February 12th, 2007
I got an email this evening from my best bud, Jean Luc. Here it is:
Jesus woman! Add to favorites (estimated)…50%…You’re on fire - the tipping point has begun. Start posting 1-3 times per day and see what happens.
Jean Luc has long told me that this little slice of heaven I call IXH could be huge. There are so many separated and divorced women without a home on the internet, all with lots and lots of stories they could share — the good, the bad and everything in between. Some of them are (occasionally) amused by zany stories from my silly life. If I would just post more, I could bring it all together…He’s probably right — makes sense to me. But it won’t happen anytime soon. Certainly not this week.
Every day there is some funny little moment in this divorce experience that should be posted here, but isn’t. Though I want to write, I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m pretty sure it’s because I’m sick again. Not the swollen joint and muscle pain that comes with having rheumathoid arthritis — that’s easy to deal with it. It’s this stupid depression that is holding me back. Until you’ve felt this yourself, you probably couldn’t understand how hard it is to function in even the most basic way.
I spoke with my psychiatrist a few days ago (as I strolled through Costco with my three-pack of organic milk — yummy!). He phoned because I missed my appointment with him two hours earlier. Yeah, sorry about that. I couldn’t find a parking space so I finally gave up at five p.m., a half hour after my appointment time. I expected him to point out the obvious, like, uh, why didn’t you just park in the medical center parking structure?
Imaginary Me: I would have, but I spent my parking money on stamps and didn’t have time to hit the ATM.
Imaginary Dr. Patience: Hmm, yes, now why would you spend that money on stamps when you knew you’d need it to pay for parking?
IM: Well, I forgot about the self-addressed envelopes I had to turn in to the Court until the very last minute. Of course.
IDP: The court? Which court would that be?
IM: The Courthouse where I filed my divorce paperwork today.
I guess I really wanted to tell him, and anyone who would listen, that I had a big, big day. I finally got off my ass, and completed the divorce paperwork. Two years into my separation, yes, but at least it wasn’t three, four or even five years into my separation. I know some people who hit the five year mark before it was all said an done. Can you even imagine that kind of hell? I can’t — and I’d like to keep it that way!
Turns out he didn’t ask any of those questions. He phoned for three other reasons:
- He re-scheduled my appointment for three weeks from that day and I’d better show up if I ever want to see my meds again (that’s not an exact quote but its pretty much the same message).
- I need to be consistent with my anxiety medication. He can’t be sure what does or doesn’t work if I’m not using it the way it was prescribed. Three times a day, every day.
- He spoke with his attending about my request for more xanax. He does this every time I ask for it as it is a powerful anxiety drug and not well liked by him or his superiors. Something about the way it’s metabolised by the body makes the highs and lows of the anxiety more pronounced. Everyone of them — and I think I’ve seen five different attending physicans by now — raises and dips their hands as if they’re riding some huge wave. Dr. Patience and the most recent attending decided that I should up my intake of my regular anxiety medication before being prescribed more xanax.
Dr. Patience emphasized (over and over and over again) that his attending wanted me to understand that I HAVE to be consistant with my medication and that I CAN’T have xanax unless its an emergency.
“Uh, Dr. Patience,” I said, “I haven’t been prescribed xanax since mid-December. I was given ten pills but have only used nine of them over these last two months. I don’t overuse them. I horde them because they’re like gold! I feel the need to point this out because I feel like I’m being scolded…But I’m not being scolded.”
“No, you’re not being scolded,” he said.
I was good for a day and now I’m back to being inconsistent. The only reason I know is because I feel like crap and don’t want to do anything but curl up on my couch and cry. I forced myself to leave my apartment and run errands, buy some groceries, drop off a car full of recycleables and paint cans though all I wanted to do was go back to bed.
I set an alarm on my cell phone to remind myself when to take my pills. It worked at first, but now I just turn it off and tell myself I’ll take my pills in a minute. Hours later I wonder whether I took them after all. I think I might have to make a pill log with little boxes I check every time I take a pill. That would work until I tell myself I’ll check them in a minute only to wonder hours later if I took the pills at all. Sheesh.
So, yes, dear reader, I would love to spend more time with you, and hear your stories — the good, the bad and everything in between. Hopefully I will very, very soon. Until then, I’m going to bed and might not come back for awhile.