Even as the Grinch Feels, So Do I...

I don't cry. I used to cry, I just don't anymore. You know, maybe it wasn't a "lot", but I would guess at least once every two months I would cry? I don't know. Who cares. Anyway, as I am typing, I am crying... Not the boohoohoo, sobbing kind of cry, but the kind where your eyes just fill with tears and you can't really put your finger on any precise cause and the tears just hang onto the brim...you tilt your head so that when you blink, the tears don't spill. Then, they spill anyway. That's the kind of cry...

How did I get here? Well, I have a pretty good idea and some of you will automatically assume I am correct, which I like...even if I am wrong. With the start of a new calendar year, you have to jump through the hoops to get everything back up and running, insurance-wise. I receive my anti-homicide pills through our mandatory mail order system with Blue Cross. No, wait. Prescriptions come through Aetna. Anyway, you have to receive your meds through the mail and you have to get a 90 day supply. Sounds easy enough. Well, it is easy if you remember and remembering is easy if you don't have chemo brain.

(holding face in hands as the tears stream down...)

I cannot begin to tell you how beyond frustrating it is to be unable to recall the simplest of things, facts, instructions, or how to get home... This isn't me... I can't find anything! All I want to do is listen to my David Gray cd and I can't find it!!! Sounds petty, huh? Well, it isn't when you consider that being unable to find my David Gray cd is the umpteenth thing I cannot find, remember, recall, or understand just for this morning. Unless you have been here, you do not understand...you just can't. Well, maybe people with dementia comprehend what I am going through...or Alzheimer's...but I'm not sure if they realize they cannot remember...I do.

So, my 90-day supply of anti-homicide pills have not arrived yet and I have been waiting and checking my bank account online to see when the money from the insurance company has been taken out. It was taken out yesterday, which is good because that means the order has been processed. I have been skipping a pill here and there to make sure they last until my stash arrives. Ah, there it is. The proverbial red flag.

You cannot stop taking "mind-altering" drugs and not have some effect. I know that. I just thought it would be better to stretch out the few I have left rather than be completely without and send my body into shock. Truly, that makes sense. I have been on these pills since the end of 2007...an incredibly, impossibly dark time for me. At the time, the pills were probably more anti-suicide rather than anti-homicide...

The prescription is for Cymbalta. It is for anxiety or depression or to take the edge off of fits of rage while driving around this stupid city...or all the above, I guess. Anyway, I have to go to the doctor every six months to be re-evaluated and have a new prescription sent to Aetna. Done. Went a few weeks ago and all was well...minus the whole updating for 2010 thing I forgot to do. Long story, short...decreasing my dosage was the poorer of choices when what I should have done was ask my physician for a temporary supply until the bulk shipment arrives. So very stupid sometimes...

I was naive to think back in September or so, that I could actually come off of the Cymbalta because things were going so great. I was dealing with the cancer, I was essentially a stay-at-home mom, which I love, and Big Daddy and I are at a place in our marriage where we both feel safe, secure, loved unconditionally, as well as in love. The kids were doing great with all the medical drama and were excelling at school and all extra-curricular activities. Family and friends were close and willing to do anything and everything for us. We were being prayed for by total strangers and found a church home. Things were really, really good despite having cancer...or maybe in spite of it.

So, I spoke with the doctor about getting weaned off the medicine and he suggested we wait until the new year, "just in case". Fine. Whatever it takes to make him feel better.

Having missed my Cymbalta yesterday and another day here and there for a couple of weeks, I have to wonder if I don't actually "need" it after all. If this is how I am going to feel, then forget it. Give me the dope.

I had really looked forward to this week because the kids are in school all day and Big Daddy has in-service, so he is on day shift, meaning I am alone in my house during the day. When everyone is safe, happy, healthy and where they are supposed to be and I get to be in my house alone, I am incredibly happy. I love being in my house alone. I love being a housewife. I love doing all the things to take care of my family...laundry, cooking, organizing, keeping house, and letting the cleaning lady in. (I will forever hate to clean...) I had planned on learning more and more about my camera, playing with photoshop, working on my websites, listening to music, and just being alone for a few hours a day. Sounds so boring, but I was very excited. Having all the domestic things accomplished and having a wonderful dinner every night with my whole family sitting around, recounting their day and then just hanging out with each other until bedtime is what my dreams are made of. I call it "happiness on the most simplistic of levels"...the very kind of happiness so many American families do not get to enjoy because both parents have to work outside the home just to keep their houses from foreclosure...pay for their kids to go to college...eat...

Well, maybe being home alone mandates a prerequisite for me to have full dosage of my prescribed meds in my system. Being alone on this, Day 3, is only making me sad. Now, is it because I am stretching out the anti-fill-in-the-blank medicine or is it because I really don't like being alone anymore?

Not sure...but this I do know: When I am alone, my mind is not my friend. I think about so many things, so many people, so many mistakes, so many hurts and heartaches...not many good things. Why is that? Maybe the Cymbalta is more for depression than I knew or realized. Maybe I never really needed it for anti-homicide control. What if I am sad underneath all this? What if I am depressed and unable to handle my life? What if I haven't handled all this cancer stuff as well as I thought because my "handling" of it was under the subdued protection of an invisible cloak?

What if I need this medicine? What if I am clinically depressed from here on out? What if I have been hiding behind some false sense of ok-ness because I never really realized I wasn't ok?

Oh, God! What if I never really healed/got over/dealt with the mess in '07 and the pills just mask it thus, without it, I would be catapulted emotionally back there?

There is a lyric from Lady Antebellum that says: "Guess I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all".

Forget that.

I completely disagree. I would rather not hurt. Period. I have hurt enough in my lifetime and have certainly met my "hurt quota" and let me just tell you one more thing...if I have to revisit 2007 many more times, there is a pretty darn good chance I will drive that jet black Suburban off the highest bridge I can find.

I had looked forward to everyone coming home after their busy day yesterday, us sharing our "Father Knows Best" meets "Leave it to Beaver" dinner and subsequent evening together. Well, my life is not a made-for-tv sitcom and so this is how yesterday went down...

Kids got home from school. Had to eat right away because Precious Son had pep band at EKU and had to be back at school soon. Beautiful Daughter had colorguard practice and we had to pick up her friend who needed a ride. Fortunately, I had crock-potted beef roast, made red potatoes, carrots, onions, and salad, so eating as soon as they came home was actually stress-free.

Ran kids hither and yon. Big Daddy gets home from in-service and eats dinner while he is changing his clothes. He is just as quickly gone as the kids as he had to meet Ken to purchase materials for the shop and has in-service all day Wednesday, so he had to do it Tuesday night. Again, I am left alone, and, despite everyone being where they were supposed to be and being safe, happy, and healthy, I did not necessarily enjoy being alone in my home. This was not how I had the evening planned in my head.

Picked up girls at 8:30 and both were in a bad mood because so-n-so said such-n-such...bossy...bad sportsmanship...she's really changed, Mom...not fair...etc...

Dropped off friend. Beautiful Daughter was moody. Exasperated sigh...

Took a hot shower and waited for Big Daddy to come back home. When he did, he asked why I looked sad and I said "because I missed you", to which he pointed out that he was now home and I could look happy again. Well, good point, I guess. "Duh" sigh...

Lucy and her family came over to visit for a bit around 10:15 and then the kids arrived back at school from the trip to EKU. We lost the game which means no Sweet Sixteen for our boys basketball team...but we were only short by one game. Pretty great season. Precious Son came home and went to bed mad because he was hungry, they lost the game, and his dad made him mad by, well, being his dad. Frustrated sigh...

Lucy and family stayed until 11:30pm and we were all kind of spent by then. Thinking I would go right to sleep, I just laid in my bed thinking and feeling sad, still.

Had a dream that my darling doggie, Titan, was running through traffic and I couldn't get to him and save him. I felt sheer panic and even woke up that way. I hate that. I checked under the covers and Titan was there so I tried to go back to sleep, although it was difficult.

Morning came. Big plans again today. I always have big plans in the mornings...

The forecast for the Beautiful Daughter storm was easy to detect as she had apparently awakened with the same mood and attitude problem she had gone to bed with. Forecast says "moodiness with a big chance of attitude" moving in from the west...

Same weather pattern with Precious Son.

It wasn't long before I told them both to go back to riding the bus in the mornings if they were going to be so yucky. I only take them because I want to spend time with them while off from work, but Lord knows, I don't have to, so y'all can ride the bus. In fact, get the big seats so your bad attitudes can sit next to you.

Big Daddy couldn't find his keys which was a recipe for disaster with a hint of panic, which fueled everyone's fire. Eventually we found them and Big Daddy was off to another fun-filled day of learning things he already knows. I was very thankful that he remained pleasant while we searched for his keys because I was already on the verge of tears after the kids acted the way they did.

Before we were halfway to school, Precious Son hurt my feelings/made me mad/whatever, which actually went hand in hand with whatever it was that Beautiful Daughter had said/not said/done/not done and I just felt like crying. I actually could not wait be alone. Let their friends deal with them...oh, wait. They don't act like that around their friends. Nevermind.

Went to radiation and as always, those girls are the sweetest people on earth and always make my time with them so pleasant. Unfortunately, as soon as I put my clothes back on, the wave of sadness swelled inside of me again...and here we are.

You would think it obvious that not taking my daily dose of Cymbalta is why I am so blue and out of sorts emotionally. Well, being the over-thinker that I am, I can't help but wonder if all this alone time has afforded me the opportunity to sit in silence and hear myself. I think I have made it clear I do not like myself...which makes for a mental disaster, doesn't it?

I need a pill. I want my David Gray cd. I hate feeling this way. I hate feeling.

I believe Jim Carrey as "The Grinch" put it best while talking with his darling doggie, Max...

"Max! Help me!! I'm FEELING!!!"

Maybe I am The Grinch and Titan is my rein-dog...then I wouldn't need a pill to figure it all out. I would just know I suck.

"The nerve of those Whos. Inviting me down there - on such short notice! Even if I wanted to go my schedule wouldn't allow it. 4:00, wallow in self pity; 4:30, stare into the abyss; 5:00, solve world hunger, tell no one; 5:30, jazzercize; 6:30, dinner with me - I can't cancel that again; 7:00, wrestle with my self-loathing... I'm booked. Of course, if I bump the loathing to 9, I could still be done in time to lay in bed, stare at the ceiling and slip slowly into madness. But what would I wear?"

Oh, the Who-manity...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ps0hsur52k8