Man oh man things been rough lately. Not in the way that I’ve been working exceptionally hard. It’s just been a tolling time in my life. I don’t know what I want. I truly love living in Idaho and, really more so, Montana. If I could live and work in Montana, wow, it would be wonderful. But, I’m not contributing and I don’t have a purpose here. Okay, I won’t be so closed minded that I don’t have a purpose. But I am certainly not contributing and being a part of the purpose for my coming here.
Cymbalta withdrawal sucks. I constantly feel like I have the shakes. My body temperature is ridiculously unstable. I have a nasty case of the cold shakes. My blood sugars have taken to not working at all. They spend an entire day high and by the time I get them to come down they suddenly seem to grasp the concept of insulin…and plummet.
Most people have 5-6 day weekends this weekend. And there have been hiking trips each day. I can’t go with anyone. Friday evening I took a walk with a couple girls, I was sweaty and disgusting afterward. Actually, I was sweaty and disgusting prior to the walk. Yes, a walk not a hike. We were gone for just over an hour and I was tired afterward. A group went hiking today, it was a 13 mile hike. Just 5 months ago a 13 mile hike would be a fun afternoon activity. Now, it seems impossible. I want to start walking, I want to swim laps, I want to be strong again, I want to be able to go take a 10 mile hike on a whim.
I’m just so angry with my body. I don’t know how to get over it. I don’t know how to accept this rebellion. It’s me against me, there’s nothing to fight. What am I supposed to do?
I know the Cymbalta battle will be over in a week or so. But it’s a really long week. I can’t sleep at night because of it. I get too jittery and can’t fall asleep, despite sheer exhaustion…caused by who the hell knows what. I’m 24, not 74. I have not lived a long, fulfilling life. I have lived a short life. I don’t want my body to be fighting the rest of me this early in life. It makes life such a battle. I think I may start making lists to help me make my way through the day. Not a list of things that need to get done, a list of personal goals. Shower, clean dishes, cook a meal, take a walk, etc. They are little things, things I wish didn’t need to be listed out for me to be able to accomplish. I did dishes last night, not because I wanted to do them, but because I sensed I was motivated and feeling okay enough to try to take care of them. They could have waited until morning, but who knows what the morning will be like. I took a shower last night too. It hadn’t been too long, but I certainly haven’t had the motivation to take one. My hair ties kept falling out and my oily hair would create a blonde poof resembling something of a lion’s mane. I did go to the campfire, another reason I showered. The way things have been going I haven’t seen many of the people I live with, they go out on hitch, have bonded so both their work time and weekend time are full of the people with whom they’ve bonded. I have this shard of jealousy in me. It’s been hard to motivate myself to take part in their weekend events, I have no stories of my hitch and I mostly feel like shit. First infection, then meds, infection, meds, surgery, more meds, infection, more meds and now more med problems…though this time in an effort to get rid of some. My stories are old. I get tired of answering about my most recent medical problem/concern. That’s all they know of what’s going on in my life, so that’s what they know to mention.
Out at the campfire we were talking about nicknames associated to foods. It was a fun, lighthearted conversation, the kind of which I like my life to be full. One of the girls decided to come in and go to bed, I said I’d walk with her, since I too wanted to go to bed…I was tired, not able to sleep, so it was mostly because I felt so sick and had had my fill of people. I hate that I get so tired of people now. I just can’t seem to function. It’s too much to deal with in my little world. It’s so sad, I LOVE people, unless there are too many, in which case it can overwhelm me. I live with 17 other people…not an overwhelming number. And there were only 7 of us outside, at the height of the evening. As I was walking away one of the guys said I shouldn’t worry, they’d have a nickname for me too. I jokingly responded that I expected a report come morning. As I walked across the field someone suggested “Meds.” I smiled, gave a little laugh and said that wasn’t a fair name. I didn’t stick around to hash it out, though I overheard some of the others make responses. It’s a funny enough nickname, and he wasn’t trying to hurt my feelings. Hell, I’d probably, normally, welcome such names. But right now, I just can’t. I think I did well enough covering my sadness associated with such a suggestion, because he shouldn’t feel bad for making a funny suggestion. I just feel bad because I feel so emotionally run ragged and exhausted now. I’m so tired of being sick. Being the one who has to go to town to see the doctor or pick up a prescription. It’s not fun.
Last week I talked to another guy about the possibility of returning to California prior to October. He mentioned that it would suck to lose someone so far along in the program. I agree with him. The thing is, I don’t feel like I’m part of the program. I just feel like I’m here, not a part of anything. I think I’m getting to the point where it’s been too much and I’m ready to just go back to California. There I don’t have enough connections to really be known as “the sick one.” I have family and a couple friends. Like I mentioned beforehand, I truly love this area of the country. One day I’d like to make it my permanent home. But it’s gotten to the point where I just don’t even know anymore. I feel like such an emotional disaster. I don’t feel like anyone else in this position would be shitting shooting stars and pixie dust. I don’t doubt the normalness of this response. How else are you supposed to respond when your entire circle of community feels bad for you, doesn’t know what to say and tries to be as nice as possible? Can I scream back that I’m not some charity case and I am capable of normal conversations and I won’t break? I’m not angry with anyone I live with, I get along with everyone and some more than others. I’m angry at my body. I’m angry with the situation. I’m angry this is happening. I’m angry that I don’t know who to talk to; I doubt any of my friends in California know much more to say than the people here. My mother’s response has been to send a card with Bible versus and checking in pretty regularly. My father has told me to shower more, it will make me feel better and has sent me a far more numerous than normal updates and videos of my dog. My sister hasn’t told me anything, though she told my mom that maybe my doctors were taking me off meth. Liz says she’s sorry. None of these responses are wrong except, perhaps, my sister’s. Facing the same situation, I’m not sure how I would respond. That being said, I don’t know what I want as a response. I guess it’s almost easier to not feel about everything. To just take each day at a time. Not allowing myself to feel upset or sad. The problem is that when I choose to eliminate feeling, I also tend to forget how to feel happy too.
I am pleased with the doctor’s encouragement of my diabetes management. He feels my 7.4 A1C is perfectly healthy. I am pleased my throat has finally healed. I am not sure I am happy about all of that, but I am willing to claim pleasure with it.
I hate this feeling. Rather, lack of feeling. Though, it’s not really a lack of feeling, since I’m constantly on the brink of tears. I have no idea how to deal with this. I’m so overwhelmed. I spent all day Saturday, with the exception of the campfire, closed in my world of literature and music. Like I said before, I usually love people, but I think I’m too overwhelmed with my head and my body’s revolt that I don’t think I’m capable of functioning within this community. I feel like I don’t belong, I feel like I bring people down with my mere presence. So, my reaction has been to enter my own world, locking everyone else out. They don’t need someone they hardly know bawling, swearing in anger or zoning out in their presence. I don’t need or want the pressure of being in that situation. I prefer to bawl, swear in anger and zone out in my world. The world where Joshua Radin sings acoustically in my ears and I can write out all my crazy feelings and concerns and cry and feel however I feel at the moment. I’m pretty sure the decrease in Cymbalta and addition of Amitriptyline aren’t doing me any favors in the mental/emotional realm of things. I’m actually pretty sure they’re fucking with me. I can go from a moment of quiet but mostly content to miserable and feeling pretty hopeless, without notice! Bam! Complete change of mood. I’ve yet to ‘bam’ into an ecstatic mood, more okay to not okay then to okay again. When I’ve processed everything a bit more and come to terms with things I think I’ll be able to explore the world of ecstatic moods. But, really, I’m okay with being okay. At this point I don’t need more than okay. Of course I’d love to be more than okay, but I’m meeting me where ‘me’s’ at and accepting okay.
Also, I’m still really digging the arm infusion site for my pump. Though, I kept one in for more than a couple days and it started stinging pretty badly when insulin was being pumped through. Then it just started hurting if the site touched anything. Now, it’s just throbbing. The infusion set came out Saturday night. It’s still hard to the touch and definitely painful. It didn’t bleed, but it has a lovely red/brown dot where the cannula was inserted.
My said walk with the two other girls earned me at least a couple dozen new mosquito bites. They go from wrist to shoulder on both sides and the neck in between. There is a single bite on my left thigh/knee. After a healthy dose of lavender oil and aloe the itching isn’t quite as unbearable.
My nose has decided it would like to emit blood. No boogers, but lots of nice bright red blood. I don’t have the energy to lecture my nose on the impoliteness of such a decision. I’d like my body to consult me when it decides it would like to change the norm. Like, when my immune system decided to attack my pancreas, I would have happily provided my anti-bodies with a seminar on why that is a bad idea. Same with my thyroid. If only they’d communicate…or take a class on what MY body looks like versus a foreign invader. It seems my immune system is just as stubborn as me. It would be lovely if we could learn to all just get along and work together. If I ever figure out a way to offer my immune system some classes on who’s good versus who’s bad, I will happily divulge my discovery. I have no idea why my body decides to attack itself with such frequency…and seems incapable of fighting off the actual bad guys coming from the outside. Maybe there’s a traitor being paid off from the outside? Maybe I’ll create a comic strip about my body’s immune confusion…
August 4th is my diaversary. It will be 6 years. 6 years has changed me more than I could have ever imagined. I want to celebrate this year. I want a cake and a celebration. It sounds silly. I want to celebrate 6 years of overcoming and being successful (at least somewhat). Though, as usual, there will not be anyone home. I will be here by myself with my boss. I think I may make a cake…chocolate with strawberries is what I’ve come up with thus far. And maybe I’ll ask if we can have dinner together. I’m not sure she’ll understand why this would be important to me, more likely is she’ll think I’m crazy and maybe losing it. I know I may be losing it, but I think this will help me not lose it as quickly. I think it will help keep me together. Something positive to celebrate. Something NOT going wrong with me. In my 6 years I’ve FINALLY gotten my first “we don’t need to make changes” endo appointment. I’m no longer in my infancy of diabetes, I think I’m working toward adulthood. Do you think that since we die earlier that maybe diabetes years is like dog years? Not quite as significant of a multiplier though. Maybe since I’m 6 years a diabetic it means I’m really 18 in diabetes years? (taking the years of being a diabetic and multiplying by 3). Not that 18 year olds know a damn thing, but they’re getting close…ish.
Does anyone know a good strawberry/berry cake filling recipe? I’d prefer it not be too high in sugar and be that globby gross pie filling. Something I can use fresh strawberries with and make some sort of syrup? Or something to hold it together as a filling? Sugar free cool whip maybe?
This is a very random post. I go back and forth on my posting style being a good or bad thing. Today I’m indecisive. I think it may have been therapeutic…but probably not very enjoyable for a reader. And, I think that since I’m asking for a recipe/help, I probably should have stuck to that topic. Maybe one day I’ll make up my mind…and successfully follow said decision. Though it’s really the least of my worries for right now.
Thank you again for all of your support. Everyone. I don’t know what I’d do without the DOC. I don’t know how I’d handle all that’s happened this summer. Words cannot say enough of how grateful I am to all the support and help everyone has offered. I sound like a total sap, but I can get over that, because I totally mean every word.