Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Day 357

Some days I feel as old and marked as the dirt I walk upon – others, as naive and stupid as a teenager about to embark on unprotected, underage sex with an unfeeling stranger that has more risque conquests under his belt than a mass murderer.

Today I don’t know what I feel. I don’t think I feel anything, apart from numb. And sad. So very, desperately sad; actually, no – today I feel put upon by others, I feel the demands are too high to go places and smile and be a decent human being. I feel at a loss to keep up with the appointments and the expectations when all I want to do is crawl into myself and shut out all the white noise. The days, they never seem to change, and lately, whenever I sit here, in front of my computer, all I feel is a cringing feeling of deja vu with repetitive and difficult feelings that I am just, constantly, moaning. I seem to say the same thing every day, pages and pages of masturbatory theorem and wasted life. Lost are the afternoons, when brief respite occurs and I can sit with my kindred friend, looking out of a Starbuck’s window choosing boyfriends for each other from the mostly unsavoury passers by. These days are lost in time when the bogeyman comes knocking. Right now he is battering down the locked front door, trying to get in.

I have a psychiatric assessment on Friday with a new doctor. Something I am looking forward to as much as I would to being buried alive. I have had enough of the poking and prodding and probing assessments. I have had enough of the explaining, summarising and prioritising of events that lead up to my “mental break”. I have had enough of, “What do you think is wrong?” and, “What do you think is the cause of this?”

I went to my GP appointment this morning and got more Sertraline (the anti depressant, which is now un-affectionately known as “the depressant”), Diazepam, and new to the list – saline solution and non-adhesive dressings for my hands and arms. My new GP looked at me with something between quizzical humour and disbelief when the list rolled off my tongue. “Do you live alone?” she asked. She found it difficult to comprehend that I was living, with all but my illness for company. More and more professionals are now referring to my current situation as an “illness” which although my head finds it hard to comprehend, it heading somewhere towards acceptance. Maybe.

Yesterday bordered on nasty. I crawled out of bed to go to the post office, and quickly returned to bed once I walked back in the door. A migraine started about 8pm that involved a rapid stiffening of my neck that I found rather excruciating/horrifying. Needless to say, I thought I would be dead by morning – paralysed from the neck up with a frozen head. The smallest things send me straight to panic – possibly because I do live alone. No one is here to sympathise or fetch the bucket when I need to vomit, no, no - I have to get my own bucket and crawl around the floor whimpering and holding my head that wants to explode. I like to think that I am no hypochondriac, I like to think that all these minor ailments are a symptom of the battery my body has been victim to since I started with the plethora of drugs that have been swirling around in my system for the past two years. Before that, I hardly dare swallow anything for a complaint - funny how things change. Damn hilarious, actually.

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