Hiya friends, welcome back. Have you ever had a week where you just felt like the universe was laughing at you? I swear, this is the perfect way to sum up the week I’ve had.
To be fair, the week started out perfectly normal. Sunday was Hobbs’ birthday, so we had a friend over for dinner and just had a laid-back night. The next couple of days were full of homework and work – again, perfectly normal.
Then Thursday happened.
I woke up and the world TILTED. Seriously, I sat up everything went wonky. My first thought was that I’d just gotten up too fast, no big deal, it’s happened before and it usually just goes away. When it didn’t pass, my next thought was a panic attack (dizziness or lightheadedness tends to be a big indicator for me). Again, no dice.
Now, I really was panicking by this point and texted Hobbs asking him to come home. He did, bless that man, he’s too good. Needless to say, we ended up at the Urgent Care in our town. The wait was excruciating; every time I moved my head – in any fucking direction – I felt like I was going to puke.
Finally got into a room to see the doctor, and after a few minutes she had me diagnosed; Benign paroxysmal positional vertigo. Let me tell you, it SUCKS! Apparently, while listening to me breathe the doc heard some palpitations, and
she was also worried about anemia because I was pale. So, they also did an EKG and blood work. I ended up having to take Thursday and Friday off of work. Driving was not an option.
*EDIT – I do not have anemia and they aren’t too worried about the palpitations right now.*
I will say I was proud as hell of myself for keeping my shit together during all this. I had my anxiety and panic locked the fuck down during the doctor’s visit, and that was a massive win for me! Fun fact: I did have a breakdown the other day over all of this, but we’ll talk about that in another post.
I’m feeling better today, so thank the universe for small miracles. Now it’s time to go back to homework, and preparing for my birthday this Friday. (Side Note: we’re not actually doing anything for my birthday). Until next time…
Hiya friends, welcome back. Let’s set the scene, shall we? I am currently laying on the couch, surrounded by tissues, water, cough drops, and inhalers. There is also my homework somewhere under the blankets and pillows. I’ve been alternating between sleeping, watching TV (Rizzoli & Isles, I’m a sucker for crime procedural), working on homework, and reading. To be fair, that list is only happening between bouts of coughing or sneezing.
in bed just trying to keep the Asshole in his place. It’s only 9pm and I’m already debating going upstairs and assuming the position of someone who wishes to wallow in self pity. In case you haven’t guessed yet, I’m a massive baby when I’m sick. I’ve asked my mother if she agrees with this and she says she doesn’t, but I strongly suspect she’s lying to make me feel better in my feeble state.
So, I woke up rather chipper this morning – it was definitely a ‘right side of the bed’ start for sure. I was basically waiting for the birds to fly through the window to help me brush my hair. I actually think I whistled as I walked down the stairs. I was at a four and loving life. On four days, things get done, people. Notes get taken to get ahead for next term, kitchens get cleaned, meals get planned and shopping lists are written. I was on a roll today. I even debated cleaning the bathrooms…granted I didn’t but honestly, no one in a good mood chooses to clean toilets.
subsequently watched me try everything in an attempt to get my brain to sit down, shut up, and be “normal.” He has also seen every high and low I’ve ever had on this journey. He asked tonight if I was going to be talking about some of the darker moments in my mental health history and recovery, “like the shitty meds they tried that I got rid of? Or the time the darkness almost swallowed you?” I told him that I was planning on being very honest, but I also wanted whatever I wrote this month to be organic. I have a list of topics that could be talked about, but I’m trying to let them tell me where they fit.
immediately on edge. I just felt like something wasn’t going to be right. Lucky me, I didn’t have to describe my feelings, because the doc had a front row seat to one of my more spectacular panic attacks. Within minutes I was in full-blown fight or flight mode, fingers gripping the arms of the chair (looking back I felt cheated there wasn’t a couch), I started to hyperventilate, my legs were shaking uncontrollably, and my stomach was churning. I was wound so tight in that moment, I bit my lip and the next thing I know, I’m holding a tissue to my mouth trying to stop the bleeding. The doctor talked me through it, I can remember hearing her voice saying “Listen to me, focus on my voice, breathe like I’m breathing.”
Cut to two months later and the magic pills hadn’t done shit. I was still crippled by my anxiety. I had spent more time face down on the carpet than anywhere else in my apartment. My dosage had been adjusted and played with, and still nothing. The next appointment, Doc decided to wean me off of those and try something else. From there, we tried two other medications, and then finally the doozy. The last pill got ripped out of my hands, by Hobbs, within a month. I was worse and he could see it. I went from maybe being functional at certain parts of the day, to being…yup I’m going to use the term…a basketcase. I couldn’t even take a shower, I would get up and go turn the water on and Hobbs would come in 15 minutes later to find me crying on the floor in the fetal position. I remember thinking one night, that it would just be easier to die in my sleep, than have to walk into that doctor’s office and try another fucking pill. I knew I didn’t want to die but I did want this feeling to stop. I wanted to stop seeing the bad outcome in everything. I wanted to be the happily married newlywed who made people sick because she couldn’t stop gushing over her new husband. I needed to feel alive, and not this shell of the person I used to be. At my next appointment, I walked in and said, “No more pills. If you can’t help me without them, then you can’t help me period.” That was the last time I saw that doctor, and the last time I ever took a pill.
adverse to meds, who the fuck know, all I can tell you is they didn’t work for me and that’s why I don’t use them. If you use them and have found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, I’m very happy for you that you have. I will never judge anyone for how they choose to handle their life. Whether you take meds or you don’t, we are all on this fucked up ride together.
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