So....life has become beyond interesting at this point. It's been downright hell. I'm so tired, and I feel like nothing ever stops. I'm doing my best to get better physically, mentally, etc. but it just feels like nothing I ever do is good enough.

I suppose I should start this off by saying I'm getting a divorce. Things with Mark sort of blew up, badly, and I'm not going to hash out the details here or bag on him at all. Suffice to say, it's the best thing for both of us no matter how much it hurts.

Secondly, I have fibromyalgia. The second time I saw my new physician (which was right around the time we got hit with a massive ice storm from hell, and I happened to get my Laptop FINALLY), he mentioned the possibility of my having it, and after quite a bit of blood work, visiting a rheumatologist, and various other things, the diagnosis was confirmed.

Then I started Googling and researching. And suddenly, the last ten years of my life made sense. Hell, my whole life made sense. Given my past and everything else, I'm amazed my old physician never caught on, but c'est la vie. I've been mad at God, myself, my old doctor, and at the end of the day, it's not doing any good. It's not helping me get better. I am stuck with this disease for life, but you know what? I have a life.

I don't give a damn if I'm going to be in pain every day or if I'm going to have all the nasty side effects forever. I am going to fight this with everything I've got because I am going to have a good life, no-matter-what it takes.

I still have two wonderful partners who love me dearly and are always taking care of me and giving me everything they've got. I have a wonderful, if not a bit erratic and spastic, mother, who loves me and who is fighting almost as hard as I am to win against this monstrosity in my body. She never gives up on me, no matter how much of a pain in the ass I am, so how fucking dare I even think for one moment about quitting?

I did. I really did. When I first got the diagnosis, it was right as Mark and I were splitting up, and I fell apart. I just wanted to die. I really, really wanted someone to just put a gun to my head and pull the trigger. Nothing mattered anymore. My marriage was over, I would never be "better" physically, I could only treat my symptoms, my artistic abilities were at an all time low, and I just was a burden to everyone around me. I seriously wanted to give up.

Then, the night before my first physical therapy session, I spent several hours on the phone with my lover, and he unloaded on me just what I was doing to him with my self destruction. I wasn't self destructing. I was like an atomic bomb. I was taking myself, and everyone I loved with me.

The people who love me the most, who I treasure the most...my mom, my brother, my partners, my friends....I was destroying them with my self hatred and my pain.

And that just doesn't fly for me. It's one thing to hurt myself, it's another to hurt those precious to me.

And that's when I decided that I don't give a damn what it takes, I am going to get better. I may never be cured of the fibro, but I can fight it. It WILL NOT control me. I will have a life, a wonderful life, and no disease is going to take that away from me. My divorce is not the end of my life. It is the end of something I cherished in my life, and something I wanted to have for life, but I will survive.

A few days after my lover told me just how much I was tearing him up, and I decided to take on the world and be strong for those I loved, I got my cell-phone (something I've wanted since I was 7, and have been planning to get for quite some time). A few days after that, I finally got my guitar. And then my grandparents came to me with a proposition: they were willing to loan me the money to buy a car so that I could get back and forth to physical therapy and to school. I, of course, crying my eyes out, took the offer.

I have a beautiful 2002 Chevy Trailblazer named Elika, or "Ellie" for short. I've been heat lapping back and forth for physical therapy constantly, and abusing my poor Blackberry Curve to death keeping in touch as I run and go.

I got my driving permit on the 27th of May. I will have my license at the end of June. I have every major physical object I've ever wanted, I have two men who treat me like a Goddess, a loving family that puts up with all my crazy bullshit, and a beautiful, glorious life ahead of me.

I am starting my life. I am going back to college this fall. I am going to take the world by storm.

One step at a time.

I haven't had the time to really do anything writing/art wise lately, but I'm hoping when I get a five minute breather, I will be able to sit down and write.

I'm sorry I dissapeared on you guys and that for the past few years, my writing and my art have been inconsistant at best. I hope to change that, just like my outlook on life, very soon.

Edit: I have NO fucking idea why my journal is one long run on sentence but ya'll know I don't write like this. Freakin' DA *sigh*