I’m Officially a Parody

While I couldn’t sleep for two nights, my brain kept thinking of a post to compose but didn’t have the energy to hold my phone and type. I’ve been debating giving a medical update. Part of me thinks, who gives a shit? Another part of me thinks, people judge others who share “too much.” Also, I hate Facebook. I do most of my posting at Instagram and Bsky now and frankly, I’m very tired by the “end of the day” (1pm) to do more than post a daily report about cats.

The night before I finished this lengthy personal story, I got a letter from the state saying they did not accept my documentation of my new yoga job wages so they will cancel my insurance in 3 weeks if I don’t fix it. Try getting a hold of them. They say to contact your local county office first. They have never answered their phone. EVER.

On with the story

In one month, I had 3 cold sores (yay Herpes!) on my lip. But wait – there’s more! Then I got 3 on my lip that arrived the same night! They brought along some acne to try and give the old fart rosacea neighbors something to really complain about. I guess I’m stressed.

Also, my parents have been going through their shit too. Even though the 2nd cancer (bladder) is gone, Dad still has to go for treatments and scopes all the time. It never stops. Every week is another appointment. The side effects are a constant source of complaints. He’s pushing himself and doing the best he can.

Mom tripped over Gus’ food mat in the kitchen which launched her into a metal drawer handle. She needed stitches for the first time in her 78 years. This comes after she tripped over the fake Christmas tree box and broke her arm giving her the first broken bone of her life. She is quite displeased with these kinds of firsts.

Now for ME, ME, ME

A while ago, I was diagnosed with F3 bridging liver fibrosis probably from compensated advanced chronic liver disease (cACLD). That means 60% of my liver is fucked.

Since I’m not an alcoholic nor have I ever been (I was a heavy weekend drinker for a few years), guess what the specialists are blaming?

There’s no prize money. Drumroll please……..

I’M A HUGE FATASS!

DING DING DING If you guessed correctly go to the next round. I think of a lot of things as karma. I wished for huge breasts in puberty and I got ’em! Whoa, Nelly! Did I ever get ’em! So sorry for that wish. Although having a huge top was the only thing to give me a “figure” because the rest of me is shaped like a sausage.

Before I go any further, let me say, I’m comfortable with myself. I don’t feel like I need to lose weight. I don’t feel “fat” but I call myself that because it’s how the world sees me now. The irony is, I was called fat publicly in comments often when I was thin and modeling all the time because if you’re showing that you don’t hate yourself, other people really despise you.

As you know, the world is not built for fat people. We’re still a safe demographic to be a punchline. Airplane seats are a joke. Quite often I don’t have enough room in a public bathroom stall to maneuver in order to hang my bag, deal with the paper cover, add another cover after the first one gets sucked down, try to turn around while my elbows clunk into the walls, get my pants down, and then do my business. Then there’s being the ugly friend which is different than being the fat friend because you can be heavy and gorgeous. I might love the looks of fashion, makeup, and hair, but my style is flannel shirts with leggings (or cargo pants for outside). Usually, I’m in pajamas if I’m not teaching a class.

Like everyone else (at least cis-women), I bought every kind of diet pill and SlimFast. I will say, I never joined WW or JennyC. I never had that kind of money to throw away. That was for richer fat women. Frankly, they’re scams that make money expecting people to fail. #Dietland #JenniferLives

There’s never been a solid explanation for my chronic fatigue (I don’t think I have ME) but I did have Epstein-Barr. The CONSTANT medical orders to exercise bring me to rage and tears – think Michael Douglas in Fallen or for the younger kids, Scarlet Witch in Avengers and WandaVision. Fortunately my GP gets me and doesn’t do this. Did I used to practice pilates and cardio 5x a week? Yes, I did, because I was in a mania phase for about 3 years (I also didn’t eat much because I was afraid to after my gall bladder was removed) which you may know has a reversal and declines into severe depression hitting rock bottom. Everyone cycles differently. It could be hour by hour, day by day, or years to years.

So—medication and yoga now. Stable but very much a sloth. I am not eating that many eggs, Dr. Hot Indian Doctor! And I ain’t going to do cardio. Louder for the people at the back of the fat clinic: I AIN’T GOING TO DO CARDIO. Because I will die. I went on an “easy” hike and was ready to be med-evac’d after a mile. I went to CrimeCon and missed a ton of events because I was in my room from pain and exhaustion while hating myself for missing the chance to see expert speakers.

Now it’s 2024. I’ve been seeing liver specialists who think losing weight is the only option to maybe reverse liver disease. That’s done with either digestive surgery or medication. I refused the surgery. I don’t qualify for Ozempic because insurance companies know it’s in high demand for weight loss thanks to Hollywood celebs using it when they don’t have diabetes II. I was allowed to try a diabetes pill that has a laughably low rate for weight loss. It didn’t work and made me more tired plus dizzy. I saw the specialist and asked to switched.

Now I’m on a good old fashioned diet pill and one for migraines. There are seven prescription bottles on my nightstand now plus vitamins and eczema cream. With this diet pill, I expected it to be like speed. I expected to be like a rat on cocaine! I felt good for a day and as expected, couldn’t sleep that night, but I never can. I can be at 1 hit point with total exhaustion and I’ll nod off for maybe 15-20 minutes. So, I take a pill to knock my ass out or my anxiety brain would keep me awake and not in a productive way like geniuses who don’t sleep and solve formulae or write complete books in 24 hours. No, it’s in a useless, confused way where reality is a blur.

The reality of liver disease is that I can barely function. If my 2 hours of slow-moving energy is going to be walking Gus, or yoga, or writing—that’s all I got.

That’s why I haven’t been podcasting or staying in contact. It’s why I have 2 manuscripts that have taken years to make any progress on.

Like I said, if you’re a Facebook user primarily, I’m more than likely missing your updates. IG shows posts in random order but I truly use it for therapy to look at cats and one hilarious lizard (@whosagoodlizard). I check FB DMs once a week. If for some reason, you can’t find my email, it’s amberlovescomics at gmail.

Founder and Editor-in-Chief of AmberUnmasked.com and Vodka O'Clock Podcast. Author of The Farrah Wethers Mysteries, comic book short stories, prose, and non-fiction. Cosplayer and figure model.