Started tryng out Synfig for creating animations. Coming along nicely, with a few forgetful things, and unknowns, but still pretty good.

This is a depiction of how a Chronic pain sufferer's home can become a mess, or why something may be left on the floor longer than usual. It's just too much effort at that moment.

If I can find a way to show it, I'd add how Ed could get so used to things being out of place that he could walk around it without ever knowing he did. Sort of showing how chronic pain can leal to a learned behavior of not even noticing the mess much of the time.

I really need to keep away from the "Marriage is Bliss" themes, but, but butt I am fairly positive the severity of my pains may in part be in relation to how I was treated for these 25 years.

It really didn't take long. Pretty much as soon as I started coming home in pain in 2000, she started yelling at me. I couldn't talk to my parents, my dad had mental issues, and my mom treated me the same. So I really wasn't allowed to adapt to the pains. Any learning I attempted on my own was met with more anger.

Well, it wasn't until a few months ago that I finally realized she did not know a thing about me. Her knowledge of me, after these 25 years, was equivalent to a classmate that is seated next to you. Pretty much any hours I spent cleaning, taking care of the kids, cooking, gardening, etc was trumped by the few minutes she spent with me after work and away from the t.v..

Anyway, still looking for work while staying with a niece, and will try to get into a shelter a city over. Niece brought a kitten with GI issues, so I can't trust my knitting items I could sell on Etsy. Plus her AC units don't work well, so it is so hot in here. Plus her internet is extremely poor, so I can't do anything remote. Then there's my car, I have nowhere to store my house stuff, so I can't even clean out my car to do delivery jobs. Though I shouldn't be driving a lot anyway. Some NSAIDs I took in 21 in hopes to escape my wife have really messed up my mind. Oof!

Anyway, anyway, I am so so so so burnt out.

I hope at least one person out there likes these comics, heh. And hopefully they help at least one person come to terms with what they went through, if they happened to have had the same experience. It took me 25 years, :grimacing:

Spoiler Warning: This comic contains images that might upset some people.

::: spoiler spoiler

"Why doesn't she love me", is one phrase I hear over and over and over and over within my head.

:::

This one is based on two memories that are forever burnt into my mind, and I'd wager a lot of my inability to adapt to my pains is partly, or greatly in regards to a lot of things that went on during those times. I do know with absolute certainty that this is where I picked up my PTSD from just the sound of the television.

Back at the house I had two grabber claws because since about 2010, bending over is by far one of my more difficult tasks, 😮‍💨, and got much worse after 2017 (When I attempted to work full time. Only lasted three months before I snapped from the pains, 🙄 ).

And to make things more exciting and fun. It seems since 2017 the more mentally strenuous pains make my hand muscles forget how to work, 🫢 and boy do I drop things way too often.

Ok, last one for tonight.

This is the current one I'm working on. My ex had claimed for the past several years that the reason she didn't help was because I didn't work. I did attempt to tell her that no, she did that since the beginning. Meh, then she only snapped at me about bringing up things that happened a long time ago. 🤷‍♂️

I still have a lot to do on it, and I still don't have a stable place to live nor a job as of yet. So it will take some time before I can finalize it. At least it gives me something to work on once in a while.

When the pains began, I tried quite often to find a way to adapt for when they became worse. However, I was the only one who believed I was in pain. Thus, I wasn't allowed to have help.

Anyway, in the beginning the kids were all thrilled to help out, but as it goes, without the biological mother's help, it never lasted long.

Then, of course, after years and years and years of that, they began acting in the same manner as their mother. I still hear my youngest's girlfriend snapping at me "I didn't do it for you", when I said "thank you" for helping with the dishes.

---

These are some of the things that I set out on the chores lists over the years.

1. Pick up 5 things
2. Talk, joke, play with me to help keep my mind off of the pain.
3. Wash two or more dishes.

It wasn't a lot. Just very small things that would have helped me out. 🤷‍♂️ . Plus if kept up, that's all that'd ever have to be done.