I put on pants this week....
After weeks of existing in jogging pants, tank tops, and men's boxer shorts, I put on a complete outfit of actual clothing on Monday morning. Getting the bra done up after all this time of not doing up bras took away so much of my energy that I had to stop and cry for a minute before I left the house. By the time my Mom and I had driven to the Tim Horton's about fifteen minutes away, I thought my head was going to either explode or roll right off my shoulders and get stuck under the clutch. HOW IN HELL WOULD YOU GEAR DOWN WITH A HUMAN HEAD STUCK BENEATH YOUR CLUTCH? I have no idea. Fortuanately, my head remained firmly attached to the rest of my body and I made it through my first two exams.
I finally got to see my dear, sweet, wonderful Doctor Chuck this week. I have anxiety just thinking about what I'm going to do when he retires. He's been my doctor since I was seven. He takes all the time in the world with me. He sits in front of me, attentively, occasionally with a comforting hand on my knee if it gets too hard to talk.
He wants the antidepressant that my City Doctor prescribed OUT of my system and by OUT he means GET THE HELL OUT, YOU SATANIC DRUG FROM HELL. Thankfully, hospitalization is not required. I'm going to get better. It's going to be a long, shaky, and nauseous road while this drug gets out, but it's going to get out.
I was sitting at the computer after my visit with Doctor Chuck, and after my mom had found a proper receptacle for the mass quantities of drugs that I'm taking to help me get this drug out. I was sitting at the computer table and my mom came and put an arm around my shoulder. And I leaned on her, in much the same way I've been leaning on so many people lately, and for a brief moment, I felt ok. I'm by no means better. Better, for me, is weeks and weeks away.
But I've made it through several days now, one of them even wearing real clothes. I'm going to up the ante tomorrow and see if I can scrounge up the strength to apply some underarm deodorant before I resume my wardrobe of boxers and jogging gear.
Baby steps. It's all about the baby steps.
Toonses
I finally got to see my dear, sweet, wonderful Doctor Chuck this week. I have anxiety just thinking about what I'm going to do when he retires. He's been my doctor since I was seven. He takes all the time in the world with me. He sits in front of me, attentively, occasionally with a comforting hand on my knee if it gets too hard to talk.
He wants the antidepressant that my City Doctor prescribed OUT of my system and by OUT he means GET THE HELL OUT, YOU SATANIC DRUG FROM HELL. Thankfully, hospitalization is not required. I'm going to get better. It's going to be a long, shaky, and nauseous road while this drug gets out, but it's going to get out.
I was sitting at the computer after my visit with Doctor Chuck, and after my mom had found a proper receptacle for the mass quantities of drugs that I'm taking to help me get this drug out. I was sitting at the computer table and my mom came and put an arm around my shoulder. And I leaned on her, in much the same way I've been leaning on so many people lately, and for a brief moment, I felt ok. I'm by no means better. Better, for me, is weeks and weeks away.
But I've made it through several days now, one of them even wearing real clothes. I'm going to up the ante tomorrow and see if I can scrounge up the strength to apply some underarm deodorant before I resume my wardrobe of boxers and jogging gear.
Baby steps. It's all about the baby steps.
Toonses
posted by Amanda at 16:45
1 Comments:
It sure is all about the baby steps. I know you'll make it.
Rooting for you with the exams and stuff too :)
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