Okay, so I’ve come to terms that this is obviously my place to express all the depressing stuff that no one else should hear.

I really wanted this to be an ingenious blog that could be read by friends and strangers alike, but that’s never going to happen. Just like a lot of other things in my life that will never happen.

Okay, so this last week and a half has really sucked. Everything is just getting to me. Work has sucked, I’m taking classes again, and of course, let’s not forget that consistant pain that never seems to go away. So the other night, my crazy head started thinking. I was laying in bed, staring at the ceiling ( I couldn’t sleep, as usual). I got warm so I took off my top blanket, and realized it was the one my friend Chris made me before I left TX. So I started thinking about making things, that naturally led to thinking about knitting. I then started thinking about how I want to learn how to knit socks, and that led me to thinking about how far I’ve come (knitting-wise). And of course that led me to start thinking about the very first thing I knitted. It was an atrocious scarf-like thing. It was made of variegated yarn that made a camouflage pattern. It was awful, and he hated it of course, but that was not what my mind focused on.

All I could think about was sitting there every day, knitting away, praying for his safety in Afghanistan. He was always constantly on my mind. Small prayers, slipping silently from my mouth to God’s ears throughout with each stitch. And that’s when it hit me. It was our anniversary. Or what would have been our anniversary, had he not left.

Immediately all these memories came flooding back, slamming into my chest, causing the tears to come again. God, it’s been a while since I’ve laid in bed and cried. The other morning, a particularly quiet Saturday morning, I was awakened by the sound of the kids that live upstairs, yelling and laughing and watching TV. I had never really realized that I would be able to hear upstairs before. Then I realized, they must have been able to hear me at times. Fighting with Nick over giving the ring back, or sobbing my heart out when I thought I was alone. God what a nightmare my life is.

How did I end up here? How? How did I manage to give away all of my heart, and be left with nothing? It’s like I’ve just woken up and realized that it’s gone. Every chance I had at success, health, love, life. Gone. All of it. Like one of the idiots that wins 200 million dollars and ends up in bankruptcy court 3 years later, because he woke up one morning, and it was gone. One day you have everything, and the next thing you know, you just don’t.

I was cleaning off my desk and the cabinet drawers today at work and found two picture frames, containing pictures of us. It was hard to look at them but not as hard as I thought it would be. What hurt the most was when my coworker saw me looking at them, looked over my shoulder and said, “Wow you look so pretty there! And so happy! Wow…”. Ya, she just had to say “wow” twice, while looking back and forth between me, and the pictures. I saw exactly what she was thinking and said, “Ya, I know, I used to be pretty, and thin.” She gave me the standard response that any good friend should give. The ol’ “Oh stop! You are still beautiful!” But I’m not. And we both know it.

It’s been over a year and a half since it ended, and I’ve accomplished nothing but gain weight, and completely lose sight of who I used to be. The depression kicked in, which fueled the pain, which put an end to any activity, which led to gaining weight. 40 pounds. FORTY. I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I stopped getting my nails done, my hair done, all of it. I even completely stopped wearing makeup about 8 months ago. I used to NEVER leave the house without makeup and hair done. NEVER.

I don’t go outside at all now, unless it’s absolutely necessary. Or dark out. I don’t go out with friends anymore either. For months and months, T would ask me to go with her and Junior. And after months of me saying no, they just stopped asking. Which is really just better for everyone. And I don’t think I can handle sitting there, out in public watching a bunch of pretty couples. I already live with them, so I don’t want to be around any more than I have to. I’m just being bitter I guess.

Another thing I found while cleaning out my drawers, was a business card for the photagrapher I was going to use for the wedding. Of course (just to twist the knife that’s already in my chest) I had to go to the website and look at the wedding gallery pics. It was while I was looking at the pics of the brides and grooms, that I realized that it’s never going to happen. Not to me. That’s never going to be me. Ya I know, there’s no law against getting married after 30 but, I’ll never be “her”. I’ll never be that young girl with that look in her eye as she looks into the eyes of her new husband.

I’ll more than likely be that 40 year old, that people will ask about. “Is this her second marriage?” or “I wonder what’s wrong with her?”. I already have to answer to all my family. All my great aunts and grandmothers, who were married before they were even 21. “Still not married?” “No grandkids in the future?”. Nope. Doesn’t look like it.

All I ever wanted was to love someone and take care of them. Giving them kids, and having grandkids someday. Why not me? Why does the horrid, frumpy, annoying girl that sits behind me have kids and a husband and I don’t? I mean I have to admit, I’m nothing to look at these days anymore either. And I don’t go out, and how can I meet anyone when I just stay home? But I honestly have just given up. Especially after today, looking at how good I USED to look. I mean sure, I’m not stupid, I know I wasn’t beautiful or perfect by ANY means, but damn, what the hell happened to me?

I’ve changed my diet. Started walking small amounts on my lunch or break at work. But sometimes the pain is too much to get up. Or the fatigue is too much to get out of bed. I see people running along side the road, or on TV and I want so badly to be them. I want to be a runner. One of those people that goes to the gym every day. I honestly, truly do. But I just can’t. At least not anymore.

Ya know, I’m just done. I’m done talking about this same shit that never changes. I just keep wasting more space on the internet with the same shit. If there were any glimpse of hope for change, then maybe I could find the strength to put forth an effort. Maybe if that light at the end of my tunnel wasn’t a freight train, then maybe. Maybe I would want to keep on doing this. But it’s not, so why? Why waste everyone else’s time?

I wonder why I have the urge to write all this out, when it’s not going to matter in the end. Is it supposed to make me feel better? I doubt it. I honestly don’t. I find myself pulling away from everyone now. I don’t answer calls anymore. Not from friends, not from family. In fact I don’t even know where my phone IS anymore. I don’t even look in the mirror but maybe for 30 seconds when I put my hair up every moring. It makes me physically sick when I do, so I try not to spend too much time there.

I used to be against ending it all. Ya know, the whole “it’s the only unforgiveable sin” thing. And I actually believe that. So how do I get around that whole thing? Is it possible to put in a request for my “last day”? Ya know, like you put in your “two week notice” at work? If the pain is never going to go away, then I don’t want to do this anymore. But I’m really serious. I don’t. I don’t have a husband or children to live for. My parents both have lives with their new spouses so I’m sure they would get over it.

I just wake up every day, praying for cancer, or a car wreck. I know that’s awful, but at least there’s an end to it. I already live in pain every day, and I’m pretty much dead to my family and friends already anyway, so really, why not?

My doctor pretty much told me last time I saw her, that there IS no cure, and I’m not going to GET any better. So I just need to get used to this life, and learn healthy ways to live with and work through the pain.

No. That’s my answer. No. I may sound like a 4 year old, but I don’t want to. I just don’t want to anymore. Now I just need to find a way. A way out that will please everyone. Man I wish there was someone that understood this. Someone to tell this to, besides a computer screen.

Man… I just never thought I would have ended up here…. never in a million years… 

It’s amazing what music can do. It can warm you like a familiar worn blanket. It can chill you to the bone. It can make you swear you have arms wrapped around you in comfort, yet at the same time, it can tear relentlessly through your heart, stinging your eyes with tears.

It’s silent and I am alone. I (ironically) have Silent Night (Sarah McLachlan) in my ears. What a beautiful voice she has.

I generally object to Xmas music before Thanksgiving, but Thanksgiving is tomorrow, so close enough I say. My favorite song is O Holy Night, but it’s not on this cd like I thought. I should head out for a new Christmas CD.

This song has a calming effect on me (despite my persistent headache). I have no ties to this music or this song. I guess if it reminds me of anything, it would have to be about 20+ years ago, at the Christmas Eve midnight mass/service at St Stephens Episcopal church. I was an acolyte, and practiced for weeks, but was too sick to participate. My parents couldn’t get a sitter, so I had to come to the service, tired and sick, laying in my parents lap with a fever, watching my friends lighting the candles in stead of me. I would have been jealous but was too sick to care. But I remember how I loved the music.

There really is no purpose to this post. I just had a need to talk about how I love the way music can take me away, almost anywhere I want to go, and even back to places I don’t. I don’t know where I would be without music to carry me through some of the worst and best times of my life. So for Thanksgiving, I guess I give thanks for this amazing gift.  

Drug Enduced Stuper

Ok, so I’ve been taking Ambien for the last few months to help me get “real” sleep. Apparently I was getting sleep, but no REM sleep which just makes pain worse – blah blah blah. So my doc gives me Ambien 10mg; take one at night. For the first few days it’s wonderful! No side effects! No drowsiness or hangover the next day, just sleep. Then it started.

I got up one morning same as every morning, about 4am, get ready and head out the door. I rarely if ever eat breakfast so I usually never go in the kitchen before I leave.

So, I get to work, and Tree, who lives with me, looks at me and asks if I did something with the strawberries before I went to work. I said no, why? She said that she and Jr saw that I left them out so Jr put them in the refrigerator before they went to bed. But, when Tree got up, she saw that container of strawberries on the counter again….empty. Stems littered all over the counter and floor. Then it hit me. What I thought was a dream about endless strawberries, was reality. I suddenly remembered, just standing by the fridge, eating strawberry after strawberry, apparently until they were gone. Then sleep walked back to bed. Whoa. I had heard about people sleep walking, or even driving on Ambien, in the middle of the night, but thought it wouldn’t happen to me.

Well, I laughed and laughed about it, and thought it would be just a one time thing, since it was the first time to happen after 2 weeks of taking it. Then it started happening more often.

I always go to bed before T & J since I work at 5. But sometimes I don’t really want to go bed because they may be watching something funny or good on TV or listening to music or whatever. But I take my Ambien and go to sleep. However my subconscience still wants to hang out I guess, ’cause I’ll get back up, and stumble out in the living room acting all funny and laughing, and making jokes and hang out for a while…then just go back to bed with little or no memory of it in the morning. Tree will always ask, do you remember…(fill in the blank)? I usually don’t, but might have a slightly hazy memory of it.

So I thought maybe I need more to keep me asleep? Well, I tried that, and it made it worse! So, after some tweaking of the dosage I realized I should be taking about half, and it has slowed down the episodes. Notice I said slowed down, and not stopped.

I have been waking up the last couple days, and my bedside light is on. I always turn it off when I start feeling sleepy so I can go to sleep. So what am I turning the light on for, in the middle of the night? Well I think I might be reading (if you can believe it) in my sleep. When I open my book up sometimes, I have the page marked in one place, but have to flip back a page or two before I find the last paragraph I actually remember. So, this is interesting.

I think I am going to ask to switch to Lunesta. I haven’t heard of sleep walking, eating, or smoking (oh ya I’ve been doing that too – luckily I still go outside), etc. on that drug.  Or maybe I’ll try that one that has the cool commercial with the Astronaut and the Beaver….

i can’t see

I can’t see because my eyes are so swollen it hurts to do more than squint. Another fucking doctors appointment today. I cried through most of the appointment and saw that look in her eyes. She thinks I just need better treatment for depression and everything would get better for me. LISTEN….

I’M NOT IN PAIN BECAUSE I’M DEPRESSED. I’M “DEPRESSED” BECAUSE I LIVE IN CONSTANT PAIN AND HAVE BEEN ROBBED OF MY “LIFE”. (why can’t anyone fucking understand this concept?!?!?) 

It may not make sense to everyone (or anyone for that matter) but it’s the worst look you can see in someone else’s eyes. After years of enduring it, I have learned to detect it. Pity, exasperation, and just enough doubt to make me want to give it all up. Give up making the appointments. Give up the effort. Give up paying the damned $40 co-pays just so I can get painkillers every month. Give up baring the most embarrassing weakness to another stranger who thinks I just might be a simple drug seeker. Give up opening the doors that I have spent months bolting up to protect myself from fucking ridicule. Give up this nightmare.

I don’t want to do this anymore.

I have been convincing myself that I have just not found the right doctor that will be able to see past the negative tests for RA and tell me I don’t have Fibromyalgia. My grandmother has RA, my mother has RA. Neither had consistent tests results for RA, yet the joint damage is obvious and unmistakable. No it’s not the worst I have seen, and in my job, I’ve seen all the pictures. No I don’t show joint damage, my fingers aren’t twisted. But my mom’s didn’t start until she was 49, but she had the pain for years.

Why do I want someone to tell me it’s RA? RA is a terrible crippling disease with no cure. So is Fibromyalgia. So what’s the difference? There is a test that confirms an RA patient’s pain. No test confirms Fibro. There are drugs now that slow down or possibly prevent further joint damage if you have RA. There are no drugs for Fibro, other than pain meds and some Neuro drugs that may or may not fuck with your central nervous system. I don’t want to do the pain medicine thing anymore. I’m always either hurting so bad that I can’t even rest while laying down, or I’m just high enough to not care about the ache. But it’s still there. It’s always there. Like a spiderweb that you swat away but you can still feel on your skin for hours. But instead of a spiderweb, it’s more like a boulder, rolling over my joints, over and over and over and over and over and over until I pray for it to roll over my head so I can fade to black without having to actually do it myself.

I can’t see through these god-damned tears that wont stop. I can’t see the person I used to be, even just one year ago. I can’t see who it is I am going to be; supposed to be. I can’t see things ever getting better. I can’t see past this oppression. I can’t see a future. I can’t see MY future. I can’t see the reason this is happening. I’m supposed to be grateful to be alive. But, I truly can’t see why.

how to save a life…

 While I was in bed the other night, reading, a simple passage in the book, insignificant to the plot, struck me so hard that I just had to drop the book and shut my eyes.

It was the main characters, now older in their 50’s, laying in bed remembering what it was like 30 years before and thinking each is as (or more) beautiful now as they were back then.

Simple paragraph really, but it struck me nonetheless bringing me back to one of the nights in bed with Nick, my arms wrapped lightly around him to assure myself that he was actually back from this so called war… and looking him over from head to toe, thanking God that despite the slipped disks in his back, I noticed that every limb and toe and finger still were still in place.

I was so in love and realized that every time I saw him, he was more beautiful than before. I remember him telling me the same, and us talking of what it would be like in our 50’s and 60’s and how we couldn’t wait to grow old as long as we were together. I would have vivid dreams of our future, seeing our home, with tri-cycles in the yard, and small dark haired young ones at my feet. I would see him, my husband, father to our children, seeing the years on his face and touches of grey in his hair as he picked up our little grandchild to swing her around in the sun. This was my favorite dream. Not winning the lottery, not the dream of being a movie star, not the dream of being able to fly. The dream of my future, of our future.

I see now that it was not a vision as I always thought, but just exactly what it was…a dream. About as likely to happen as my actually winning the lottery, or actually becoming a star, or learning to fly. How could I have been so comfortable and sure in this “life” we had? My heart so full and devoted?

Then I have to remember sitting on the bed in the hotel, seeing tears in his eyes for the first time, as he told me it was over, that he was leaving. I remember as I shamefully begged him not to kill me like that. Then standing in the airport as I watched him walk away down the corridor, looking back only once for the last time.

I don’t remember how I got to the parking lot, or how I got in my truck. I just remember trying to breathe in spite of the enormous pain in my chest. And then trying to call someone, anyone. It was only 6 in the morning and I remember T answering the phone. I remember sobbing so uncontrollably that she didn’t know what I was saying. She didn’t know what to do. She had to get ready for work. She wanted to help, I could tell, but I knew there was nothing she could do to save this life that had ended. I wonder how long I sat in that parking garage, sobbing, choking and wanting to die? God I would have done anything to save that life of ours. But nothing would be enough.

All these memories come rushing back sometimes, my heart reliving them again and again. Bright red, newly healed scars easily ripping open. How I wish I could have been kept up all night with a toothache instead of this persistant heartache. These memories… how can I stop them from haunting me? All I can do is pray, I guess. Pray that I can forget them.

How To Save A Life Lyrics

Done.

I’m done. 

I don’t know what else to say besides “I’m fucking done with this shit.”

My followup appointment with the Neurologist was at 3pm. I was done and back in my car by 3:10pm. He rushed me in to his office and told me to have a seat behind his office desk. In all my years of going to the doctor, I have always been seen in an exam room. Never the actual doctors OFFICE. So I thought maybe he has something serious to tell me. “Finally!” , I thought, “someone FOUND what is wrong with me.” I know its sick but I wanted so badly for him to say they found a tumor. Something you can SEE, something that means I have a REAL diagnosis. Something that will either:

A. be operable, so they can just open me up, take it out, and I will return to normal. Or…

B. kill me.

Honestly, I wouldn’t mind either one. But instead I get the answer most people are releived to hear in the doctors office.

“Ms. Watson, your MRI came back clear and normal. And suprisingly your EEG came back normal as well. No episodes were recorded. And since you say your episodes have slowed down since you stopped the Tramadol, it leads me to believe that there is nothing neurologically wrong with you.”

This, as I have stated, is NOT what I wanted to hear. I started to cry. He looks in my chart. Tells me that Cymbalta may not be the right antidepressant. He asks if I am seeing a phychiatrist, and says I should see one to make sure I’m not bi-polar. When I start to tell him about calling a few to see if they are accepting new patients, he looks at his watch. So I cut my sentence short. He tells me that is all he can suggest I do. I start to comment and he just looks at his watch and stands up while I am talking. Basically saying my time is up and he is done with me. I felt like a fool. I felt ignored. I felt abandoned. I felt disappointed and angry all at once. He said to me as I’m standing at the desk (so I can pay my $40 co-pay – for nothing) that he wants to see me in 8 weeks. I said ya sure, then told the receptionist that I didnt want an appointment, and that I would call her if I needed to. Ya right. Like I would ever go there again. The only reason I would go back would be to pick up my medical records.

I walked out of the office and as soon as the door shut behind me I just started bawling in the hallway. It’s like this was my last chance to prove that I’m not crazy, and I lost. I made it to my car and cried some more. Then I somehow made it home, managed to pick up a package from the apartment office and check the mail. I barely remember any of it. I just want to be numb.

I want to crawl in a ball and die. I’m surprised I have the energy to write as much as I have. I don’t want to write about this anymore. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I don’t want to DO THIS anymore. I don’t want to wake up another day if I have to feel this way for the rest of my life. I’m done. I feel I have paid my dues and I don’t deserve any more of this. I want to know why this is happening to me and how much longer I have to endure it. I want to know who I have helped by living this life. What good have I done to this world by living this way? Tell me. I want to fucking know. Otherwise, I don’t see why I keep doing this. Waking up, taking pills, feeling dizzy and nautious or in so much pain I want to cry.

Obviously, I DO need a psychiatrist. Yes I know this. Yes I’m making a fucking appointment. I don’t know why, but I am. I don’t want to, but I’m doing it because I’m fucking human and for some reason, that seems to come with this fucking annoying instinct to want to keep breathing in and out, day after day. SOMETHING is telling me to not give up, God is telling me not to give up, and that is the only reason I won’t. I know I should be doing this because I WANT to get help or because I CARE about my recovery (from whatever the hell this thing is that is ruining my life) but I’m sorry I’m not, because I’m fucking done. If He wants me to keep breathing, He better find a way to do it for me because I’m done doing it alone.

I’m Done.

Details

Ok. So here's the details of the Neuro appointment. I barely remember it, it was so whirlwind fast. First of all, I was supprised to here someone check in after I had sat down, and her appointment was scheduled with my doc at only 15 minutes after mine. I thought that odd since this was my first appointment, but I guess that's why we still have to wait in the small room after they call us back. Anyway…

Second, the doctor himself opened the door to the waiting room to call me back himself, not the nurse. That was a first. But cool. So he barely waits for me to climb up on the table, and he starts firing off questions. "What is happening?" "When did they start?" "What do they feel like?" Etc.

I tried to answer as completely as I could, but he almost wouldn't let me get my answer out of my mouth, and he would be firing off another question. Kind of like at the drive through at a fast food restaurant. You want to tell them no mayo, but they cut you off by asking "what drink do you want with that?" Grrrr. I hate that.

So, I try to blurt out everything that has been happening to me, as fast as I can, and notice that as he's nodding his head (as if he's heard everything before – which when I think of it..he probably has) I see that he has filled up both sides of a blank sheet of paper with illegible scribbles. Somewhere in the middle of all this I for some reason mentioned my Meth use from years ago. Now THAT slowed him down.

"You did meth?"

"Yes. Quite a bit, for about 6-8 months in '91, and then again in '95-'96 for about a year. And maybe twice in the last 8 years."

"Hmmm. Okay then." (scribble, scribble, scribble)

That was dumb I thought. But then I realized why I told him. It was because he was asking me what I felt like after a big "twitching" incident. And I told him I felt (and looked according to Tree) like I was 'coming down'. Then I had to explain what I was 'coming down' from. Thus, making it obvious that I had done meth at one time. However, it didn't seem to bother him or have any impact on what was happening now.

Next he started asking me to touch my nose, touch his finger, look up, down, left, right, etc. Then he was taking the mallet and testing my reflexes on my ankles, knees, and elbows. I told him that the way they jerk when he hits them, is (and feels like) just like the jerks or twitches I get. He said "Okay…hmmm."

Next, he opens the door and tells me to wait on the table while he gets some paperwork. He returns quickly with two pieces of paperwork. One, a list of blood work he needs me to have done. Two a form to take to the front to tell the receptionist how much to bill my insurance and to tell her to schedule me for an EEG and an MRI. He says to scedule a follow up after all that is done. Then he will discuss what he thinks is wrong with me.

Well, the EEG was Saturday morning. It was interesting. Of course the entire 30 minutes I was laying there, waiting for a twitch, it never happened. But toward the end, he had me close my eyes and he held a strobe light over my face and made it blink faster and faster each time, so the machine could register what happens. Well this made me twitch and jerk all over the place. I felt like I was about to seize, although I have never had a seizure "per se". I don't know how to explain it. It was nothing I have felt before. Then it was over. He removed the electrodes (or whatever they're called) from my head and I was left with this cement stuff in my hair, to drive home and wash my hair again!

Now the MRI. That was Wednesday the 10th. I had to drive WAY out to North Scottsdale for it. I never really saw a physician, just a tech that performs it. He was pretty cool though. I didn't have to remove everything and put on an embarrassing gown like I've had to do before. Just my bra and anything metal. So he leads me to the room, I lay down on this skinny table and he lays down this "cage" thing that covers my chest and head. I say cage because it had bars in front of my face. Thankfully I'm not clausterphobic at all. Then he gives me these gigantic headphones to place over my ears to block out the "hammering" noises from the machine. ( I had to wonder why I had to remove my bra because of the tiny underwire, but I could have this huge headset on made of metal and plastic…oh well) He was real nice and kept telling me how much longer I had to be still, and asking if I was okay. Then he had to inject "contrast" so they could get another reading. He was all worried that I was going to freak out. I told him I have no problem with needles. So it was cool. Supposedly it was supposed to make my mouth taste like metal, but it never did. Then like 15 more minutes of tests and it was over.

Because I am a freak and into medical things, I asked if I was allowed to see the images. He just looked at me for a second, and said "Uh….no." So either I have a gigantic tumor, or he was afraid of being sued for some reason. Either way, it sucked. I like looking at stuff. And when I had an MRI of my spine, the tech allowed me to see it, ask questions, etc. But that was in a small town. Things are surely different in the big city.

Enough for now. More to talk about (believe it or not) after the Rheumatologist appointment.

How’s it gonna be?

The reason for my title is because that Third Eye Blind song is in my head (at least I think that is who sings it). But seriously, how's it gonna be? How is it going to be next month? Will I really know anything more than I know now? How is it going to be in a year? Will I still be struggling to find the right combo and amount of medicine to help me just barely function normally? Will I be worse? I seem to be getting worse every year. Every year I remember something that I am not able to do, that I was able to do last year. I used to be able to drink. I get sick when I do that now. I used to be able to get up from sitting on the ground without walking hunched over for 30 seconds. I used to crave going out, and having vacations. Now I just dread being a downer for whoever is going with me. Worrying that I am going to be in pain, or too tired to do whatever fun thing is planned.

This is no way to live. Not for a 30 year old. Today I feel like I just want to lay down and die. I just want to go to sleep. And honestly I don't want to wake up unless this shit is gone. This new shit that is happening to me is just too much. It's like I had a delicate balance with the goddamned depression and pain, and someone, God, whomever, decided they would see just how much more I could handle. Like Jenga. How many pieces can they take out before I crumble? Well guess what, you have reached the last piece. I'm done. I don't want to play Jenga anymore.

And why? Why me? Why am I going through this? What is my purpose? Many who may read this (if any) may not agree, but I was brought up going to church and taught about God and the christian/episcipol faith. I have not always followed "the rules" or obeyed all the commandments, or gone to church all the time. But I am a Christian. I made the choice for myself when I was 14. And I thank my parents for introducing it to me as a small child, so that I had something to cling to when I was going through some of the worse times in my life. They never forced it on me, but I always knew it was there.

So this is one of those times. I keep praying for God to to let me see why this is happening to me. I've been told to search my bible for scripture that could help me find an answer, but I just can't see it. While I read it, I twitch and get so frustrated that I just slam it shut and throw it down. So now where do I go? I'll tell you where I want to go. The beach. I want to sit in the sand, right now, listening to Incubus or Sublime or even James Taylor or someone better that I can't think of right now, with a complicated looking drink in my hand, and my toes getting tickled by the ocean's foam. I want my job to be collecting sea glass everyday and making art with it to sell and survive. If this would happen, would I be able to enjoy it? Would the pain and stress and seizures go away? Or would it be so lonely there, that I would always notice them?

Just one answer to my many questions, is all I'm begging for. I recieved an email from my best friend from Texas, who is going through a lot of what I am. She has had so many medical problems for the last 10 years or more, with so many doctors, that she just gets forgotten. Her Insurance won't cover her antidepressant anymore, so she has decided to wean herself off of this dangerous drug since her doctor doesnt care to see her unless it is something tragic. So guess what. It's gonna get tragic since she voiced thoughts or hurting herself or finding ways to get herself in the ICU. I KNOW WHAT SHE IS TALKING ABOUT.

I have been sitting here since 4:57am, crying, angry, sad, dazed, all at the same time. This grew into a full blown panic attack. I called my UC who said two other people were out, so I decided I was going to try to stick it out. I had to break down and take half an Ativan. I HATE the way they make me feel. But at least I'm not having a panic attack anymore. Now I just want to put my head down again and cry. That's all I've done this morning. I'm kinda in a corner and most people around me dont get in til 8 so i dont think anyone could see me. SHIT.

I'm tired of this crap. I'm TIRED of feeling sick. I'm TIRED of feeling tired. I'm TIRED of my joints hurting. I'm TIRED of my hands swelling and hurting. I'm TIRED of not being able to walk up hills and stairs like I used to. I'm TIRED of gaining pound after pound cause I just can't move like I used to.

In my brain, I WANT to walk. I WANT to run. I WANT to hike. I WANT to balance my checkbook, keep my room clean, keep my truck clean, work 40 hours, go to school part time, be able to type for as long as I want with out pain, to be able to HANDwrite more than 2 lines without my hands seizing up. My body just doesn't DO what my brain waves tell it to do.

I wish I could explain how hard it was for me to actually go get my pain medication at the pharmacy yesterday. I don't think anyone can understand this, but the first thing I had to do was call the pharmacy to ask if they can call my doctor to get my rx renewed. (Why the doc couldn't just write me a new script, I don't know) This is easy right? Well for me, it takes a huge amount of energy (not just physically but emotionally too). I put it off until my shift was over because I didn't have enough energy to get out of my chair at break. So I call my doctor to tell them to call it in for me. Then I have the huge task of collecting my things and going home. This is huge for me. I get home and all I want to do is sleep. By the time I watched some shows I needed to get rid of, I was exhausted, but I was hurting so bad I couldn't fall asleep. Then the doc calls me back, says they called it in to Costco. (They also tell me that the bloodwork is negative for what I didn't want and normal for everything else, so that's good news).

So I then had a decision to make. Do I call the pharmacy to see when it will be ready? Are they going to yell at me? Are they going to say it won't be ready 'til tomorrow? I bite my lip and call. They say it'll be ready by 5:30. It is currently 4:30. They close at 7:00. So now I have a hUGE decision. I am so fatigued I can barely move. The medicine I need to pick up will get me out of this condition. But I don't have the medicine, to get me out of the slump that is preventing me from wanting to get up to go get the medicine!!! I decide my body MUST lay down for as long as possible. I calculate the traffic; going west shouldn't be bad. I set the phone alarm for 6:15pm. I leave at 6:20 and make it in time. Last minute as usual.

Why am I always last minute? Why do I never call my friends? Why do I never answer my phone? Why do I sometimes pay my bills late even when there is money in the bank? Why do I wait 'til the last minute for everything? This may sound silly, but sometimes it's just too hard to get up and get in the car to go to the store, go to the mailbox, pick up my phone and carry on a coversation. Physically AND emotionally sometimes.

So how the fuck's it gonna be? Huh? Tell me. Would YOU want to wake up everyday if YOUR life was like this? I doubt it.

Hurry up and wait, damnit!!!

So the obscenely fast Neuro visit gave me pretty much no information, just more papers to take to the front desk, so I can pay more copayments, and learn that there are more tests to be done (that will inevitably come back normal).

The Neuro didn't seem to think that the Cymbalta was causing the Jerks and Twitches, but told me to obey my GP and continue to wean off them. That was completed Wed 05/03/06. So I am no longer medicated for my depression. Although I have been told I will need meds for it for the rest of my life. I have decided this morning however, that I cannot keep my job and remain this way. So since it is a month before I see my Rheumatologist, and a month before I get test results from the Neurologist, I will be starting Cymbalta again. My GP thought it was okay to wean me off it, since I was being referred to a Rheum and a Neuro I would be okay. I guess she forgot that they take almost a month to get appointments (new ones and follow ups).

I can't even get into my Rheum doc til 5/23. I got a huge packet in the mail that I am to have completed by the time I arrive for the appointment. Oh, and I am to be there at least 20minutes early as well. The first page of this packet states that if I am 15 minutes late, I will be rescheduled. Also if I "no-show", I will not be allowed to make another appointment there, EVER. Same thing happens if I rescedule more than twice. It's like the damned Soup Nazi from that famous Seinfeld episode. If I don't stand in line properly and come prepared, than the Nazi will slam his hand on the counter and scream "NO APPOINTMENT FOR YOU! LEAVE NOW!" Do I really want to go here? Can this woman really be the best? Whew…I sure as hell hope so.

So I had my EEG on Saturday morning. I was told to have my hair washed and dried, no mouse or hairspay or hair products at all. So I arrive with pristinely clean hair, 5 minutes early, and was told to wait about 20 minutes so he could finish with the last patient. As I walk back to my seat in the deserted waiting room, to read the magazines left from last January, I catch my reflection in a mirror and notice that my hair, when blown straight, reaches my lower back. Yikes! When did that happen? I need to cut it.

So finally it is my turn and I am lead back by a guy in jeans and a t-shirt into a tiny room with just an uncomfortable padded table, a tiny counter and a strange looking contraption, that seemed to resemble a lie detector machine.

So, I was told to lie down on the table while he measures my head, and marks spots on my forehead and scalp with a red grease pencil. After this I was showed about 15-20 yellow wires with tiny medal pads on the ends and told they will be attached to my head using this strange sandy blue glue, that I see a glob of to my right on the tray table. I then thought how silly it was to tell me to wash my hair if it was just gonna be covered in glops of glue, but whatever. Then I was told to lay down, and try to get as comfortable as possible, so that I may doze off or even fall asleep if I can. Ya, that couldn't happen. I cannot fall asleep very easily unless I am on something comfortable enough so that my joints dont hurt. And I have to be on my side in order to fall asleep, and I couldn't lay on my side  because those wires might come off. So I never actually started to doze, and I felt no jerks at all. But during the last 6 minutes, he had me keep my eyes closed, while he held a strobe light above my head. It started out slow, then faster and faster and faster. This caused a shitload of twitching, and was very interesting to me. So we will see what happens when I finally get to get the results on 06/05/06.

Verdict #2…to be determined.

So I made my appointment with the Neurologist today. I got extremely lucky and snagged an appointment tomorrow. That was because someone cancelled. The next available appointment was going to be May 30th. The other Neuro I had to choose from wasn't available until the first week in July! So hopefully this guy ( I think it is a male ) will be good and be able to tell me what the hell is causing these damned "seizures".

I am currently being weaned off Cymbalta, and will be totally off it by Wednesday. This is quite scary seeing as how I was contemplating suicide (or at least major bodily harm to myself since I don't believe in suicide as an answer to misery) after the Prozac stopped working and before I got on Cymbalta. I am trying to not take as much Tramadol either (at the advice of my doctor) but that is hard, because the Cymbalta helps with my pain as well. So this will be an interesting next week or two. My regular doctor is suggesting that I start Neurontin since it is to help with some pain and with seizures. We'll see what the Neuro says about it.

I have also called to make an appointment with the Rheum doc, but they are so big I guess that you have to leave your information on a machine and they are supposed to call you back and tell you when your appointment is. I have never had to do that before. I wonder when or if they will call me back? And, I wonder if I will even get in this month? Hopefully she can find a different medicine or something else to help with the pain. I was going to try accupuncture but maybe I should wait until I talk with those doctors first. What a mess. I'm terrified that I am going to end up like this total hypochondriac annoying mess at work that always talks about how she is on 16 medications, etc. I DO NOT want to end up like that.

The fucking twitches haven't stopped unfortunately, but I am on the road to finding out how to GET them to stop, so that's good. And so to avoid sounding like the Grunty in the last paragraph, I will stop complaining, and get outta here.