Pieces Of Me

I’ve been feeling rather split lately. Ever since my breakdown last year and getting the mental help I so desperately needed things have changed for the better, mostly. The crying has stopped, the rageful outbreaks have stopped, I can drive my car again given I’m not too fatigued to do so. I’m more the task oriented me, the one who uses lists to get through the day, who recognizes her symptoms and *tries* to head them off at the pass and I take my medication and see my therapist faithfully. But something is different too.

I asked people if I would lose the part of me that I really liked about myself if I took these meds, my sort of whimsical, sarcastic, over energetic creative spells I used to get. I called it inspiration, and when it hit, it hit HARD. I could write for days about things, I could redecorate my house, I saw the humor in EVERYTHING in life. I feel that girl is just not there anymore. I don’t laugh with the same intense joy I remember, and I don’t get the same thrill out of writing. In fact, I question if I’m even GOOD at this now.

I also wish more of my anxiety was under control. Thankfully, as mentioned before, I can drive again without inducing a panic attack, but I’m pretty much overwhelmed by most everything else. Unpacking has been a nightmare. Half a box in, I look at the remaining contents and go “nope, can’t even handle that” and I walk away. I’m in the middle of a chronic fatigue crash as well, so remaining awake and functional to do this has been crazy hard, which only heightens the anxiety and feelings of worthlessness.

I know my health and stress levels play a factor in all this because I have a huge amount on my plate. I also know that the responsible thing to do is to NOT let myself go crazy again if I can help it, to take my meds, and to care for myself and Ken as best I can. However, I cannot help but pine for that little piece of creative crazy that I lost when I decided to become normal.

 

One Box a Day

Do you know how hard it is to limit yourself to one box a day? But right now, it’s about all that I can handle. I’m so exhausted from the move on Saturday that my days look a little like this:

5:15 am wake up, fight some vertigo, stare at the ceiling and think about how much my hips hurt, my shoulders ache, and the fact that I don’t know if I have the strength to roll over today…… go pee, take pills,  make coffee (all hail mighty Kuerig!)

6:15 drive Ken to work. In my pajamas. Who needs getting dressed this early?

7:15 Arrive home and fall down to rest, fight some vertigo until about 9:30-10:30, because  driving exhausts me that much

10:30 try to unpack one box until the task gets too overwhelming and I end up on the floor sweating, in pain and almost in tears.

11:30 Stop to eat, take more pills, start preparing dinner, or maybe run an errand or two. Try not to die from pain, exhaustion or a combo of both. With a bit of anxiety thrown in, just for fun you know.

1:30-3:30 pm – it’s time to lay down and fight some vertigo whether I like it or not. Set alarms so I don’t sleep right though getting Ken from work.

4:00 Call my grandmother, who without her and Ken, I don’t know how I would pull through the day sometimes. I get my pep talks through them, or I just vent my frustrations of being sick, fatigued, in pain, you name it. I need the outlet sometimes.

4:30 aaaaannnnnnddddd…….I’m off again, to pick Ken up from the VA Hospital, for his shift is over. I try not to zone out and just focus behind the wheel, but admittedly it’s hard at this point. I’m very foggy, and as much as I love driving, I don’t trust myself a lot in the car anymore. It depresses me that I have lost joy and gained fear in something else in my life. I always end up letting Ken drive home, because I’ve used up all my reserves just to get there safely to pick him up.

5:30 Hopefully, if I’m on top of things, I’ve planned dinners for the week already and taken steps to pre prepare them with Ken’s help on Sunday or at least the night before because if not, starting from scratch, I’m screwed. We end up eating like crap. And I have spent all day fighting nausea anyway so it’s hard to find an appetite.

6:30 Resting, working online on a project, helping Ken unpack a box, running an errand, take your pick because I could be doing any of these things. With a little fatigue and vertigo thrown in.

8:00 Finally, I’m in bed. But i can’t take my pills yet, it’s too early. I’ll wake up like its morning at 1 am if I do. Must stay awake until 9. Finally at 9 I take my pills, and pass out.

Wake up at 10. Wake up at 12. Wake up at 3. Wake up at 4:30. Give up sleeping, and start thinking about the day over my coffee from the almighty Keurig again.

One box at a time. It’s all I can handle right now. I just want to be normal.

 

Dear Fatigue. You suck.

Today I dedicate this post to fatigue. I’ve been entirely too fatigued to post a lot lately. And I use the word fatigued because it’s different than tired. It’s more extreme and when it washes over you it feels different, it presents different, and for me at least it can make me want to pass out right where I stand.

Every few weeks my body switches it’s cycle when it hits. Sometimes it’s once a day, sometimes it’s twice or more times a day. Right now we are at twice or more a day. Which is really inconvenient because it means I have about 2 hours to be productive between spells or I have to push through and hope someone is there to help me though it because it could be dangerous with how foggy my mind becomes, someone to drive me around, make sure I have chairs to sit in, talk me into consciousness the whole time….

I’m also on a whacked out sleep schedule where I go to bed early and wake up several times a night. As of this moment, I’m banging this little whine fest out at 4am because I’m awake and angry about it, and having a moment of exasperation.

Also, winter, and dry heat inside my house can go right to hell too. I’m thankful for heat, don’t get me wrong, but it’s tearing up my nose and sinuses like crazy and anyone living in a dry heat environment knows how awful that can get. I’m there, the worst scenario.

And now I shall take my leave, for the cats are obviously fighting out whose turn it is to watch over mom at the moment, on the bed and need a intervention.

Letters From Quarantine

It’s been 5 days since the quarantine at House Woodland began. We arrived home on Sunday with Ken feeling pretty bad, sore throat and congestion. After a terrible sleepless night, for me, due to his snoring and angry retorts when I tried to move him he was full on sick the next day. We managed to attend a doctor’s appointment and head to the grocery store for what would be the last time in the near future.

Day 2, Ken had moved to the couch so I could get some rest, but it didn’t matter. Whatever this was, I succumbed to it anyway. Sore throat, nose at a full stop, and chest congestion out of nowhere. Migraine city had come for a visit too. I am glad now I withheld my Enbrel this week because that would have only suppressed my immune system more and this hell would have gone on a lot longer.

There was soup to be slurped and Netflix to be watched, and dual moaning was heard across the Woodland abode.

However in an effort to brighten our spirits we did make one kick ass french cut crusted rack of lamb for New Years dinner, that was hands down the best thing I have eaten all year. Being sick wasn’t going to suck ALL the joy out of New Years even if we did pass out by 10 and there was no toasting or kissing.

Stir crazy began to set in the next day and between coffee, naps and TV we proceeded to make one hell of a dent at purging the junk on our downstairs floor for our upcoming move. I’m more than proud of us, and doing it while sick? We are beasts. We are now slowly working on aspects of the second floor believe it or not.

Like previously stated, it’s now day 5. Symptoms have improved on both of us, but we are not ready to be released back into the world just yet. We gaze out the window longingly but the harsh freezing temperatures of the outside air would harm us should we venture out I’m sure. I hope we survive this. I’m writing to document our last days should we turn on each other and fail to successfully co inhabit this domicile any longer.

Peace out.

If This Were a CD, My Thoughts Would be Songs

I bought this nifty keyboard case for my iPad so it would help me you know….write easier. Guess what I haven’t been doing? A whole lot of writing, I can tell you that. LLLIIIIIFFFFEEEE. I’m living it, I want to share it but I’m just too damn tired to be bothered sometimes to be honest. SO, here’s a post of non sequitur thoughts that have some to maybe no relevance to my life but are in my head.

My brother turned 20 and that’s neat. He is the youngest and he is getting all “growed up.” I also just had a semi frustrating dream about him last night in which I was SUPER pissed off because he was being a jerk and refusing to do the dishes right.

Ken, the CATS, and myself are all bumming it at grandma’s this week. Yes, the cats too! It was a family road trip to DC this year. “Over the river and through the woods to grandmothers house we go!” The cats were less than pleased with the car ride but they are treating this place like one huge cat resort where love is dispensed at every turn and treats reign down from the sky. I think they are going to be ok.

Every time I merge onto the Beltway this week I end up regretting it. Obscenities are screamed, road rage is had. DC, baby, I’m home for Christmas.

Danica Mckellar, “Winnie” from the Wonder Years, was on TV talking about doing a lesbian make out scene and I felt REALLY old.

I’m going to have all sorts of fun in a few weeks with electrodes and a bed. Nope, its not some sort of 50 Shades of Grey thing, sorry you got excited. It’s a sleep study to be evaluated for sleep apnea and restless leg syndrome, one of which I can pretty much already tell them I have. I mean, out of control twitching? KINDA HARD TO MISS. I did not even bring this up with the sleep doctor, he picked up on it from my intake paperwork which was nice. I did not have to go in there sounding like a hypochondriac, my medication list I gave him was already mind blowing enough.

Speaking of, my SSDI case is moving forward. Ken and I both received extensive quality of life sort of packets to fill out regarding my daily pain and activities, blah blah. We have 20 days to complete it. Fingers crossed.

Fingers Crossed For Progress.

You know what’s cool? The Enbrel seems to be working! I’m in so much less pain, I’ve cut way back on the pain meds and my morning stamina is even up. I still have bouts of burning hands and feet, but this start is nothing short of amazing in my opinion so far. I’m still kinda on edge about being constantly immunocompromised and therefore easily able to get sick but so far so good.

My sleep cycles however are a totally different story. Since recovering from the accidental over saturation of sedatives on my liver, I’ve been able to recover from that but it’s brought back all my sleep issues. Namely, my body thinks it’s time to get up for the day at 3am no matter what, and my fatigue tends to get really bad after about noon. I’m going to be doing a sleep study soon to see if we can get some clarification on that because my sleep has been wildly out of control for one reason or another for over 10 years now.

I was also molded and folded and stuffed and fitted for a new bra this weekend for the upcoming bout of Army formal fun. My boobs hurt just thinking about that experience but there is an upside to this. Due to my recent weight loss of 60 lbs my dress has to be taken IN now! Sadly though, my boobs did not shrink. It was like hauling sandbags into a hammock. But I will be pretty damn it! Along with my hot husband in his brand spanking new service uniform, we will look good for once this year!

And with that, coffee #3 is calling….

Fibromyalgia is a Bitch.

Lately I’ve been experiencing a major fibromyalgia crash, which is why I’m not blogging as much. This time it’s coming in the form of a crippling fatigue and exhaustion that’s making staying alive difficult, so things like writing have taken a back burner. Don’t get me wrong, I’m using the tiny bit of energy I have to cook a meal and love it, or get done the essentials of the day, but ANYTHING beyond that is out of the question. I can only drive my car when absolutely needed because I’m afraid of passing out behind the wheel. So I’m struggling right now, but my spirits are actually pretty good about it, my crazy meds, and my RA meds seem to be working a bit. Also, I just became one of those sad pill organizer people because the Fibro fog is so bad I keep forgetting and/or double taking my morning pills and it’s gotten out of control….sigh.

On the exciting news, to me anyway, we got a Keurig machine and it’s my new best friend. A friend of ours gave us an opportunity to get one for a super good deal and I’m already declaring it the best purchase of the year and I’m so thankful to her! It would appear I’ve fallen in love with the French Roast sample included in the pack. This could get dangerous.

Today is also day one of Ken and I finally using our complex’s gym. I’m trying to stay moving after ceasing my physical therapy, and Ken has to be able to pass his 2 mile run after recently coming off his profile he has been on for years for mild asthma. The importance is high because he just GOT PROMOTED, and we are determined and excited to make this work and keep on keeping on with this. The Army isn’t easy and we really don’t love it much but we are so close, that we are in it to win it at this point.

The Light at the End Of the Tunnel?

So things have been cooking over here at Casa Woodland. While the government is having its own crisis, we have been having our own financial crisis ourselves. It’s tough to write about, so there won’t be many details, but we are poor people living off of financial aid, grants and loans with a wee bit of military pay at the moment, and well, EVERYTHING went haywire and as things sometimes happen, the money wasn’t coming in on schedule. Imagine me first waiting by the window for the mailman like a dog. Progress that image to me fighting Ken in a race to the mail box every day to get to it first to see if “today was the day!” I could stop dying inside and pay the power company who I was sure were going to personally drive over with huge scissors and cut the power to our house. Now at the end of this ordeal, I was asking moral questions, like, “is it wrong to inflict violence on the mailman or others if no money comes? Should I put the weapons away, or look for more household items to wield into battle gear?” Seriously, it was getting all survivalist up in my head.

But FINALLY we got a break and in time we received relief. Which of course I promptly cried like a baby after paying all those bills I had been terrified over and watching that money quickly fade away, and the rest fall carefully into a budget that will once again require us to resort to some ramen eating days in order to be “fiscally frugal” until the spring semester.

In other news, I woke up one day last week and felt that click in my head and KNEW my Welbutrin/Abilify combo had finally kicked in and my world was clearer than it had been in years. It was like a blanket was lifting off me finally and I can kinda see my way out from underneath. I don’t hate everything as much. It’s encouraging to know I might be on a path to stable. Panic is still a huge issue and we have decided to add a long term medication, Lexapro to see if we can knock that down to a functional level (I would LOVE to drive my car without it being the drama of the century in my head) and maybe make me all around a little happier too. I’ve still got my old benzo friends though for random onset attacks, and to help me sleep.

There is more…. But I’m pooped and written out. And I’m making navy bean and ham soup that needs attention. I’M COOKING AGAIN BITCHES!!!!!

Brought by the Letter M.

Sooooo, a murder victim was found behind my house a couple of days ago. Like directly behind my house they dumped the body. Thankfully I don’t go into my backyard area much or my therapist would have a whole new set of issues to deal with.

As the story officially goes now, a guy killed his girlfriend in a fight and then tried to dump the body behind my house. And someone came across it. When the police went the the woman’s apartment her baby was still inside. And they arrested the guy. I appreciate how everyone in our neighborhood was also notified of the situation via letter in our doors, like when you get a Chinese menu in your door. Only this one was like “FYI, there was a murder today….”

I would also care to mention that this happened when I arrived home from my appointment with psych where I was told officially I had General Anxiety Disorder, PTSD, and Bi Polar disorder. It was a LOVELY day. But there we have it folks. The official reports are in on what I have been going through the past few years that have exploded the past few months. I took the weekend off to process the information, even though I’m not surprised and I was prepared for what much of the personality assessment had to say. It’s just so, sobering, to see yourself, what makes you tick on the paper. The good, the bad and the ugly, and agree with it because you do know its true. There were things I was proud of on that paper, traits I wouldn’t give up, but also things on there I would trade in a heartbeat not to have to ever feel again. If only letting go were just that easy now that I know about it. If just seeing it could cure me and free me of this mess. It’s just not like that.

So instead, I’ll be meeting with a doctor to work out a plan to stabilize my moods and control my anxiety, and I’ll work on learning how to cope and process information in a healthier way with my therapist. I think the next question down the road is, will knowing all this be a opportunity at a last attempt at communication with my parents, or will it be the last break for me before I have to say enough for my own health and really move on in a more drastic measure?

Inkblots and Imaginary Friends.

Lately I have hit this level of exhaustion that has rendered me just too exhausted to write. It’s not that things haven’t been going on, because man have they ever, but just living through them have been enough at the moment. Writing about them, that’s just had to wait. Until the Klonopin wore off and I had my mind back that is. Klonopin is one of those great drugs that calms you down but also kind of renders your brain useless to cognitive thought, so writing is damn near impossible.

Did you know that psychologists still use those inkblot tests for things? I had NO IDEA either until confronted with my very own set last week. Now THAT was fun. Apparently I just see the inside of the human anatomy in everything, and I think she was surprised at my graphic detail on that. And I saw the bat signal on one. But really there was a point where I looked at her and exclaimed “COME ON! A two year old just splattered paint on that,” and refused to “see” anything else. Apparently that wasn’t an acceptable answer and finally I told her “fine, it’s a body.” From the best of my Internet research when I got home, while my answers aren’t standard, I got the conceptual idea of the inkblot cards right, and it safe to say I’m not schizophrenic. That was on the table?! Schizophrenia?! (One little breakdown and they think you might be full blown schizophrenic, that I will never understand. I was never climbing the walls, talking to imaginary people, threatening to hurt ANYBODY or the like.) I’m going to be skeptical of the whole inkblot method though anyway, it’s too much guesswork and not enough proven accuracy for me. Luckily the rest of my visit was more in depth and focused on better diagnostic methods concerning my issues.

I’m convinced this one is Optimus Prime.

The summary of our week beyond that consisted of some high stakes finances. It’s like poker, only with our utilities, cable, and rent up as collateral, and we are playing with groceries. Ken’s car unexpectedly died and won a all expenses paid trip courtesy of our checking account to our house from the middle of the road. Now we have one car for the rest of the month. So there’s that to be excited about. Negotiations for obtaining my medication for my Rheumatoid Arthitis are tense and frustrating as its being held hostage somewhere between my doctor’s office and the mail order pharmacy. No one really knows, they both say someone else is fucking up. I’d also like to throw in here, that no one seems to give two flying fucks what i have to say about it because they have pushed this process through every step of the way despite my concerns, and every step of the way it’s ended up a problem for ME. Either way, I’m in terrible pain and no one is sending in back up. Stay tuned. It’s a developing situation.