Note: this was originally started on June 16th of this year. I last revised it on the 8th of July. Circumstances have changed as of late, but this still resonates with me because I was truly in a dark place and this just came from my heart and soul. I marvel at how I felt then and how far I have come in a single month. I'm not saying I'm completely healed, but I am on my way. That will be posted about later on though. For now, here is my offering:
I am angry.
I am angry because I have gained almost 100 lbs. over the past three years.
I am angry because, up until recently, I have not cared enough about myself to do anything.
I am angry because my body will never look normal, and I have no one to blame but myself.
I am angry because I know that I will never have the money or the time to fix what I have done.
I am angry because my mind has turned on me, and I know I will never be normal again.
I am angry because I have wasted my life with my family, and it is my fault.
I am angry that my sister did something completely stupid that could have fucking killed her.
I am angry that the loss of many people I know is due to cancer.
I am sad.
I am sad because I have experienced loss. Loss of loved ones, loss of acquaintances, loss of my own peace of mind.
I am sad because I do not know if I will ever be able to get off my meds and lead a drug free life.
I am sad because I am turning into a pill popping alcoholic.
I am sad because I still seek, but cannot find, the reassurance that there is something out there that created us, nurtures us, and lifts us up when we are down.
I am sad that I’m thought of as the villain in our little dramatic online community because the anonymity of the internet gives me the boldness to be someone else. (“Boldness is a mask for fear, however great.” -John Dryden)
I am sad because I know I should not feel this way, but I do, and nothing will ever change that.
I am sad that my sister never fully confided in me. Now I feel our close relationship is just a sham.
I am sad that my extended family has fallen apart, never to be fixed.
I am sad for so many reasons that go beyond the scope of my powers of expression.
I am lonely.
I am homesick.
I am always putting up a false front.
I am weak.
I am lazy.
I am scared.
I am tired.
I am done.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Sunday, July 19, 2009
When Will It End?
For almost a year now, I have been battling anxiety and panic attacks. Some days are better than others, but not a day goes by that I don’t think about what brought me to such an ultimate low in my life. Not a week goes by that I don’t have that nagging doubt in the back of my head that says, “This life is nothing. You are nothing. This world is nothing.” Not a month goes by that allows me to forget that I am not a normally functioning human being, and that I will never be the way I used to be.
Some people have panic attacks and anxiety because of childhood traumas or horrible tragedies. Mine started with a story I read one day on a news site and researching the darker aspects of it that involved conspiracy theories. Stupid, yes, but it ingrained itself deeply into my head and royally screwed me up. I am almost embarrassed to admit that that is the reasoning behind my panic and anxiety. It is inane compared to what other people have gone through. Nonetheless, it is my problem, and it has impacted my life in ways that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemies.
Yesterday afternoon was the happiest day of this month for me. We went to a barbecue and I interacted and functioned semi-normally for two hours with my husband’s acquaintances. Sure, I had the, “Oh gosh, they probably think I’m an ignorant twat” thought process going on, but I managed to stifle it and at least come across as semi-intelligent, even though I was dressed like a thrift store reject and had no makeup on. I did not dwell on the darker parts of my mind, but enjoyed a beer with some people and watched the kidlets play. I laughed and joked and smiled a lot. I did not want to leave. I felt NORMAL.
Today, that feeling came crashing down, which is why I’m writing this now. Maybe it’s because I’ve been sick all day, due to coming off of Prednisone. Maybe my body is becoming accustomed to the Paxil again. Maybe it is because I read the news and it sucked. I don’t know. Whatever it is, I’m feeling really panicky right now, and I just want it to stop. I’ve already taken Xanax, so I’m a little less edgy, but I can still feel the fear in the back of my mind.
So how much more can I take? I’ve already upped my Paxil dosage once (and it looks like it will happen again) and have pretty much become dependent on Xanax to get me through those nights when I feel less than stellar. Will I always be on medication for these feelings, or will they eventually fade out? What happens 10, 20, 30, or even 40 years down the road, if my mind lets me function that long? What happens to my husband and my son? Will they always be stuck with a woman who is mentally broken and fearful of going out and living a full life?
I hate this feeling. I hate being so scared of everything. Most of all, I hate being scared of life and the future. What kind of life am I leading if all I’m going to do is cower in the corner and shake in fear?
Some people have panic attacks and anxiety because of childhood traumas or horrible tragedies. Mine started with a story I read one day on a news site and researching the darker aspects of it that involved conspiracy theories. Stupid, yes, but it ingrained itself deeply into my head and royally screwed me up. I am almost embarrassed to admit that that is the reasoning behind my panic and anxiety. It is inane compared to what other people have gone through. Nonetheless, it is my problem, and it has impacted my life in ways that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemies.
Yesterday afternoon was the happiest day of this month for me. We went to a barbecue and I interacted and functioned semi-normally for two hours with my husband’s acquaintances. Sure, I had the, “Oh gosh, they probably think I’m an ignorant twat” thought process going on, but I managed to stifle it and at least come across as semi-intelligent, even though I was dressed like a thrift store reject and had no makeup on. I did not dwell on the darker parts of my mind, but enjoyed a beer with some people and watched the kidlets play. I laughed and joked and smiled a lot. I did not want to leave. I felt NORMAL.
Today, that feeling came crashing down, which is why I’m writing this now. Maybe it’s because I’ve been sick all day, due to coming off of Prednisone. Maybe my body is becoming accustomed to the Paxil again. Maybe it is because I read the news and it sucked. I don’t know. Whatever it is, I’m feeling really panicky right now, and I just want it to stop. I’ve already taken Xanax, so I’m a little less edgy, but I can still feel the fear in the back of my mind.
So how much more can I take? I’ve already upped my Paxil dosage once (and it looks like it will happen again) and have pretty much become dependent on Xanax to get me through those nights when I feel less than stellar. Will I always be on medication for these feelings, or will they eventually fade out? What happens 10, 20, 30, or even 40 years down the road, if my mind lets me function that long? What happens to my husband and my son? Will they always be stuck with a woman who is mentally broken and fearful of going out and living a full life?
I hate this feeling. I hate being so scared of everything. Most of all, I hate being scared of life and the future. What kind of life am I leading if all I’m going to do is cower in the corner and shake in fear?
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Just Because...
I have a raging headache right now, but this picture never fails to amuse me. This is my son in dork mode. He wore these things OUTSIDE. I was rolling with laughter.
Here is another one, with slightly less dorkiness. I love his smile.
Here is another one, with slightly less dorkiness. I love his smile.
Dig those long lashes.
I am SO ANNOYED that the light flare got into this picture and ruined the shot of his Robert Pattinson "Twilight" hair. His hair is short now, due to summertime sweating, but usually he's got this crop of curls.
That's my boy. I love him to death, even when he's being a little turkey.
Oh July, Why Do You Hate Me So?
Seriously, we’re not even to the middle of the month, and I want July to END. Let’s recap the hilarity, shall we?
July 1st - I notice what I thought was a pimply hair on my chin. I pull out offending hair, leaving a smallish bump.
July 3rd - I have to buy new shoes because my other ones died. Not a MAJOR travesty, but still mildly annoying since our budget is practically non-existent. It also doesn’t help that my feet are “special”, and as such, require “special” shoes (read: expensive). Luckily for all of us (and our budget), I found a pair of New Balance on sale.
Bump watch - The bump got bigger. Crap. Must be a staph sore caused by our old family friend, MRS. A, aka Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus. I guess I’ll wait until it forms its ugly little head and slice it open. Oops. No head. Let me slice it anyways. Oops. No pus. Oh well. It will probably go down on its own.
July 4th - I wake up to my chin doubled in size, no mean feat, mind you. I slap a Band-Aid on it (HA!) and go to my psychologist appointment. I try to ignore the sore, we go out to peruse IKEA and eat cheap Japanese food at Mitsuwa, a Japanese market in Arlington Heights. Come home, my face is killing me, I can’t take the pain anymore, so the husband and son take me to the ER and drop me off. Five hours, four doctors, two needle punctures (to see if there is pus), and a dose of humor later (the doctors and interns were actually cool and funny), I’m sent off with a 10 day antibiotics course (to make sure there is no underlying infections, since this is, after all, RESISTANT STAPH), Vicodin (WOOHOO!), and Ibuprofen prescriptions.
July 5th - The start of some family problems that I’m not going to get into on here. Let’s just say that it was unexpected, weird, sad, and very upsetting. As of Saturday, things have worked out, so all is right on that end. Good thing, too. That would have been the proverbial icing on the shit cake if it hadn’t.
July 8th - Discover we’re completely screwed on money again. Brilliant….
July 12th - My ass is completely kicked. A week of medicine that is not kind to me at all, a marathon house cleaning session, and trying to show SOME interest in my family wipes me out. I fall asleep on the couch, only to be awakened by maddening itching on my arm. Then it spread to my chest. Then my neck, chin, other arm, stomach, back….you can see where this is going. Almost NINE STINKING DAYS after starting the antibiotics, I develop an allergic reaction to it. Beautiful. I spend my night itching, popping Benadryl, and rubbing expired Aveeno Anti-Itch cream on my body.
July 13th - Still itching. I get up, take the dog to the vet for his teeth cleaning (more money we don’t have), come home, and admit defeat. I call my local clinic to see if they have Urgent Care appointments available. Of course they don’t, so I head to the ER. Again. Resigning myself to stay in the waiting room for at least three hours, I pull out my phone and start surfing the internet, while watching that stupid show on TV with Rose McGowan and Alyssa Milano. Shockingly, I’m called back to a room twenty minutes after arriving. The doctor sees me quickly, gives me the diagnosis of allergic reaction (duh), and says he’ll give me Bactrim to make up for the other antibiotic I can’t take, along with Benadryl and Prednisone for the swelling and itching. Great, I think, That didn’t take long at all! Well haha, cause three emergencies happened at once and I was stuck in there for three hours. The nurse came in and gave me my first dose of ‘roids and some Benadryl. I started feeling better within twenty minutes. So I finally get released, the husband and boy take me home, and I eat lunch because I’m starving. After all that, I sat for a bit, not really feeling like going anywhere else, but knowing I needed my prescriptions filled and, oh yeah, the dog might want to come home from the vet. So off I went.
The prescription filling went smoothly, and we were on our way to pick up the dog. My son and I start crossing the street and this SUV that I THOUGHT had stopped to wait for us to cross started GOING. I went into protective Mama Bear mode, grabbed my son, and yelled at the guy driving. He tried to start shit with me after we finished crossing, it wasn’t happening, I was already pulling my hair back in anticipation of a fight. It finally ended with the usual mudslinging and the Bird. I don’t think I would have gotten that wild normally, but I was already feeling like crap, the steroids were already making me sweat, and I was getting a raging headache. That guy just rubbed on my very last nerve. So Mr. DriverofSUVandohmygodI’mgoingtogowithoutlookingtomyLEFT, I salute you. With my one finger and a big FUCK YOU.
Now I’m sitting here, aching all over because Prednisone, haha, messes with your joints. That raging headache is still around, too. I need to shower to see if that helps the itching that sort of came back, but I totally do not WANT. TO. MOVE. I’m also very tired, but knowing my sleep patterns, I won’t get to bed for another hour or so. *sigh*
So yeah, that’s my month so far. I think I need to go hide in a cave now. Or under a rock.
July 1st - I notice what I thought was a pimply hair on my chin. I pull out offending hair, leaving a smallish bump.
July 3rd - I have to buy new shoes because my other ones died. Not a MAJOR travesty, but still mildly annoying since our budget is practically non-existent. It also doesn’t help that my feet are “special”, and as such, require “special” shoes (read: expensive). Luckily for all of us (and our budget), I found a pair of New Balance on sale.
Bump watch - The bump got bigger. Crap. Must be a staph sore caused by our old family friend, MRS. A, aka Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus. I guess I’ll wait until it forms its ugly little head and slice it open. Oops. No head. Let me slice it anyways. Oops. No pus. Oh well. It will probably go down on its own.
July 4th - I wake up to my chin doubled in size, no mean feat, mind you. I slap a Band-Aid on it (HA!) and go to my psychologist appointment. I try to ignore the sore, we go out to peruse IKEA and eat cheap Japanese food at Mitsuwa, a Japanese market in Arlington Heights. Come home, my face is killing me, I can’t take the pain anymore, so the husband and son take me to the ER and drop me off. Five hours, four doctors, two needle punctures (to see if there is pus), and a dose of humor later (the doctors and interns were actually cool and funny), I’m sent off with a 10 day antibiotics course (to make sure there is no underlying infections, since this is, after all, RESISTANT STAPH), Vicodin (WOOHOO!), and Ibuprofen prescriptions.
July 5th - The start of some family problems that I’m not going to get into on here. Let’s just say that it was unexpected, weird, sad, and very upsetting. As of Saturday, things have worked out, so all is right on that end. Good thing, too. That would have been the proverbial icing on the shit cake if it hadn’t.
July 8th - Discover we’re completely screwed on money again. Brilliant….
July 12th - My ass is completely kicked. A week of medicine that is not kind to me at all, a marathon house cleaning session, and trying to show SOME interest in my family wipes me out. I fall asleep on the couch, only to be awakened by maddening itching on my arm. Then it spread to my chest. Then my neck, chin, other arm, stomach, back….you can see where this is going. Almost NINE STINKING DAYS after starting the antibiotics, I develop an allergic reaction to it. Beautiful. I spend my night itching, popping Benadryl, and rubbing expired Aveeno Anti-Itch cream on my body.
July 13th - Still itching. I get up, take the dog to the vet for his teeth cleaning (more money we don’t have), come home, and admit defeat. I call my local clinic to see if they have Urgent Care appointments available. Of course they don’t, so I head to the ER. Again. Resigning myself to stay in the waiting room for at least three hours, I pull out my phone and start surfing the internet, while watching that stupid show on TV with Rose McGowan and Alyssa Milano. Shockingly, I’m called back to a room twenty minutes after arriving. The doctor sees me quickly, gives me the diagnosis of allergic reaction (duh), and says he’ll give me Bactrim to make up for the other antibiotic I can’t take, along with Benadryl and Prednisone for the swelling and itching. Great, I think, That didn’t take long at all! Well haha, cause three emergencies happened at once and I was stuck in there for three hours. The nurse came in and gave me my first dose of ‘roids and some Benadryl. I started feeling better within twenty minutes. So I finally get released, the husband and boy take me home, and I eat lunch because I’m starving. After all that, I sat for a bit, not really feeling like going anywhere else, but knowing I needed my prescriptions filled and, oh yeah, the dog might want to come home from the vet. So off I went.
The prescription filling went smoothly, and we were on our way to pick up the dog. My son and I start crossing the street and this SUV that I THOUGHT had stopped to wait for us to cross started GOING. I went into protective Mama Bear mode, grabbed my son, and yelled at the guy driving. He tried to start shit with me after we finished crossing, it wasn’t happening, I was already pulling my hair back in anticipation of a fight. It finally ended with the usual mudslinging and the Bird. I don’t think I would have gotten that wild normally, but I was already feeling like crap, the steroids were already making me sweat, and I was getting a raging headache. That guy just rubbed on my very last nerve. So Mr. DriverofSUVandohmygodI’mgoingtogowithoutlookingtomyLEFT, I salute you. With my one finger and a big FUCK YOU.
Now I’m sitting here, aching all over because Prednisone, haha, messes with your joints. That raging headache is still around, too. I need to shower to see if that helps the itching that sort of came back, but I totally do not WANT. TO. MOVE. I’m also very tired, but knowing my sleep patterns, I won’t get to bed for another hour or so. *sigh*
So yeah, that’s my month so far. I think I need to go hide in a cave now. Or under a rock.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)