My name is Lemonne!! I'm an alterhuman blogger and artist, and this is my personal blog!!
Was primarily dedicated to my alterhumanity, but I think I'd like to shift it more to being a silly blog where I can post about my art and hobbies ^^
Identity stuff:
I'm an alterhuman therian/otherkin with a ton of 'types, but maine coon tortoiseshell is the most prominent, as you might be able to tell :P
I'm also non-binary, quoiromantic, singlet, go by the pronouns they/them and only the name Lemonne :3
Typical DNIs, no discrimination of any kind based on race, ethnicity, gender, sex, sexuality, religion (or lack thereof), mental health, disabilities, harmless hobbies, species, plurality, or anything else that doesn't harm anyone!! And if you cause harm, (take advantage of/cause pain to anything or anyone,) also see yourself out the door ❤️
ty for bearing with my yapping and checking out my blog!!! <3
I don't post as often as I used to, but I'm genuinely pissed off.
What is with doctors being magically unable to diagnose people? I have heard this story from so many people. For example: me.
From the age of 10–12, I started noticing that there was something wrong with my body. It's only gotten worse with age. When I stand up, I feel faint, lose my vision, and my extremities feel numb. I have extremely cold hands and feet, nausea issues, headaches, and a hard time exercising due to feeling unable to breathe. I have been to an unknown number of doctors. I was diagnosed with anxiety — which, to be clear, I do believe I have. But it's not related to the dizziness. I don't lose my vision when I'm stressed, I lose it when I stand up. It's been such a thing for so long that I have made a habit. When I lose my vision and feel faint, I will stand, wide-eyed, with my hands outstretched, until it goes away. I've been doing this for YEARS.
I insisted to get blood work done, since some things said they were symptoms of low iron. They came back with nothing wrong. I insisted to get tested for asthma, since I was struggling to breathe and doing a lot more physical activity at the time. They came back with nothing wrong. While on a medication that reacted poorly and increased my anxiety, I called 911 because I felt so nauseous and faint that I thought I was starving to death. They took me off the medication, and the symptoms continued. I insisted on even more blood work. This time, they said a very slight iron deficiency. "Finally!" I thought, "This must be it! Once I take supplements, my symptoms will go away!"
They did not. At this point, I think I'm just weak. I have collapsed in gym class and struggled for breath and quit sport and fallen over when I get up to use the bathroom. I'm just weaker than other people, physically AND mentally. This is all my fault. There's nothing wrong with my body, I'm just crazy.
Fast forward to the end of the year. I'm in theater class, and I stand up and lose my vision. I put my hands out and wait for it to pass, as I always do. I'm used to this. A freshman asks me if I'm okay. I tell her that this happens all the time, I'm alright. She asks me: "Do you have POTS?"
I pause. I've heard the term in passing, but I don't know what it is. It's never been brought up to me by medical professionals. Not once. Not. Even. Once.
She tells me a little bit about it, but she doesn't know much. A few months later, this summer break, my partner asks me: "Have you gotten tested for POTS?"
A few days later, I look up the condition while on a break at work. I stop, and I stare at it. All of my symptoms match up. It's more common in AFAB people. The average onset age is 14.
I go home. I take an online quiz from a reliable source. It comes back with a 100% likelihood. I read the article below, and I start crying. I'm crying writing this. For years, I've thought I'm crazy or weak or making it up as an excuse, when I can physically feel that something is wrong in my body. They take my experience, and they put it on a page — because this isn't just my experience.
POTS has a misdiagnosis rate of 70%. SEVENTY. PERCENT. It takes, on average, 4 years and many doctors to get diagnosed. It took me so many years of pain and suffering and begging to know what the hell is wrong with me, and guess how long it took a random high-schooler?
One conversation.
One look at me, losing my vision when I stand up, and she got it right.
So, genuinely — tell me. Tell me what I did wrong. Tell me why the fuck doctors have failed me and millions of other people. Tell me why they can't see the blatantly obvious. I'm emotional right now, but I need answers. Why can random people diagnose better at a glance than some medical professionals after years? this has happened to so many people with so many conditions. I haven’t been diagnosed by a professional, but the amount of catharsis I have gotten from finally being understood should speak for itself.
info + quiz on POTS: https://www.cognitivefxusa.com/blog/do-i-have-pots-self-assessment-quiz-symptoms-4-types-explained#dizzy-exhausted-and-told-nothings-wrong-find-out-if-its-pots
Being part of this community can be isolating. It's easy to feel alone. After all, the greater population sees us as "crazy" or "attention-seeking" or whatever the flavor of the month is. Not only that - how many of us know of a single alterhuman/nonhuman in real life? How many of us are forced to hide ourselves and can only find shelter in this little online community? We're all afraid that the "secret" is going to find its way out. We fear ridicule. We fear rejection. We try hard not to care what other people think, but sometimes you've got to hide behind your own wings - so to speak - just to get by in this world. It's maddening. It's lonely.
I'm saying all that to say this - we've got to look out for each other. We've got to be there to lift each other up and be a shoulder to cry on. We need to accept each other. We need to love each other. We can't let petty disagreements and gatekeeping and toxicity tear this little community apart.
my family makes me hate cis men like i meet plenty of kind ones in the wild but all the ones in my house do are piss on toilet seats, have gamer rage, and go bald on purpose :/ can i trade them in for new ones
People on Tumblr love sharing information about themselves no matter how asinine it is. And I'm the same way. Everybody tell me what the last thing you drank was.
There was a time I was walking though a store and saw a display for skateboards. Part of the display was some guy holding up one of the boards. I turned to my wife and said “that’s kind of funny the got just some random guy to advertise, instead of just Tony Hawk.”
Then I looked at the skateboard brand and it was Birdhouse.
it was a picture of Tony Hawk and I just said “oh. I understand now”
i know we’re both just messing around pretending to be whole but look at me. if the train was coming would you move. if the ground was falling from under your feet would you even notice or would it just be another tuesday for you. if somebody stabbed you could it hurt worse than you already do. what i’m saying is that i love you but i think we both drive over the speed limit when it’s raining. what i’m saying is that i want to hold your hand and i understand about how you sometimes have to sit down in the shower. what i’m saying is that i’m here for you and if the train comes please move.
i wrote this 7 years ago, somehow. every day someone else finds it and whispers to me - oh, i understand this. something always turns in the wash of my stomach: i am so, so glad you feel seen. i wish you had no idea what this post was about.
i wrote this while working in a program for new writers. on wednesdays, two of the teachers would be contractually obligated to read our writing aloud to the group of 300+ teens. i had never read my work in public before. i had something like 6k poems and was panicking about it. none of them are good enough. sometimes the train is howling. it is hard, actually, sometimes, even as an adult.
and then i thought - what is one thing i wish i could tell all of them. each of these 300 kids. what did i need to hear, at 16?
i wanted to tell them about the day you wake up, and the sun feels warm finally. i wanted to tell them about carving a life out of soapstone, your hands turning bloody. i wanted to tell them that sometimes yes - it actually does feel easy. i wanted to tell them about weddings and cookie dough and long road trips. about albums of new music and old friends laughing and the sound of snow falling.
you will learn the pattern of the train. you will learn to close your eyes when you hear the engine rumbling. you will learn to let yourself have the grey days in their lily-soft numbness. sometimes it will feel like life is wet paint, and god has smeared your canvas across a sewer grate. sometimes it will be so boring it isn’t even pronounceable - the tenacious, soundless blankness. survival isn’t just ugly nights and wild mornings. it is also the steady, unimportant moments. it is just driving with your seatbelt on. it is calling a friend on the way home. it is burying your face into the fur of your dog.
when i had finished reading this poem aloud, the auditorium was silent for a solid minute. someone stood up to take a picture of where it had been projected onto a screen, and then three more people followed the action, and then - like a bad internet story, people remembered they were supposed to be clapping. kids came up to me after it - thank you for writing that. i think i hear a train coming.
i would write this differently now, i think, but it has been 7 years. i still live by the tracks. i also haven’t picked up a blade in over 10 years. the scars are still there, but these days i only pick up scissors to cut my hair. i know why you can’t tell your mom about it. i know how the numbness slips over everything, a restless horrible cotton. i know how when you dropped the dish, you weren’t crying about the broken glass. i know about feeling like all the roads have closed their exits, that you aren’t supposed to still-be-here - and yet.
i am still here, and still yours, and i haven’t forgotten. what i’m saying is if any hope is calling to you - i know it’s hard, but you have to listen. i’m saying keep driving, but slow down the car. sit down in the shower, i’m not judging you. we can stay in the dark with the good hot water and do nothing but stare. notice the stab wound. make it through another tuesday.
i know what it is like to miss yourself. do what you need to. come home to me. i am writing to you, my past self, from the future. i’ll be waiting for you.
