These two things....Fear and Anxiety...
...have taken up residence within me. An entirely new spin on anxiety. And the same goes with fear.
I've found a cocktail that helps me fall asleep.
I'm out of part of that cocktail.
My husband would not go to pharmacy to pick any more up.
I'm in way to much pain to drive.
I've taken max dose of narcotic pain meds to drive.
If the timing is right.
If the pain is not to intense.
If...then this cocktail works.
I have fought my entire adulthood to NOT take any sort of prescription pain medication. Having had several surgeries it was the one thing I prided myself with.
This time it hasn't been an option.
I have a strong family history of drug and alcohol addiction. Never have I taken as much ad a sip of alcoholic beverage, used any sort of drugs, or smoked a cigarette. Ever. I joke that one day...it will all end. But, I know...based on the eating disorder that has plagued me my entire adult life ranging from over-eating to bulimia to anorexia to binging and so forth. Don't start. Stopping won't be pretty.
Here I am.
One day shy of 5 weeks post op from major shoulder surgery.
And I'm battling the beginning,....
Holy F@ck ...I can't even type it out. Over and over I have looked at this screen. Trying to type out the words. To say them outloud. To own...there is a problem.
My therapist, J*, had every reason to believe this could become a problem. I have bit my tongue trying hard to not show my anger for her bringing it up again....AND...again!
I was honest and forthcoming from the start ..it worried me to be on pain meds. I had every right to be worried. Yet, there was/id not choice around the matter.
It is well after midnight.
I sit her staring at the screen.
With tears stinging my cheeks....wondering WTH am I supposed to do?
I have got to have pain meds. I still can not use my left arm. I can not raise it. Imagine NEVER moving it more than 2-3 inches from your hip...that is abt the extent of movement I have.
I have put my pain meds in a not so accessible spot.
Afraid to go to sleep.
Afraid to ask my husband for help. Because I know there is no help he can offer. I end up pissed at him. Like now. He is sleeping. Clueless at the amount of physical and emotional pain I am. That is not true...he knows I'm in pain physically tonight.
Afraid if I fall asleep a repeat of the last week plus at night will happen.
And so I sit.
No benedryl left in our house.
Unable to physically drive to get some.
Nor do I need it.
Afraid I will not have enough medication to get me to my next appointment.
Knowing I don't have enough.
And in pain.
Lots of pain.
The last dose didn't touch the level of pain I had.
I've ate shit till I'm puking.
This cycle is viscous.
The only thing that lessons the pain and anxiety and fear is...hot baths. REALLY hot baths. If you've read here long....you may recall hot baths do for me what cutting does go those who cut.
And..I watch the clock. It hasn't even been 2 hours and the pain is extreme.
And...the sucidial ideation kicks in full force. Because it is late. I'm tired. I hurt. I'll hopeless. I hurt.
And...I fucking hate this with every fiber of my being.
Hate it! Hate it! Hate it!