Ever feel like you just keep jogging along in the same old ruts? I got that right now. I have a hideous case of the ho-hums and they are kicking my butt. My house is about to fall down around us and I'm the only one who has noticed. I had to kick yodelers off the laundry pile to get it downstairs. No matter how many times I tried to tell them that it was not a gnarly ski slope waiting to be conquered, they climbed right back up and started that whole "RIC-OOOOO-la" thing again. Different aspects of my neurologist visit are rattling around my head like a swarm of angry bees, making me reevaluate different things about my life and the things I am/am not doing. I hate introspection and try to avoid it in general. I know that I need to do such-and-such and blah blah blah, but that doesn't mean I want to. The worst part of leaving one's comfort zone is the discomfort, but I'm sure you saw that one coming. So to help purge this stuff from my brain, I am going to get rid of it on here and maybe I can get back to life, or what I call my life. I find writing is a great catharsis for me. I don't like to talk about my problems or what is bothering me to my family too much because it only makes them upset and worry about me, neither of which I am too keen on having to endure. I know they mean well, but I don't want to be coddled and treated like a delicate invalid who needs gentle words and loving support. Sometimes I need to hear the ugly truth no matter how much it angers me. Like my little sister telling me that my bad attitude is my biggest problem and that I am a huge pain in her huge rear end. That is refreshing. So here is what is making me more of a lug than usual:
Undiagnosed Mental Disease?
To be 100% honest, I know I do suffer from something more than just your garden variety depression. I come from a long line of crazy people so it only makes sense that I inherited the crazies too. My father, who I got the MS from (it runs in his family. He has 2 cousins who had it), also has bipolar disorder. Or so he says. I think it is a misdiagnosis and he is really borderline, but what would I know about it? Only that my little sister has borderline personality disorder and there is a strong resemblance between the two. I think (and this is killing me to admit) that I am bipolar. I go through phases where "I am Blindbeard! Hear me roar!" then when that phase is gone I go into the I-am-worthless-and-suck-eggs phase where I don't want to even get out of bed and if I do it is only to mope around the house and avoid all public interaction. When my neurologist was reviewing the medicines I take, which she does often, being shocked (impressed? horrified?) by the amount of antidepressants I take and the problems I still have, she asked who put me on a certain med because it increases appetite. Those dirty words will strike fear into any fat hag who has minimal activity besides pushing buttons on a remote. So I decided that I needed to take matters into my own fat hands and have been weening myself off that med. Sometimes I hate being put on something that I'm not sure I want anyway and I like having some say about what goes down my gullet. Not everyone enjoys that quirk in my personality.
Them: "How is X working for you?"
Me: "I stopped taking it/changed the dose."
Me: "I don't feel I need that/that much of it."
Them: "I prescribed that for a reason!"
Me: "Are we done yet? I need a nap and want to finish this jar of peanut butter before someone else does."
I'm glad I'm finally going to see someone about the psych meds I take. I think they need tweaking. There has to be something out there that will work better for me and make me feel better. And anyone who has been there knows how hard it is to get into see a psychiatrist, so I was pleasantly surprised when the nurse called me the next day to schedule an appointment. While getting all my information (read "billing information" because they are more interested in how they are going to get paid) the nurse asked me why I wanted to see the psychiatrist. Uhh... because I wanted to see what her plans were for this Christmas, why do you think?! I told her the truth: because I'm crazy. She yukked it up and was able to pencil me in. I find it hard to believe that that was a knee slapper; she has to have heard it a million times before, but I appreciate her humoring me.
"You Need To Socialize More"
But what if I don't wanna?! What if I want to build myself a hut out of sticks and twigs and live a hermit's life? I know I need to get over getting MS, but it is so much easier said than done. I have been pondering this whole need-to-get-out-more-and-mingle-with-the-natives thing and I know I need to, but it is hard for me to leave my sticks and twigs hut where I am comfortable tending to my 57 cats. My little sister agrees with this so much I was annoyed by her hearty agreement. She thinks I need to find a boyfriend to help me get out more. She also thinks a "pickle tickle" (her words, not mine) would help my bad attitude. The only pickles I am interested in are the ones in the fridge and I KNOW I do not want them tickling me. So lately I have been accompanying her more when she runs around. I even told her I was willing to shop for boyfriends, but I don't want anything serious. I'm not sure where one can find boyfriends anymore, but I'm on the look out. I thought a home improvement store would have a good selection of boyfriends but I haven't gotten to one yet.
So there it is. The things that keep going around and around my head. Now I am off to try and get something done before the couch starts whispering sweet nothings to me. I can never resist a couch that has sweet nothings to whisper into my ear.
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