The question made me stop and think, because my first thought was, “I don’t know,” and that is never, ever good.
So, i’m here, writing to figure out how i’m feeling.
First, the physical:
Cymbals withdrawals are fairly terrorizing. The speeding heartbeat, followed by the sluggish heart beat. Anxiety. Insomnia. Exhaustion. Flares. Suicidal thoughts.
It took all i had to stay in my body, not give into the physical sensation of the start of a panic attack, and definitely not entertain the fleeting suicidal thoughts. i checked in with my fibro group and was repeatedly assured that this was all the “normal” constellation of symptoms associated with cymbalta withdrawal. It made me pretty angry, for one, because this is why i had refused the drug for years. Secondly, what in the fuck is big pharma doing with us? What kind of poison withdrawal results in erratic heartbeat that can do on for months?
Then there was the normal misery associated with not having pain meds.
Five days of hell was more than enough. My body is still adjusting back. Unfortunately, to top it all off, i woke up Saturday with a head and chest cold. So, i’m trying to choose between working with medicine head and more pain-or less pain and a head that feels like a bowling ball and yucky green lungs. Fun times. i don’t want to accidentally kill myself or something by taking cold meds and vicodin together.
i slept on the playpen again so Sir Raven could get good sleep, because i went for the cold meds last night, and had very big very sharp needle stabbing pains that jolted me awake every couple of hours.
It has to get better. It will. i just have to keep chugging along, keep the house clean, and keep working on school.
I’m in crunch time, in the last two weeks of these classes, doggedly hanging on to an A and a B. I’m stressed, as to be expected. i have regular work plus two giant projects. What i’m also a bit worried about is how i will do with the two weeks off, when i have less to ground and force me to focus.
Right now, i’d love to have a few days to just sleep, but it is not to be. i have far too much to do.
i’m a bit terrorized in the house, with two mice and one rat sighting in the last few days. Damn it. Again. i was only smoking in the kitchen, by the open window, blasting music. Now i don’t even want to go in there. i bought some very expensive peppermint rodent spray to try and end the rein of terror. i’m not afraid of spider, roaches, garden snakes, bugs. But rats and mice? Yes. Phobic.
Okay, now emotionally-
That is far trickier. Sir Raven and i finally started talking about some ways our relationship will change, and her acknowledgement that i’m serious is a bit of a relief. It’s also nerve wracking. Strange. The word scary comes to mind.
i was watching something on television the other day and then a program came on about three women who had been kidnapped and kept in a house on chains for ten years. They had the same thick chain i was bound with-as it turns out, its a logging chain. The therapist that jumped in to explain what happened to them mentally during the ordeal was really helpful. He wasn’t an ass about it. At one point, he said that their brains literally had to create changes to accept the reality in order for them to survive.
The women talked about things that were familiar to me:
trying fruitlessly and ridiculously to remove the chain, thinking that somehow no one would believe me, finding comfort in being locked away, being unable to conceive of an outside world, being thankful for small allowances like being able to draw and paint, keeping a diary, forming a few bizarre rationalizations as a result of the kidnapping, feeling that love would keep me from being murdered.
i thought-again-that i have to forgive myself for doing what i had to do to survive.
There are some things, such as conflating love with not letting me leave, that don’t go away. Nor does the fear that i’m just the whore of a rapist.
Every time i take migraine meds i think about Barbara doing what she did, and how my mother was ice cold when i was hysterically sobbing, and being unable to keep her out because my mother just kept letting her come back in the house. Barb was buying groceries when my mother refused to leave the house for months, so she was literally the only way i had to feed my nephews. It just was another way that i could not form an escape.
i also think of all of the odds i have beat in life. So damn many. And i can still love, have hopes, and dreams, and am still fighting back.
i push back against the odds against me and i always win in the end.
This is a messy time, a bit, but that is okay. This too shall pass. i know what i’m moving forward into, what i deserve, need, want, and what i have to give in return.
In a funny irony, i had to complete a survey and write up my results-which said that i’m quite securely attached. i rank high in turning into my relationships for comfort during times to stress and i rank high in not expecting the other person to want to leave me. When i had to examine the results and explain myself, i wanted to laugh, because i tend to think a partner won’t want to leave me because i provided consistently high service and speak every love language daily.
i want to be the best thing that ever happened to you.
In many ways, i don’t feel its a comment on me that i can’t be that here. i don’t know what is wanted other than to sit quietly on my playpen, do nothing, and wait.
It’s becoming harder and harder for me to write here, which i suppose is an indication that i need to be here writing. i’m gonna try and be more consistent about that. i really wish i could go spend a month at Disney with people who want to be there with me. i know my inner five year old is showing up inside, because i want to sniffle, pout, and scream, “And you don’t care!” which is proof positive that my lil girl is stomping her feet. It isn’t true, of course, that no one cares and i absolutely know that. Five year olds are exempt from rational thinking. Heh.