Pit of doom
I didn’t think it was that long a period between blogs but I guess I am writing every 4 days or so. I don’t like it but some days it is so hard to get my thoughts together. I am missing the hell out of my psychiatrist even though it has only been two weeks since I last saw her. We have been keeping in touch through email but it isn’t the same thing. I went through the email communication while she was out during her hip surgery and it was torture. I didn’t see her for about 3 to 4 months while she was recovering. I seem to be emailing her at least twice a day, more if there is a response. I just miss her so much.
In the meantime, my mood has blackened. The suicidal mood that I was in in April seems to have returned. It isn’t quite as deep as it was then, but it is slowly getting worse. I am 100% sure the stress of being home and arguing with family nearly every day or every other has significantly contributed. I honestly don’t feel like I am wanted yet I am expected to do things even though my pain is through the roof. Sunday my youngest sister, who I thought was on my side, came up and put my clothes in the bin it was on top of, all without asking first. I did not want them in the bin because I do not want them smelling like plastic. She said she would throw in some dryer sheets. I got so pissed. I sarcastically thanked her and said it is going to hurt my back bending to get my clothes. She said I was being mean and to use my knees. Then she tells me to live my life, storms back up here and puts my clothes that were in a neat pile before, out of the bin in a messy fashion. I was in tears the whole fucking day as my pain just went through the fucking roof I was so upset. Later that night she calls me and I didn’t answer. She calls me a baby and tells me to be an adult. I say you tell me to live my life then call me a baby? Then she goes on about how living in a “mess” is unhealthy. I say I am not dead yet, nor have I been seriously ill. She then calls me selfish and I say good night. We haven’t spoken since. Last night they were having another argument with my mother, and again my fucking middle sister said to my mother “she wasn’t getting younger”. I have no fucking idea why the hell she is obsessed with age. She is 11 months younger than me and says she is old. WTF. I don’t get it. I do not like the fact they have my mother’s bedroom at the far end of the house while every one else is not near her. Something happens to her, we aren’t going to know till morning. How the fuck is that fair. Her sugar was low Saturday night and she came in my room. I was up because I had used the bathroom and couldn’t go back to sleep. She is supposed to navigate with a low sugar to get help or to the kitchen?? Obviously they didn’t plan this out or think this through.
Last night I was in a dark mood. I wrote a draft of what I wanted to say to my psych. Then sent off another email around midnight as I was in so much pain with my back and ankle I couldn’t sleep and was thinking of ending it. I have been slowly doing stuff in my room and it is costing me big time. I bought 6 bins to put my stuff in. I wanted to do stuff yesterday but all I got done was making space for one bin when I wanted to clear my bed so I could change the sheets. I had spilled Gatorade on the bedding so they need to be changed. I wanted to get it done today but I needed a shower, something to eat, and to pick up my meds. I actually had to go to the pharmacy twice because I forgot my ID at home. By the time I came back the second trip, I could barely make it home. I was sweating profusely, back and ankle kicked up two houses from mine, and I was kind of wishing I was fucking dead at that point. I had to change my shirt again. I wanted to jump into a cool shower but I don’t have the energy. Changing my sheets might have to happen Friday, if I don’t have to go to another pharmacy for my pain meds. Maybe I will go to a different chain this time. This new pharmacy always has problems with my meds every month since the other one closed. I am sick of it.
Back is so flared up my scar is hurting. I had to email my pcp to see if he knew of anything to help. He said maybe lidocaine. I have some lido patches so have been using that at night. It has been helping the pain but not the inflammation. I can’t use ibuprofen anymore because I have been getting flares of gastritis. I am on a PPI so I shouldn’t be getting the gastritis and having to use an antacid to settle my stomach. I switched from morning to evening and that has helped. I still don’t want to risk rocking the boat so am avoiding the ibuprofen. I just been taking Tylenol. Some times the pain med helps if the pain is severe enough but it is mostly muscle pain. I know I need to rest it but I got so much shit to do in my room. I thought every other day would be okay but nope. Just makes the pain worse and then I am out of commission for a week. I am just resting the rest of today. I had made a breakfast burrito so that should last me all day. I stayed in my room all day yesterday to avoid family. I didn’t go down to eat at all. I was going to when they had the meeting with my mother. I feel like my sisters are ganging up on my mother and I. All I had to eat yesterday was a protein bar and half cup of coffee. Think I might have had another protein bar before bed but my stomach was killing me so I don’t remember. I lost eight pounds in a week because of the stress. I either had no appetite or just didn’t feel like eating. I think last night’s stomach pains was hunger pains.
I am holding off on sending the draft to my psych. I have a tentative date I want to end things. I really don’t see the point of going on with the ongoing stress at home. I am trying to hold on to what she said of what I have to give to the world. A person on Twitter that I do not know had said the same thing. She had followed me for a while and said somethings that really made me think I mattered in what I say in my tweets, even if I don’t get likes or comments on them. A follower I know through the red sox said she found the courage to share her pain issues on Twitter because of what I write. It is so damn hard to continue living when you want to die yet know people out there, many you don’t know but know of you ether online or through social media, want you to go on despite you having no desire to.