Journaling Day 6; lots of swearing


I’ve been so unstable on the drugs, and my body so in revolt, that I’m pacing myself off them. Anti-depressants don’t work and there is a subset that the mood stabilizers don’t work for either.  The panic attacks are relentless right now – and I’m not getting any meds for that – I might get addicted they say. Fuck. I took Xanax for years just fine. Stopped them just fine. Now quit messing with the stuff that makes me a zombie and give me back my Xanax. I could cope. This stuff. I can’t even stay awake so that’s how I cope.

I’m so tired of doctors telling me that it’s my fault I don’t get stable – like I purposely mess with my meds so I don’t. Chaos and pain may be my comfort zone, but I can’t even begin to move beyond it til something either steadies me out or I go clean and deal with it that way. Why feel like shit with a bunch of drugs fucking up  when no drugs makes you feel not much worse.

I just deleted several paragraphs because I’m not ready to be that publically honest yet – if this is going to work, I’m going to have to do this privately. I don’t know if anyone would be interested in getting passwords to my private journal – I’m not sure I could even give them out. Guess there has to be two journals – the surface one and the deeper, darker one. I’ll let some of the dark stuff up sometimes, maybe.

Pain is rising – got to stop typing – makes my jaw worse. My moist heat treatment heating pad came today so I can start doing my home exercises while I wait to see if the new health insurance will allow physical therapy on my head and neck muscular structures. The pain is really wearing me down into the depression abyss.



the time has come, the walrus said, to talk of many things . . .

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