I'm just afraid...of the shower. I thought I got past this irrational nonsense months ago. And I did. But it doesn't mean that this crap isn't just sitting in wait, just below the surface. Waiting to jump out of the cake. Surprise!
So I put the shower off. I put if off until I could put it off no longer. I think I must have smelled and looked like that certain type of European. You know, the ones who prefer not to bathe but dip themselves in eau de cologne as if that negates the need for a bath. At least, I skip the eau de cologne part. And change my clothes every day. And Chip swears I don't reek. What a loving and wonderful husband I have! How could I not???
I'm totally losing it. My brain doesn't function the way it used to. In my prior life, I remembered everything, and I always knew where to find whatever I was looking for. A stinking little memo. A signed estimate. A fact about the Hindu Kush. Everything there is to know about topiaries. Thomas Kuhn.
Today, no dice. Now we don't know if my brain has been permanently damaged by my little stay in the ICU. For such a small person, I have been told that the doctors needed to drug me with inordinate amounts of drugs to keep me down: 26 milligrams of a Klonopin type drug every hour for eight weeks straight. I think that alone can screw up a brain, don't you? How could it not?
I also find that I either forget to type words I fully intended to or instead, type words that may vaguely sound like the one my brain intended to type, but are just completely wrong and have not a thing to do with what I'm writing. Spelling has become an issue. Me, the person who could spell every goddamned word on the planet whether I knew what it meant or not.
I don't know why, but these things still have the power to stun me. I keep bugging the hell out of poor Rich for being so fucking flighty. Please believe me, Rich. Flighty was the last word anyone would use to describe me. So, I feel like an asshole for being so disorganized, and I can't accept it. Except, giving into it would likely be easier to bear. So I'm feeling like a fool , because I can't find a section of Since When which you, my sweet dear, have already edited. This makes me very weepy, and I still can't find it. I despise when my shortcomings effect others. Fine, disappoint myself. But everyone else???
Then, I have another doc who thinks that my "brain lapses" are from the psychotropic drugs I'm currently taking. (I take a lot of these too.) Diagnosed with depression, anxiety disorder, and PTSD (yes, just like a fucked up war veteran) requires shitloads of drugs that I have no clue as to when I can begin weaning myself off of any of them. We increased the effexor for a while. It made me completely psychotic. How could I know this never having been diagnosed psychotic before? Trust me. When you're psychotic, you know it.
I had to pull off "A Beautiful Mind" guy trick until I returned to sanity. I repeated to myself over and over: "What I'm feeling isn't me. Don't act on these feelings, because they are drug induced. They are not you." It didn't stop me from feeling like a psycho, but it allowed me to keep one foot on the ground until that damned third effexor left my system. At least I learned one thing from the experience, I really don't want to be psychotic anytime soon. Nor do you.
As I get closer to four p.m. everyday, I start tearing at the walls. And I'm jumping out of my skin. My four p.m. Klonopin (plus nap so I can wake up feeling fresh as a daisy) has now become the three thirty p.m. Klonopin. Must. Need. Now. So I do.
I'm still weepy, but at least I'm not jumping out of my skin anymore. And I'm clean. But I still take a shitload of drugs, and I really can't see a day anytime soon to begin reducing them. Not when I'm still convinced I'll die within the year. Oy. And for the next week or two I'm going to continue feeling like a "feeshy wife" to boot. I ask you all for your patience during this difficult time. Bon chance!