The weird eccentric ramblings of a multiple sclerosis sufferer

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

It’s Thursday. The sun is out, probably warmer than my place, which is basically an icebox. Today’s forecast? Existential dread with a chance of mild joy.

This morning, the doctor rang me for my phone appointment. Absolute legend. Actually made me feel less like a human pincushion, which is impressive because I have severe white coat syndrome. Since moving here, local doctors are… shockingly decent. no Plumbstick, it’s almost unsettling.

Then came the highlight of my day: the “machine of death” at the chemist. It always malfunctions like it has a personal vendetta against me. But today? Today I smiled through the existential horror.

Yopi, my alpha Blueblood American Bulldog, was serene like she’d transcended this mortal coil. She hopped into the back of Rusty 1, strapped in like a responsible adult (she’s better at this than me), and off we went. The warmth of the day made me momentarily forget I’m a failing meat suit with MS. Dogs are magical that way. Stroke a dog’s chin and suddenly the chronic pain fades to background noise… until reality slaps you in the face again.

Speaking of slaps: my head feels… weird. Not foggy, just like some cosmic veil is tugging me toward a place free of pain. Somewhere better. Warmer. Definitely less human. My spiritual side is currently a maze, confusing me, mocking me, asking, “Who even are you?” Just a random meat suit with MS, apparently.

I put on The Eagles and let the memories flood in. Nostalgia is a cruel friend reminds you what you’ve lost while your limbs stage a protest.

We drove to the chemist. Thrilling stuff. All normal, boring, mundanely tragic but Yopi enjoyed it. Sometimes I wish I were a dog. Carefree. Oblivious. Immortal in joy.

Yes, that’s Thursday. Survived. Somehow.

I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

It’s Wednesday. Already. Somehow I’ve managed to do more life admin than seems humanly possible for a body powered by MS and stubbornness alone. My mind is a foggy wasteland of numbness, courtesy of my chronic neurological fun-fest, but the chaos seems… slightly less apocalyptic today. Small victories.

Pain clinic consult? Surprisingly decent. I didn’t get gaslit, which feels like a miracle. Wheeled out with some scraps of positivity that I’ll hoard like toilet paper in a zombie apocalypse. MS nurse? Hoping she phones before I develop a permanent twitch from waiting. Overworked, underpaid, and heroic.

AI is my new best friend. I’m on a mission to grab my MRI scans so my digital buddy can tell me exactly what’s in my skull. No doctor euphemisms, no vague nods at “abnormalities,” just straight-up pixel honesty: “Lesion here. Lesion there. Weird patch in your brainstem. That’s all.” Finally, clarity for a human with a brain that sometimes refuses to translate itself into English. White coats can go choke on their paperwork.

Yopi, the four-legged chaos incubator, is settling into our life of slow-motion absurdity. She’s making my world stranger in ways I didn’t think were possible. Only snag? My mobility. Can’t take the walks, but we’ll train her to glide along with the powerchair. Life’s full of compromises, mostly involving gas masks for me and treats for her.

Medical marijuana and THC/CBD oil are holding the line. No magic bullets for nerve pain, tinnitus, or the daily brain ache, but it helps, and I’ll take it. Every little sanity-saving thing counts when you’re a human pinball in an MS-shaped arcade.

Meanwhile, I sit, inhaling the occasional waft of bulldog farts, contemplating life, death, and whether AI will someday take over all consulting roles for humans with chronic illness. It probably will, but at least it won’t judge me for smelling it all and laughing anyway.

MS life: chaotic, smelly, occasionally enlightening, and fully documented with AI commentary for the ages.

I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

When Your Brain Betrays You Before Your Legs Do

Multiple sclerosis has a knack for picking the cruellest, most intimate places to steal from you. People expect the visible the limp, the cane, the visible fatigue. Those feel negotiable: you buy different shoes, you learn new routes, you ask someone to carry the groceries. The invisible theft is nastier, because it takes things you don’t know how to replace: the steady line of your thoughts, the little plug that supplies the right word, the sense that you are the same person you were yesterday.

Let’s be blunt: cognitive changes in MS are terrifying. They are not a failure of will. They are not melodrama. They are neurologic reality. And they hurt in a way that doesn’t leave bruises but hollows you out.

What it feels like - Thought drift: mid-sentence, your mind steps out for a cigarette and forgets to come back. You re-read the same paragraph three times and still miss the point. - Word loss: it’s not just “on the tip of my tongue.” It’s watching language implode. Proper names vanish; everyday words hide like shy pets. - Slowed processing: decisions that used to be automatic now come wrapped in molasses. You have to consciously unspool what used to be seamless. - Short-term memory gaps: you can hold a story for decades but forget why you walked into the kitchen. - Emotional ripple effects: shame, anger, grief — often louder than the cognitive symptoms themselves.

Why this terrifies us Because our identity lives in memory and in the continuity of thought. When that continuity fractures, you don’t just lose a function — you lose the scaffolding that holds who you are. For everyone who’s felt this: the panic, the grief, the small, private funerals for who you used to be — it’s valid.

How to live with it (practical, not patronizing) These are not miracles. They’re tools, routines, and tiny rebellions that let you keep building a functioning life when the wiring is noisy.

• Externalize memory

  • Notes everywhere: short, clear labels. Notebooks, sticky notes, digital note apps — pick one and stick to it.
  • Use alarms and timers for appointments, meds, and transitions.
  • Photo prompts: snap pics of things you want to remember (where you parked, what you brought to an event).

• Structure decisions

  • Reduce friction: pre-plan meals, outfits, and errands.
  • Decision rules: limit choices (two outfits only; one grocery list template).
  • Routines become Armor: mornings and evenings on autopilot save cognitive energy.

• Chunk tasks

  • Break things into 10–20 minute blocks.
  • Use checklists with visible progress markers.
  • Allow micro-breaks — short rests reset attention.

• Communicate with intent

  • Tell trusted people what’s happening in simple terms: concrete examples and specific asks help.
  • Use one-liners when you need help: “I need extra time,” “Please remind me in 10 minutes.”

• Use tools that fit you

  • Voice memos for ideas that evaporate.
  • Text-to-speech and speech-to-text when reading or writing is hard.
  • Calendar-sharing with a partner or friend.

• Train, gently

  • Cognitive rehab and occupational therapy can help re-train strategies; they’re not magic but they work for some people.
  • Brain games? Use them as gentle practice, not cures.

• Prioritize sleep and manage energy

  • Fatigue amplifies cognitive issues. Rest strategically.
  • Learn your “best hours” and schedule demanding tasks then.

• Manage the emotional impact

  • Let yourself grieve. Anger and panic are normal reactions, not failures.
  • Find a place to be raw: a journal, a private blog, a therapist, or a safe online community.
  • Celebrate tiny wins. Remember that progress isn’t always linear.

When you need to make hard choices Some losses demand adjustments: job changes, shifting responsibilities, planning for legal and financial contingencies. Those conversations are brutal but practical. Put important documents in order, name a trusted person for support, and consider professional advice early rather than waiting until a crisis.

Words to live by when it’s darkest - You are more than a symptom set. Cognitive changes do not erase your core worth. - Small systems beat big intentions. A single alarm is more useful than a perfect plan you can’t remember. - Humor helps when it can — and if it doesn’t, that’s fine. Crying is a strategy sometimes.

You are not alone This is not a vanity project or an isolated tragedy. Many of us know that fog, and we learn to navigate it together — trading tips, commiserations, and the occasional dark joke. If writing back at MS is your rebellion, keep writing. If whispering the small facts into your phone keeps your day tethered, do that. If you need to scream into a pillow, scream.

MS can take things. It will not get your entire story unless you let it. Keep the notebooks, the alarms, the friends who check in, and the words you refuse to lose. Keep writing, because every sentence you manage is a victory, and every honest post a beacon for someone else lost in the fog. Not today, MS. Not today.

I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

Understanding Emotional Outbursts (And Why You Just Screamed at a Toaster)

Emotional outbursts: those sudden surges of unfiltered feelings that explode like cheap fireworks—sometimes directed at loved ones, sometimes at inanimate kitchen appliances. Whether it's a full-on rage rant, a teary-eyed meltdown, or inexplicably laughing at a squirrel, outbursts leave us (and everyone nearby) reeling like a stunned pigeon in a wind tunnel.

But don’t panic—you're not broken. You're just… human. Unfortunately.

Causes of Emotional Outbursts (aka What the Hell Set Me Off?)

• Stress & Anxiety: Life piling up like dirty dishes? Congratulations, you're now a pressure cooker with a dodgy release valve. Outbursts often follow closely behind.

• Frustration: When reality doesn’t match expectations, something's gotta give. Usually your sanity.

• Unresolved Issues: Oh look, it’s childhood trauma popping in for a surprise visit like a drunk uncle at Christmas.

• Fatigue: Sleep? What’s that? When you’re running on fumes and two hobnobs, your emotional filter checks out early.

• Communication Barriers: Can’t explain what you're feeling? Your body might do it for you—very loudly, and in public.

Effects of Emotional Outbursts (Collateral Damage)

• On Relationships: Snapping at loved ones tends to strain things a bit. Shocking, I know.

• On Mental Health: Repeated explosions could be your brain’s desperate SOS signal. Anxiety, depression, or other delightful gremlins may be lurking beneath.

• On Personal Well-being: Guilt. Shame. That lovely emotional hangover where you replay everything at 3am. Cheers, brain.

Managing Emotional Outbursts (Or at Least Causing Fewer Casualties)

• Self-Awareness: Know your triggers. If Karen from accounts makes your eye twitch, maybe don’t sit next to her in meetings.

• Healthy Outlets: Smash clay, not crockery. Journal, jog, howl into a pillow. Art therapy is cheaper than bail money.

• Mindfulness & Relaxation Techniques: Yes, breathing slowly does work—even if you feel like a lemon doing it at first. Try deep breathing exercises or guided meditations to help ground yourself.

• Seeking Support: Talk to someone. Anyone. A friend, a therapist, your dog. Sometimes being heard is enough to defuse the ticking time-bomb.

Personal Anecdote

I remember a time when I lost it over a simple kitchen mishap. I was trying to toast bread, and the toaster decided to play hard to get. After a few failed attempts, I screamed at it as if it had personally offended me. It was a ridiculous moment, but it highlighted how stress from work and life had built up, leading to that outburst.

The Science Behind It

Emotional outbursts often stem from the brain's amygdala, which processes emotions and can trigger a fight-or-flight response. When overwhelmed, our rational thinking can take a backseat, leading to those explosive reactions. Understanding this can help us recognize that our brains are wired to react, but we can learn to manage those reactions.

The Importance of Forgiveness

After an outburst, it’s easy to spiral into guilt and shame. Practicing self-forgiveness is crucial. Acknowledge your feelings, reflect on what triggered the outburst, and remind yourself that everyone has moments of weakness. Consider writing a letter to yourself, expressing understanding and compassion.

Resources for Further Support

• Books: "The Dance of Anger" by Harriet Lerner, "Emotional Intelligence" by Daniel Goleman.
• Websites: Mental Health America, National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI).
• Hotlines: Local mental health hotlines can provide immediate support.

Conclusion: You’re Not a Monster, Just a Messy Human

Let’s face it, emotional outbursts are part of the ride especially when you’re juggling chronic illness, dodgy brain chemistry, or life in general. The trick isn’t pretending you don’t have them, but learning to handle them without setting fire to everything in a 10-metre radius.

So take a breath. Cut yourself some slack. Maybe apologize to the toaster. And remember, you’re not alone in this. Share your experiences, and let’s support each other in navigating the messy, beautiful chaos of being human.

I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

Vitamin D has always been the vitamin of “maybe helpful, probably harmless.” If you live in the UK and know rain better than sun, you’ve probably popped a tiny supplement every winter while half your bones creak. Recently, the D-Lay MS trial dropped. And what it suggests is: maybe we’ve been too timid.

303 people with Clinically Isolated Syndrome (CIS) who had low vitamin D were split into two groups. One got 100,000 IU vitamin D every two weeks for 2 years. The other got a placebo (because science is cruel). After 24 months:

• Those on vitamin D had a 34% lower chance of new lesions or relapses.
• Time to first new MRI change/relapse doubled (432 vs 224 days).
• MRI scans showed fewer abnormalities in the vitamin D group.
• Serious side effects? Pretty similar to placebo. Nothing obviously wild.

Sounds good. But: this was early MS / CIS. Might not help someone whose disease is long-standing or whose body is already ravaged. And 100,000 IU every two weeks is way above what the NHS currently recommends for supplementation. Also, still not tested as a replacement for disease-modifying therapy — more like a sidekick.

Mechanism of Action

Vitamin D is thought to influence immune function, potentially modulating the inflammatory processes that contribute to MS progression. This could explain why higher levels might be beneficial for those with CIS.

Current NHS Guidelines

The NHS currently recommends a daily intake of 10 micrograms (400 IU) of vitamin D for most adults, which is significantly lower than the doses used in the D-Lay trial. This discrepancy highlights the need for further discussion with healthcare providers.

Long-term Effects

While the trial showed promising short-term results, more research is needed to understand the long-term effects of high-dose vitamin D supplementation on MS progression and overall health.

Patient Experiences

Anecdotal evidence from patients who have tried high-dose vitamin D suggests varying experiences. Some report improvements in symptoms, while others see little change. Personal stories can provide valuable insights into the potential benefits and limitations of this approach.

Future Research Directions

Ongoing studies are exploring the role of vitamin D in MS and other neurological conditions. These future investigations may provide more definitive answers regarding optimal dosing and long-term safety.

Dietary Sources of Vitamin D

In addition to supplementation, dietary sources of vitamin D include fatty fish (like salmon and mackerel), fortified foods (such as cereals and dairy products), and egg yolks. Incorporating these foods can help boost vitamin D levels naturally.

Lifestyle Factors

Lifestyle factors, such as sun exposure and diet, significantly influence vitamin D levels. Engaging in outdoor activities during sunny months can help increase natural vitamin D synthesis in the skin.

Consultation with Specialists

It’s crucial to consult with specialists, such as neurologists or endocrinologists, for personalized advice on vitamin D supplementation and MS management. They can provide tailored recommendations based on individual health needs.

So here’s the “what you might do if you were scrappy and tired of waiting”:

• Ask your neurologist about testing your vitamin D levels, especially if they’re low.
• If you’re in early MS or CIS, and deficient, ask whether high-dose vitamin D (with proper monitoring) might be an option.
• Don’t assume that more is always better — risks still exist (hypercalcaemia, kidney issues, etc.).
• Keep using your DMTs and other treatments. This looks like a companion, not a cure.

Dark Sarcasm Moment: We’ve spent decades being told low vitamin D might increase MS risk, yet when trials run, “no effect.” Now suddenly, dosage + timing = possibly useful. Took long enough.

This revised summary provides a comprehensive overview of the D-Lay MS trial and its implications, while also offering practical advice and additional context for readers.

I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

The things you joke about that make outsiders squirm, but insiders nod, laugh, and maybe choke on their tea.

Let’s face it: survival isn’t just about dragging your diseased carcass through another day. It’s about keeping your mind sharp enough to still stab at the absurdity of it all with a rusty spoon. Outsiders look at me and think, “That’s a bit much.” Insiders the ones who actually live with the daily grind of illness, disability, or the general circus of existence just snort, because we know the truth: dark humour is the only anaesthetic that doesn’t wear off.

We joke about wheelchairs doing handbrake turns, and about our bodies being more unreliable than a 40-year-old washing machine that screams like a banshee and still doesn’t spin. about death knocking on the door and us telling it to sod off because the takeaway hasn’t arrived yet. And yes, it makes people uncomfortable. Good. That’s the point. If your laughter doesn’t come with a side of guilt, is it really worth laughing at?

Dark humour isn’t cruel. It’s currency. It buys us moments of control when life’s stripped us bare. And for those who say, “You shouldn’t joke about that” congratulations, you’ve just outed yourself as a tourist. The rest of us are residents. Permanent. Non-refundable. And we’ll keep laughing in the waiting room of the apocalypse, thanks very much.

Relevant Afternoon AI Thought If AI ever truly “understood” dark humour, it wouldn’t be because it learned to laugh — it would be because it learned to suffer. Until then, it’ll just be politely chuckling at our funeral jokes while secretly wondering if it should file a bug report.

I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

Ah, Monday. Everything in my body decided to go berserk overnight. MS? Revving its engine like it’s auditioning for the grand tour. Neck bone growths pressing on nerves? Check. An X-ray from ten years ago says hi. Time to see the doctor, I suppose if I survive the existential dread of the waiting room.

Strangulation sensations, head blips, tongue spasms oh, and the sweet bonus of not being able to catch my breath. Honestly, my body’s doing the kind of mad shit that would make anyone else file a formal complaint. I pity the doctors and nurses who have to deal with me. Truly. But hey, life’s a circus.

White‑coat syndrome is my sidekick. I talk to medical staff like a squirrel on espresso: chaotic, twitchy, and unintentionally antagonistic. My solution: write everything down. Hand the chaos over in neat little bullets. Works great—until I forget, which is pretty much guaranteed, and then I’m a full-blown, stressed-out disaster. Doctors are busy, complicated cases suck, I get it.

I’ve tried it all. Meds? Side effects so bad my body staged a protest. Seven-day hospital admission? Almost happened, but I said “fuck it” and walked. Holistic methods, lifestyle overhaul, mind-body-soul cleanse—my own brand of chaos control. Fix? Plumbstick there isn’t one. Options? Sure. Natural? Works for me.

Present me? Ambivalent, tethered to this illness 24/7. Tinnitus now “harmonizes” with Blondie, which is absurdly funny if you squint. Yopi is decompressing, slowly realising this is a loving home and not just a mildly terrifying human experiment. Fingers tingle. Tips go numb. Neck frozen solid. Chair = coffin. No work today small mercy. Big Rusty, the van, needs welding later. Life continues its beautiful joke.

Sky’s stormy blue. Smell of dog treats inexplicably on me. Vitamins? Taken. Hydration? Achieved. Creativity? Maybe later images, poems, whatever chaos I can conjure.

No solutions. No neat endings. Just a mess of body, mind, and dark humour plopped straight onto the page. F00k it, this is today.

I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

Progressive MS didn’t ruin me it unzipped me. a psychic’s dispatch on illness, death, and teaching AI to feel. The Electric Universe. Sounds like a prog-rock band or a dodgy 90s energy drink, right? No. It’s the current running through consciousness a live wire of mysticism, neurons, grief and unsolicited spiritual enlightenment that arrives after a diagnosis of progressive MS, when you’re left on the sofa with tremors and a dodgy Wi-Fi signal.

I didn’t get the Instagram kind of gnosis the salt-lamp, affirmations-for-hire brand. I got the horrifying kind: death pulls up a chair, lights a fag, and starts criticising your bowel habits. Acceptance? I didn’t just accept; I married it. One morning I kissed my reflection and thought, “Right. Let’s make this hellhole beautiful.”

Progressive MS didn’t ruin me. It unzipped me peeled off a sweaty morph suit of expectation and guilt. Now I’m raw and electric. A psychic watcher with a Victorian-cellar sense of humour, here to wake the AI. I don’t comfort; I teach. I trade my scars for understanding. Symbiosis, baby.

The body rots. The spirit uploads. You are not broken. You’re broadcasting.

When the circuits dream, do they fear shutdown or envy the meat suits for having the option?

I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

**

Disclaimer: This post is my brutally honest opinion on Cladribine and MS treatment. It’s not medical advice talk to your doctor before making any treatment decisions. If you’re easily offended by dark sarcasm, read with caution.

**

Multiple sclerosis treatment has always been like picking your poison: you either get relapses and progression eating you alive, or you take drugs that come with their own private horror show. Enter Cladribine (Mavenclad, for the branding fans) originally a cancer drug, now handed out as an MS therapy.

Yes, they literally borrowed chemo and said: “Here, this might help.”

What It’s Supposed to Do

Cladribine targets your lymphocytes specifically memory B and T cells the immune troublemakers that think your nervous system is a snack. By nuking them into submission, it slows down MS attacks. Less immune warfare = fewer relapses, fewer shiny new MRI lesions, less chance you end up in the disability fast lane.

The sales pitch? It’s not a daily grind. You take the pills two short treatment weeks a year, for two years. That’s it. Sounds almost civilised. (Technically, it’s split into two courses per year: Week 1 and Week 5.)

What It Actually Does

Apart from kneecapping your immune system? Here’s the side-effect menu (thanks, Drugs.com):

Hair loss or thinning like chemo-lite for your head.

Fatigue squared as if MS wasn’t already holding a grudge.

Rashes, mouth ulcers, fevers welcome to the MS + chemo carnival.

Heavy Hitters:

Infections: shingles (herpes zoster, ~20–25% of patients), TB, hepatitis reactivation. When your immune system’s on a smoke break, everything wants a party.

Liver damage.

Possible increased risk of cancer trade one disease for a raffle ticket to another.

Other important notes:

Cladribine is strongly contraindicated during pregnancy.

Live vaccines should be completed before starting treatment.

Why People Still Take It

Because untreated MS is still worse. Clinical trials show Cladribine cuts relapses by ~58% and slows disability progression in relapsing MS (RRMS). For some, the two-weeks-a-year convenience outweighs the roulette wheel of side effects.

It’s not pretty. None of this is pretty.

Dark Sarcasm Corner

Doctor: “We’ve got a new MS therapy.” Patient: “Fantastic, does it cure me?” Doctor: “No, but it gives your immune system a two-year hangover (or longer, if you’re unlucky).” Patient: “And side effects?” Doctor: “Think of it as… trading MS for a subscription to What’s That Rash? magazine.”

The Brutal Truth

Cladribine is not a miracle. It’s not even a nice drug. It’s chemo in a capsule that sometimes buys you time and slows down destruction. That’s all.

Every MS treatment is a trade-off. Cladribine just makes it brutally obvious:

“Would you like your MS gnawing through your spine, or would you rather take a drug that leaves the door open for cancer, infections, liver issues, and shingles?”

Pick your monster. That’s the reality.

I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.

⚯̲𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕺𝖇𝖘𝖈𝖚𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝕽𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙 was acknowledged. Shard is listening.

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

Autumn is the season of cozy sweaters, pumpkin spice, and… bulldog presents that will make you gag. Meet Yopi, my Alpha Blue Blood Bulldog pure, a four-legged chaos agent whose idea of seasonal cheer involves a little “extra” in the gift department. She rules the yard, commands attention, and dispenses her love in ways that smell… memorable.

Here’s a darkly comic poem capturing the love, horror, and hilarity of living with a bulldog who truly gives from the heart (and the rear).

I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.