I'm finding it very hard to reconcile within myself, in this moment, how well I was just a week ago and how strung out I am now.
I can always count on the week in which I am on my period to even me out. I never, ever feel bad during that week. I'm what I would describe as even. Not super happy, but so very far from low and angry and frustrated and all the other not so great things I feel during the other weeks. And that sort of clarifies everything doesn't it? Because it basically makes my depression chemical; which means that when I so choose I can right it.
But at what cost?
I haven't had the best track record with medications, and truth be told I'm worried about allowing my body a whole new opportunity to hate on me. It takes about ten days for an anti-depressant to settle into your system and start working it's magic. But in that ten days a lot could happen to me and yeah, it kind of scares the hell out of me. So how ready am I to take that step? I don't know. At the very least it seems I need to be having a talk with my doctor to suss all this out and even see if he thinks it's a good idea.
But I have to get there first, and it was a hell of a thing for me just to go back and reignite the investigation into my right knee. It took me two weeks to ring up and make that appointment. And even though it wasn't even that bad and I don't even think I was all that worried, I think doctors on principle just worry me. Which is understandable given the grief they've caused me. But it's also impeding my ability to be a better person. And that's what all this is about after all, being better. The result of that doctors appointment was that I was prescribed even stronger anti-inflammatories and that they think an MRI is an ace idea. I don't think I'll get anything out of these new anti-inflammatories. They've done nothing so far and I don't think there'll be any change in the condition of my knee by week's end. And my growing stash of anti-inflammatories might even be concerning. The MRI poses a much more interesting mental conundrum. My doctor is very sure that the problem will be visible on this scan. I so want to share his hope and believe him, but history is making me cautious. And as a result I feel utterly torn. Because I want to hope with every fibre of my existence that they will be able to see the problem and, even better, fix it. But I know I'm me. And being me does not entail a happy ending. So I find myself conflicted and unable to... deal with it I guess. I just don't want to build myself up with hope only to have to fall all the way down into further chronic pain.
Because truthfully, part of me is scared that all of this has been in my head. Even though the fluid spoke for itself, and so did the presentations of many of my joint related injuries, I have this little niggling fear that I'm even more psychotic than anyone realises. And I don't think I can do that. I've been degraded enough.
At least all of the above has been familiar to me though. It's well trod ground. None of the feelings are new or even particularly different. They are all things I understand and can, to a poor extent, deal with in my own way. But my feelings relating to the post below this are something entirely different. This is not something I've ever had to deal with before and it's been very challenging. I denied and denied and denied and denied the relation emotion and truthfully, I'm still experiencing it now. I just don't know how to process it. I'm not really sure how to process not being wanted. There's no feeling I want to experience here, so I can't even try to guide myself. There are just these various pangs that come and go. I think I miss him a lot. Because we don't talk anymore. And I am definitely hurt because I was, essentially, rejected. And I wonder if I should be mad at myself for trying to deal with it the way I did. But I have zero regrets and it was really just nice to feel hot and pretty and wanted. Because I didn't feel those things for a long time. And I'm not feeling them right now either.
Because I've begun to make my way down this obsessive slope with my weight and exercising and harassing my knee so that I can feel better about other aspects of my body. And some days the scales make me want to cry, and so does the fact that my stomach won't be flat again. And I even cut all my hair off and basically gave myself an afro and I still just don't know who I want to be or why I'm doing any of this.
I'm just left wondering if I'll ever be worth it, or worth anything.
Because I'm not feeling it right now.
- Sky
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