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I know I often take criticism personally and seriously. But nowadays, whenever someone scolds me for things I do due to OCD and ADD and my own screwy brain, I fully believe without question that everything is my fault. I am worthless, useless, insane, a candidate for legitimate institutionalizing. Maybe I am. Maybe I am so dark and wrong and damaged that I damage everything I touch. It is a very depressing thought. But right now I am a very depressed woman.
This usually happens when someone beats a dead horse by reminding me over and over about a few things I have done that seem stupid or pointless or reckless. I know this. I'm aware of this. Why the fuck do they think I'm on multiple medications and getting help for my Crazy? Fuck. Enough, people, please. Stop. I'm too tired for this and you are really truly not making my recovery better.
I'll be calling my neurologist about increasing my pill count for the 1 mg of Klonopin, which would really help.
In other news, Adam had his CT Scan, and we will learn the results in a few days. Also, breakfast was at Panera bread, with souffles and an iced mocha for me; Adam asked for an iced chai, but they put espresso in by mistake, so they remade his drink and let me keep the chai espresso, which was fantastic, because I love the taste.
Now we are hanging out at home for the rest of the day, mostly so Adam can clear his system of the barium drinks.
Also, my cats are preciously adorable in every way. Also, Luna saved our lives last night by jumping on the bed, nudging me, and meowing. It turns out that Adam had left one of the stove burners on Low instead of Off, since he cannot smell gas. I did smell gas. I ran down stairs and fixed it, then cracked open a window. From now on, I really need to remind him to make sure every burner is Off. Oy.
Also... I do feel better now that the morning Klonopin has kicked in well. But that dark thought is still trying to snake its way through my head. I am prepared to battle.
Also:
It is times like this when I want to crawl deep inside my own mind and find the part of me that is huddled in a dark corner, consumed by panic, shivering and sobbing, banging her head against my rocky mental walls, and then take her in my arms, wrapping my body around hers, whispering favorite songs, pouring every ounce of love, strength, hope, beauty, confidence, and power into her until I am drained and fatigued. It is times like these when I feel too fragile to be touched, where the tactile allodynia symptom of fibromyalgia is roaring alongside the hypersensitivity and the sensory processing disorder. But it is times like this when I want someone to just sit with me, let me curl up against them so they can put an arm around me and also hold my hand, so we can tell funny stories and watch silly cartoons and comedy films in comfort, with purring cats nuzzling us. There are so many ways to give and receive comfort, and often I find that words online of love and understanding and compassion are almost as wonderful as physical face to face comfort, because when I am online I don't have to show my sobbing or my fear or my panic.
You know what I mean.
This usually happens when someone beats a dead horse by reminding me over and over about a few things I have done that seem stupid or pointless or reckless. I know this. I'm aware of this. Why the fuck do they think I'm on multiple medications and getting help for my Crazy? Fuck. Enough, people, please. Stop. I'm too tired for this and you are really truly not making my recovery better.
I'll be calling my neurologist about increasing my pill count for the 1 mg of Klonopin, which would really help.
In other news, Adam had his CT Scan, and we will learn the results in a few days. Also, breakfast was at Panera bread, with souffles and an iced mocha for me; Adam asked for an iced chai, but they put espresso in by mistake, so they remade his drink and let me keep the chai espresso, which was fantastic, because I love the taste.
Now we are hanging out at home for the rest of the day, mostly so Adam can clear his system of the barium drinks.
Also, my cats are preciously adorable in every way. Also, Luna saved our lives last night by jumping on the bed, nudging me, and meowing. It turns out that Adam had left one of the stove burners on Low instead of Off, since he cannot smell gas. I did smell gas. I ran down stairs and fixed it, then cracked open a window. From now on, I really need to remind him to make sure every burner is Off. Oy.
Also... I do feel better now that the morning Klonopin has kicked in well. But that dark thought is still trying to snake its way through my head. I am prepared to battle.
Also:
It is times like this when I want to crawl deep inside my own mind and find the part of me that is huddled in a dark corner, consumed by panic, shivering and sobbing, banging her head against my rocky mental walls, and then take her in my arms, wrapping my body around hers, whispering favorite songs, pouring every ounce of love, strength, hope, beauty, confidence, and power into her until I am drained and fatigued. It is times like these when I feel too fragile to be touched, where the tactile allodynia symptom of fibromyalgia is roaring alongside the hypersensitivity and the sensory processing disorder. But it is times like this when I want someone to just sit with me, let me curl up against them so they can put an arm around me and also hold my hand, so we can tell funny stories and watch silly cartoons and comedy films in comfort, with purring cats nuzzling us. There are so many ways to give and receive comfort, and often I find that words online of love and understanding and compassion are almost as wonderful as physical face to face comfort, because when I am online I don't have to show my sobbing or my fear or my panic.
You know what I mean.
