Jigsaw pieces

A short while ago I attended the celebration of a birthday of one of my friends. It was nothing crazy, just drinking and bowling. I was terrified though. I knew almost all of these people through cosplay, but this would be one of the first few nights I would meet them socially, out of costume. At cons, it’s quite easy for me to talk to people, as we only meet briefly and move on. But that night I knew I would be sitting beside people, for longer than that and I started worrying about what I would talk about. A year ago, even a few months ago, this wouldn’t have bothered me. I had things going on in my life, I was finishing college, or baking for my cupcake business. But now? I feel like everything I was before I was ill has been taken away, and I’ve been left to sort out the pieces, trying to assemble a new person from the fragments.

 

I lost the life I was planning, and now I have a new one. In some ways it’s better than I could have wished for, but in others, it’s hell. I don’t want to be ‘the sick one’, the one everyone looks out for because I always need help. I want to be recognised for my merits, not known for my faults. I just don’t know what to say now when people ask “What have you been up to?” I dread that question so much, and I can hear it coming down the hallway of the conversation, footsteps thudding louder until it’s finally spoken aloud. Sometimes I say something sarcastic like “ Staying alive”, other times, I stumble, trying to think of one thing I’ve done that day, or even that week. How can I not think of one single task I completed or trip I made out? There’s usually just awkward silence, as I try to think of a way to revert the conversation back to the other person.

 

What do I label myself as when someone else asks “What do you do?” Again, the word ‘nothing’ is about the only word that springs to mind. “ I sit around all day on the internet and get tired if I walk to the shop, how about yourself?” I’m no longer a college student, and I don’t work because of fibromylagia. If I answer something that vaguely sounds like I’m just looking for work at the moment, I get a sympathetic look, as if I’m not able to get any jobs I’ve applied for, which for some unknown reasons infuriates me more! As if the business driven side of me is still in there somewhere, insulted at the thought I couldn’t get a job.

 

I did try running my own business. A small nerd themed cupcake business. The more successful it got, the sicker I became. So I had to stop that as well. It could still be part of my future, just not right now. What I would really like to be doing is more and more cosplay work. Designing, and creating costumes to wear at conventions and photoshoots. It makes me happy. Will I ever be known as a cosplayer? I don’t think I could sell myself in the necessary way to become known outside of the Irish community.

 

Illness takes so much away from all of us. I’m hoping the person left behind will be stronger next year.

 

The Dashing Dalmatian

This isn’t the post I wanted write today. I felt it needed more time though, so in the meantime, here’s a story about the very beginning of costuming for me. This part of my life has helped me meet some really creative and fun people, distract me from being ill and boost my mood when it all gets too much for me.

(Ironically my intended post was about what is normal for some people is vastly different for others.)

I have always loved dogs. I didn’t just want a dog; I wanted to be a dog. So one Halloween I transformed myself into an oddly shaped Dalmatian. I can’t remember exactly what age I was but I would guess about six or seven.

My costume was great, overalls. See what I did there? My amazing costume consisted of a white set of painters overalls, daubed with black splotches of paint and some simple face-paint. I insisted on having a large black spot over one eye, contrary to any Dalmatian I have ever seen. I was a young child, and the overalls were intended for a fully grown man. There was ample material left over to be twisted in a tail form at the back. The size of the overalls also meant in order to keep it on, I had to be sewn into it. Knowing this fact, my mother asked a thousand times did I need a bathroom visit before the official sewing ceremony. I said ‘no’ a thousand times.

I went off into the night, scampering like a puppy after my sister, who had chosen to be a waitress on roller skates. The houses on our road have sloped driveways so we would slowly go up to knock on doors, and then I would have to run to catch up with m sister who had no choice but to roll very fast down each driveway. After perhaps six, seven houses, as well as hopping around with excitement at it being Halloween, I started to hop around for a different reason. I needed to pee, and I needed to pee badly.

I didn’t want to go back home in case my parents said Halloween was over so I tried to wait it out. Nope, I needed to go. I told my sister, she didn’t want to go back home either. By the way, I could still see my house at this point. That’s how close we were.

There was nothing else for my stubborn mind to decide to do than use someone else’s bathroom. I was still on my street; the houses were the same, so any one of them had to have a bathroom right? We rolled slowly up the next driveway. We rang the bell. A man answered. He waited for the obligatory “Trick or Treat” chant. Instead I blurted out “I need to pee!’ so fast while bounding around that he didn’t catch what I said and looked at my sister for help. Being in a calmer state, she slowly asked if I could please use the bathroom. The man couldn’t say no, so I ran in and headed straight for the stairs, to where the bathroom is in my own house. This seemed to confuse the poor man even more, but I didn’t have time to waste. I ran into the bathroom and stopped.

My final obstacle, the man’s wife trying to get ready for a party, was doing her makeup in the mirror. I briefly thought, ‘Oh that’s funny, she’s a cat and I’m a dog!’

Then I remembered my predicament and pleaded to be cut out of my costume as soon as possible so I could go to the bathroom. The woman reacted admirably given the situation; the last thing she would have expected to barge in on her was a panicky Dalmatian. Within minutes I was ready to go back on the road again (tied back in, not sewn), and waved a grateful goodbye to the man and his wife, who I doubt won any prizes for her ‘cat’ costume that night.

My costumes since then have improved greatly, and I have learned to try every option apart from sewing myself in. it is only a last resort now.

If I ever find a photo of this ill-fated night, I’ll update this post.