The grandest of diamonds…

This may be a bawl baby, poor pitiful peach post but I am pooped and fucking tired of this mean ass world. I’ll apologize now as I rarely publish these pity party posts…

I lost my shit no less than 2 times a day for the last two weeks. Some days were more than two but every day it’s been at least two times a day. Then I peaked at 5 times yesterday. That’s 5- full on, throw a massive bitch fit and god help whom ever the soul was that tripped the wire to send me over the edge. And each one is followed by an extensive panic attack.

I don’t want to live like this anymore. This isn’t what I agreed to when I decided to live. Yet here I am. Killin it, one fucking melt down at a time. But I survive, still. I will fight to survive, but I’d rather do it quietly and with no more fighting.

The battle inside is real. And Very much hidden from the world. Still waters run deep.

Again. It’s never one thing for me. Physically, I hurt. My joints hurt. specifically the SÍ joints. Those assholes just don’t ever stop. So bad… my legs are numb but not in a good way. Getting Charlie horses sporadically in the pelvic floor. Stomach processing food better but still being a little bitch. Every meal is an internal battle to force food down my gullet and pray that crap stays there. Nausea pills are my bff again. I have such inflammation that I am looking like I am 6 months with child. And that ship sailed ten years ago with my hysterectomy.

Then my new job- it’s not toxic at all and I don’t want to make it that way. But can we talk about wanting to bolt?! I have never worked in a non-toxic environment. I wanted to run every day for the first two weeks but talked myself out of it every day. Now it’s like 2-3 times a week I want to bolt. *Sigh* Maybe, if I am real lucky, it’ll drop to once a week or ~~gasp~ none at all. I feel like I haven’t met my metrics, or done enough. I constantly rethink everything I’ve said in meetings and then worry it was the wrong thing. I get mad at myself because I can’t sit still in meetings, I stand up to work at my desk. I ask my boss weekly what I can do better or different and always the same answer: nothing, keep doing what you’re doing. I feel fucking crazy and let me tell you, crazy is exhausting.

I met both my new psychiatrist and my new counselor. I, of course had an ugly PTSD reaction at both visits and tried to cancel the appointments. I Got in a fight with the receptionist at one visit which spilled into my counseling visit. Then a similar situation when I met with my new psychiatrist. For some reason, out of the blue I start feeling like therapy is going to bring out demons. The scary ones from when I was a little girl and unable to protect myself. I have this sudden and extremely heavy fear that what ever block that’s been in place protecting me will crumble and I’ll be faced with the reality. I can only speculate what that reality means and I’m not ready to talk about it because I only have ‘snapshots’ in my head. Like a picture that I know is bad but no other context is known. When I work more details out, I’ll share a blog on it.

The new psych doc put me on a new psych meds—- yuppie- Not. This on it’s called Pramipexole (generic for Mirapex). We chose it as it’s not an SSRI/SSRA and since PGAD and restless leg syndrome go hand in hand, I asked to try this. It’s a dopamine promoter. Also, she gave me Lorazepam. It’s been about 6 days since she gave me the newest meds and I’ll give it another week before I call her. I’m not sure it’s working like I want but I am titrating the dose up so I have to wait for my therapeutic levels to be found.

♥️ ♥️♥️

Despite all of that (and a shit ton more but I’m tired of crying, so it’s time to wrap it up)… I know I will be okay but I also know the journey to get to Okay, is hard as hell to walk. For now, I’ll continue to wear my pain like beautiful jewelry. It is heavy and comes with a high price but there is remarkable beauty even in these depths of pain.



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