or you’re sick.  Like all of the time.  You need to lie down in the sick room during classes. You faint during gymn class and can’t get a doctor’s note to skip gym.  And you can’t graduate without that fucking course.   I know you guys are out there!  I’m not diagnosing you with anything but you know deep down something is very wrong and

NOBODY, AND I MEAN NOBODY IS LISTENING TO YOU JUST BECAUSE STANDARD TESTS COME BACK NORMAL.

There are tons of things that could be wrong – and I’m not going to diagnose you or even try.  That will get my ass sued.  The best I could do is look at your shit and tell you how your colon is doing.  Please don’t send me pictures of your shit.

And then what do you do, young person, or frustrated person, or (now) depressed person?  You get more depressed, and you continue to be physically unwell.  You go to a counselor who tells you that you need more vegetables, exercise, and maybe you should go out and do things socially even when it hurts your body to do so.

Your dreams of university, college, that athletic scholarship, marriage, kids, are circling the motherfucking drain and you are the only one trying to plug it up with bubble gum.  Listen, there are millions of people to help plug that drain, and well I’m not even going to guess how much bubble gum there is available to be chewed in the world.

Listen, people aren’t going to figure shit out for you.  They won’t even look at your shit in the toilet.  You can’t be silent.  You can’t give up on yourself EVER!  Start with a counselor who won’t fall asleep mid session.  That’s a good start.

I vow to go from doctor to doctor to doctor even if I have to lie down in the flatbed of someone’s pickup truck!  In the middle of winter!   I vow to never listen to the destructive lies my body tells me even if that means removing all the dialogue bubbles from my house!  Wait, that was a hallucination.  Never mind.

I will open my vast, and I mean vast treasure chest of unbearable humorous insanity, what appears to resemble wisdom (jury’s still out on that one), and more of Kelto’s underthings.

And I will NOT give up laughing.  And you shouldn’t either.  And honestly, the desire for me to be crude has also been lodged down my throat with the beef gristle so it’s fucking coming out.  I won’t be offended if you look at sweet pictures and videos of kittens instead because that’s not what I’m offering here!  Unless a cat coughs up a hairball.  Then the analogy presented is applicable.

And yes, you can laugh, be unwittingly insensitive, sick, depressed, misunderstood, and you can still stand up for yourself.  And be

ORGANIZED, INTELLIGENT, AND ARTICULATELY HEARD EASILY WITHIN A FOUR BLOCK RADIUS IN SEVERAL DIFFERENT LANGUAGES

It’s a term that we opera folks sometimes like to call

CONTROLLED SCREAMING:

WHEN NO ONE SEEMS TO LISTEN

And it’s all I will be doing from now on.  But in English only.  This is why I started this blog in the first place.  To get this seemingly ignored group of mysteriously ill people together to start TALKING and SHARING and LAUGHING.

And I’m pretty damned funny.  And I’ll let you in on a little secret – I’ve got so many more “Keltos” and so many strange and idiotic things to help you get through, say, a lonely and black night like I had last night!