Tuesday, May 3, 2011

It's 1:30 a.m and I'm...

writing in this blog.

Even though I wrote earlier today I felt the need to continue.  Writing has always been an outlet for me and I think I've got a lot to get out.

When I went to the pain management doctor yesterday, I became aware once I left the extent to which pain is clouding my memory.  I couldn't remember what drugs she had prescribed, nor how I was supposed to use them.  In fact, I was so distraught that I spend the entire ride back to my house screeching at my mother about how I hate doctors and they all suck.  I do remember that.

I still don't understand the purpose of this crazy medicine she prescribled.  Way too expensive amd much less effective.  I figure I'll give her another day before I call and tell her it's not working.

I went to see my therapist today.  She wanted to delve deep into my childhood, which I'm used to with therapists.  Sometimes I feel like I should just write a summary for them so that they can read it and know ahead of time what they're dealing with.  It became clear through our conversation that she believes  the very beginnings of this pain are linked to sexual abuse I suffered at the hands of a family friend when I was a child.  I'm well aware of the mind-body connection and how people who are abused as children are much more likely to suffer from chronic pain as adults.  Of course everything she asked me caused me to draw a parallel to my own children, or a story about my own children, or a worry about my own children.

When I first became a mother I was thrilled.  Don't get me wrong, I still am thrilled and proud of my kids.  But very few days pass that I don't wonder what it would be like to have my own child.  Would it be a roly-poly baby?  A happy one who melts me with a smile?  Or a colicky, cranky baby who can never be soothed?

Often these days I find myself to be that colicky, cranky person who can't be soothed, despite the efforts of my loved ones and friends.  I can imagine it's hard to know what to say.  You can only tell someone so many times that you hurt enough to consider suicide before they don't know how to respond to you.  Avoidance is the number one tactic.  Sometimes I wonder if I just disappeared how long I could be gone before anybody noticed.

I met with an old friend today for coffee, and we had a pleasant conversation.  She has always accepted me for whoever I was in the moment, which is probably one of the biggest reasons I love her.  You don't go through life finding many people willing to stick through shit like that.  Sometimes you think you have found one, but something happens and everything crumbles like a pile of cards.  Nothing hurts more than to think you've built some kind of shelter only to have it cave in at the first gust of wind.

I sometimes find it funny that I write on here.  I question the point of a blog, especially since nobody reads it and I could probably write Mary Had A Little Lamb in the middle of every sentence and nobody would know.  But I would know.  And I promised myself this woud be an honest place for me.  So it's raw, like the rest of me right now--raw and painful.  I counted up seven specialists today that I have to see, and I think I left at leasst three off that list.    The thought alone is exhausting.

So tI guess I'll wrap this up.  It's nearly two a.m. and I wasn't meant to stay up all night.   This is day 363, I guess but Il write that entry later.  Right now I'm just going to try to block out the pain, and go to sleep.  I guess we'll see.

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