Am really having a moment here. After a brief reprieve in my physical symptoms, yesterday really sucked, and today is even worse. I’m doing my best to push through, gently and wisely (the last thing I need is muscle atrophy), but the fact is, I have to ration my energy carefully, and must mind every movement I make. I just got done with lunch and my right shoulder still aches from chopping the onions for my omelette. Chopping fucking onions. The week before I took that goddamn Levaquin I kayaked four hours in the morning and hiked another four in the afternoon and felt great. And of course my fickle, hard-won hair has decided to use this as an excuse to fall out again, so not only do I feel like death, I’m starting to look it as well.
Still, I’m trying to write my useless dissertation, trying to move ahead. And then my mum, who has issues of her own (anxiety, low self-confidence, quit-when-the-going-gets-tough syndrome), but is still a lovely, loving person, calls up and says talking uninformed rot about some series she’s been watching on PBS about the brain, featuring all these people who have happy meds stories. Instead of talking my way through it the way I normally would, I blow up, start sobbing, talk over her, and ultimately hang up. Exactly the type of thing I don’t do.
So of course I now feel awful. What sort of c*nt makes her 75 year old mother cry? Everything seems to be falling apart and, for good measure, I’ve gotten another reminder that in this day and age, those of us who don’t want to go the meds route (after trying it several times and having bad, bad experiences) are open to charges of not doing what we should to get ourselves well. Meanwhile, I have totally upended my diet, given up almost everything that most Americans consider food (I gave up red meat and poultry when I was 17, and lately have added gluten, dairy, and all added sugars and sugar substitutes to the No Go list). I take supplements, avoid caffeine, and rarely have more than 5 drinks a week (though I admit, that's too much, and lately I've been more reckless). I meditate, have started reaching out to people again, am trying to take my eye off my own little storyline, and am parking my ass at my desk everyday (even though doing so throws a blinding light on my recent cognitive drop-off). Furthermore, when this Levaquin disaster hit, I was looking for work as well as a volunteer gig. But apparently that’s all silliness. I’m not trying because I’m not willing to risk the jaundice, fatigue, sponge brain, rashes, twitches, frigidity, weight gain, memory lapses and crying jags I experienced while on meds in the past. At least I know now.
Ach, but that's not it. I thought writing this out would help, but apparently I've just broken a seal or something and all the upset I've been tamping down these past three weeks is pushing out through every pore. I'm not usually a sobber but for the past hour I've hardly been able to stop (apparently I can type and cry), have been making sounds that the neighbors probably wouldn't recognize as human. I'm tired and terrified and feel about 85 years old. I am trying to look to the future but when I do, there's nothing there. My being here adds no positive value to anything. All I do is take up space and air and food. It's not right.