Monday, April 28, 2008


It's been a while since I've posted a true misery diary entry. I've been avoiding this sort of bitchy meloncholia on purpose, choosing instead to focus on the positive through counting my blessings (see the category) and publishing some more creative writing (see those also).

But it is high time that I let forth my complaints. Because it certainly isn't that I haven't had any. I've been saving them up. [Insert impish grin here.]

Anyone who has read the misery diary entries knows that I have been having a rough go of it lately, resigning from my teaching position, dwindling into broke-ass poverty, selling beloved possessions, begging my dad for money, answering his questions of "which one of those medicines do you really need?," all while dealing with the confusion and fear of poor health.

If you've read, you know how frightened and frustrated I've been. You know that I've searched the internet, read books, worried about my symptoms. I've reported to the emergency room twice with tachycardia. I've seen doctors and questioned their diagnosis of anxiety and acid reflux, tortured by the panic that there might be something more seriously wrong with me - a disease, a disorder, a condition, a cancer. Regardless, I've followed doctors' orders. I've tried an antidepressant that made things worst. I've regularly taken my medication for acid reflux, but "Bertha," my affectionately-named volcano gut, has not, as of yet, gone dormant, and is instead fully active. I've lost twenty pounds. I've had an endoscopy. I've taken my beta blocker, glad that my heart hasn't raced in a while, but feeling palpitations and wondering if now my heart is going to slow down too much. I've taken my Ativan, my blessed Ativan, which I think is keeping me from totally losing it, but which I am not sure that my primary care physician is going to continue to prescribe - it's addictive. The Ativan doesn't completely help the anxiety, but if I don't have the Ativan, I doubt that I will be able to sleep at all at night, and I don't know that I will be able to make it through the day without having a full blown panic attack. I've only recently started taking Paxil CR (couldn't afford it until I got my tax refund), in addition to increasing the Aciphex, and I haven't had time to determine whether or not it is going to make things better or make things worse.

I haven't been a perfect angel. I haven't broken my addiction to fast food. I'm not always nice to myself.

But I'm trying.

I'm anxious, tired, nauseated, but I have my good moments. I can distract myself by blogging, reading blogs, taking Allison for a walk. I remind myself that I've been down this road before. I am no stranger to the hell of mental illness. In fact, if I were a super heroine, I do believe that my monicker would be "Mental Illness Girl." Rah!
For now, I can take an Ativan if I need to.

Ativan sort of sounds like a proper name for a Goddess, doesn't it? Hmm.


Something like that.

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