Several months ago, my content creation drew the attention of a “seed investor” as I liked to call him.

He was willing to pay to have my account Verified in exchange for regular access to internal metrics, which I had no problems at all providing him. Some weeks, and some months, these metrics would be a bit more… amusing than others, but it was what it was. At any rate, getting back to the original topic of conversation: the fact that this individual chose to walk away from Twitter as a website, as a whole, because of longstanding issues that their Support has had that they have continued to refuse to fix. And to be serious for a second, they are issues that I completely agree with him having and him raising. He didn’t like the fact that the site was being taken in, and he wasn’t comfortable with the direction that Support and security were being taken in themselves, so I can completely understand his reluctance to continue to put time and resources into the site. I think I’ve mentioned my association with him on here before in a few posts, but I’m not even going to miss… not having a Support account any longer if any of you get what I’m saying here.

I’m making posts in here about a day late depending on how I feel, which I’m about to get into.

Writing is a bit cathartic. It distracts me from some of the pain, which we’ll be getting to shortly.

For those of you who don’t already know, Bub caused me to bite down on my own lip headbutting me while eating (I do not, and will not accept blame from anyone regarding, him at all, and that is final). I sought medical care for this almost as soon as it happened, and it began a pattern of seeking necessary care because it was clearly getting infected and I was becoming more and more delusional due to the pain. This culminated on April 8th when I took one step out of bed that morning and promptly face-planted into the floor and my son’s computer chair, which resulted in a ride to the local hospital and me being too delirious for my troubles… or, shall I say, the troubles I was about to have. That time, I bypassed the entire waiting room entirely and was brought to triage. You know, the bad sort of triage. It tends to be bad when that happens. They had to wheel me everywhere if not blanket me everywhere. They get my delirious ass onto the table, I hear someone go “we’re going to have to cut her shirt off”, feel it, and then things go black for a little bit…

The lip infection spread to my heart and my heart, my friends, was not a fan of it. Not at all.

I’m being paddled.

At any rate, I begin “coming to” in the CT machine with them doing a second of two CTs on me… on my heart. I realize I have two IVs in my arms, make a satirical comment about “this machine again”, and kind of pass out (though not fully) for a little while. But me getting cheeky like that reassured my care team that I was starting to come back around. I’m almost always cheeky. At any rate, this little stunt wins me a two-day pass on the med surg unit of the hospital… I guess in case they actually have to go in and make this story even more screwed up. My insurance begins fighting it as soon as they start placing the paddles on my chest, even going so far as to attempt to bill me for it (which I am in the process of refuting, and so is the hospital, to give some of you an idea). Like, In what world is paddles to the chest not medically necessary when a heart needs to be shocked back into rhythm, or out of asystole? (I would much later come to find out that my heart rate had begun climbing as a result of this rampant infection, climbing, then climbing more…)

As soon as I begin a good antibiotic and pain management regiment in med surg, I ask my phone to be plugged into the long charging cord that they very helpfully provide and FaceTime my oldest son (one of many times). This elates him, even some of the times when I’m slurring. Nurse shift changes are a bit challenging when it comes to getting new orders for pain management in, but it gets done… except for the last nurse of the last day. But outpatient pharmacy saved the day prescribing me what I needed to get home and not slur the important words when it came to things my kids needed. I’m mainly dealing with nausea.

They got me back to my babies. And I will always be thankful for the effort they put in to do that.

I thought that what Bub had done to me was a simple, if not severe, injury.

At any rate, at the advice of my care team I sought medical assistance in the form of a doctor’s visit. They gave me pain medication that makes the healing process tolerable, for which I am thankful. They gave me some mouthwash whose name I will never be able to spell but is not painful. And then the kicker… I was prescribed oral antibiotics in spite of my long-standing history contraindicating them, requiring that I be given antibiotics via IV concurrent with nausea medication whenever they are required. In this case, my medical records were not even read. I’m supposed to be given intravenous antibiotics as the need arises, whenever the need arises, concurrent with nausea medication. This did not happen in this case and attempts (or, shall I say, attempt) to take the oral antibiotic was horrifying on my end. But the pain medication that I was prescribed has been carrying the day, as they say, and is making the healing process of this tolerable as I continue to use the oral mouthwash that I was prescribed in conjunction. It doesn’t hurt.

People have continued to try and invite me to Discord servers that I want no part of.

Look, I don’t want to hear about how I “need” to sue the automobile insurance of the driver that struck and killed my oldest son’s father “for that $25,000, because it would really help (you)”. It’s already been established that this was a complete, and completely screwed up, accident on the fault of the driver… who remained on scene and gave law enforcement answers to all of their questions and as much detail on the matter as he possibly could, even though some of it was incriminating (admitting to speeding and doing two illegal right-hand passes). And even if I wanted to pursue that windfall, it would disrupt benefits and services that my family needs and will continue to need for the foreseeable future no matter what you say or how much benefit or tax fraud you think is “acceptable” to commit. I pride myself on adhering to benefit and tax law with the utmost of strictness, and only grew up “with these people” in the strictest sense of the word because my mother was content to fob me off onto the Internet so she didn’t have to deal with me or interact with me — I was her meal ticket and knew that by the age of six, which coincided with her first attempts to fob me off onto the Internet. America Online, to be precise. My dad wanted there to be limitations in my Internet usage (such as time spent on it and the fact that I could not call or visit anyone “from the Internet” for as long as I was a minor, the last two he got his wish on, and the very last one still in effect because no one who isn’t a content creator who can prove as such “from the Internet” is allowed on the property). I didn’t want to make friends online and treated attempts at such during my adolescence accordingly, whereas I’m sure others in different circumstances had less dimmer or even much less dimmer recollections of events that both of us might have been involved in. They were content to make friends online. I just wanted a mother who wasn’t abhorrent to pay attention to me and consistently meet my needs.

My mother’s delight in fobbing me off to the Internet and her subsequent enjoyment at having it babysit me are why I limit my kids’ consumption of the Internet like I do. They are not allowed to have social media accounts of their own and they are not allowed to chat (or Zoom) with anyone who isn’t a real-life friend, family member, or member of our homeschool co-op. I don’t want them to grow up like I had to grow up.

People have legitimately been telling me that I should tell my oldest son to forget his father and that I shouldn’t have any mementos made so that he can remember his father (or, more to the point, having one). This has caused me to cut people out of my life, which I don’t mind one bit, who I won’t be allowing back into my life for any reason. These are the very same people who have practically been shouting at me that I should sue the driver of the car that struck my son’s father, caring more about “that $25,000 (sic)” than the fact that this man was genuinely remorseful that his actions caused another person to die, let alone the fact that my son might actually want something to keep his father close by. The fact that these people care more about money than the emotional states of my son or me has been horrifying, although I expect nothing less from the people I grew up with who have repeatedly continued to invite me to their Discord servers (“but it’ll be different this time! there won’t be [any] drama [this time], I promise!”) in spite of the fact that I have made it as clear as I can that I don’t want to be invited to these servers or contacted by these people. Maybe they’ll get it this time, although I wouldn’t hold my breath on the matter. It’s like these people legitimately haven’t grown up at all, and I’m not interested in living through the adolescence that I spent on America Online over again if you know what I mean. I could write a whole post about how that was not a… fun experience for me, or vlog about it, and I think I will sometime soon. Both, in fact. But seriously, I’d like to get off of the ride now.