October 6th, 2010
Several months ago when I went in for my long-overdue physical, my doctor gave me a scrip for Ativan, for the relief of the anxiety I anticipated having when we next went on a plane.
Here we are, about 8 months later, and I have not been on a plane from then to now. And up until about a month ago, I hadn’t touched the 10 minuscule, I mean ridiculously tiny white tablets sitting in what has to be the world’s largest fucking prescription bottle EVER (I mean, really, how stupid is that?).
Now, within the past month, I have had 9, and that last one is calling me like a crack pipe.
What the fuck?
There’s been so much…shit…going on. And I’ve been stressed out. Stressed the fuck out. That last 5 pounds that was sitting on my hips like two fucking gun holsters? Gone. Gone and took a few extra pounds with it, apparently. Nice to have the completely flat stomach again and love that my thighs aren’t dimpled, but…where’s the beef? My ass feels a little too sparse, my boobs look a little too tired, and I just have no appetite for anything at all beyond copious amounts of tea. And sleep.
There’s the death of course. And then there’s getting back in touch with my ex, whom I don’t even like calling that because he’s not my ex now, he’s my friend, and me taking ownership of what happened 20 years ago; not easy but it’s been good because now we can move on and not have this weird we’re-not-talking-because-although-there-are-no-longer-hard-feelings-it’s-been-so-long-that-neither-one-of-us-knows-how-to-get-out-of-this-mode bullshit between us.
But then…my grandmother looks so frail and small and now I’m wishing we lived closer so that I could help her more.
Another dear friend whose mother is in the final stages of brain cancer is dealing with it all alone, no wife, no relatives, just him to watch his mother, an amazing woman who was an amazing mother, be taken slowly away from him.
Another close friend is suffering the end of a relationship that she’d hoped would be the one, while a family member comes to the tough conclusion that the budding relationship she’d like to explore can’t really even get off the ground until some changes are made.
And I feel like I want some…changes. I’m bored. I’m anxious. I want to get more writing done and more “me” stuff done. I want to break out of the self-imposed hibernation I’ve been in for the past 6 years and re-create myself – or, to put it more aptly, allow the authentic me out. That bitch is in there. And she’s fiending. She’s getting really fucking pissed.
And everything, all of it, the good and the bad, is just making me cringe and making my stomach hurt and making me cry and what the fuck? Really, I cannot go on like this, and I don’t think increasingly larger doses or more frequent doses of Ativan are what I want to do but I feel like I need to deaden myself somehow. Not that I want to be comatose or totally unfeeling. I just feel like I need to dull the senses a leetle bit. Just a leetle. The highs are too high, the lows are too low, and the swing from one side to the other feels like a ride on the goddamn Crazy Train.
So tomorrow…I will call the doctor, and we’ll see what we shall see. I’m all for the meds, man, if that’s what I need to keep from going off the deep end and to keep moving forward, then that’s what I need to do.