Report

The acupuncture treatment went very well.  I was aware of a slight sting when the needles went in, but it was much less than being stuck with a regular sewing needle.  Not a problem at all.  Honestly.

There was also a cupping treatment, which was more uncomfortable than the acupuncture.

What has caused the most problem since, however, was the intense massage.  Since I woke up yesterday, I have had a searing headache.  Everything that was done was to release pent-up energy and toxins, and I must be a damn landfill of the stuff, as much pain as I've been in since.  I've been in bed with ice packs all day today, even having to cancel a therapy appointment.

The therapist told me on Saturday that my symptoms might worsen after the treatments.  She was right.

Where Are My Fat Clothes?

This has been one of those days when you get loads accomplished, but by the end of it, all you want to do is find your most comfortable clothes, change into them, and collapse.  Let Madeleine give you a visual primer:

This works, too:

Seriously

It is just after 1 AM, and here I sit, unable to sleep.  I've taken 6 Klonopin and 4 sleep aid tablets, and I'm as wide awake as I can be.

Which stinks because I have to be at my psychiatrist's in the morning.  For him to say, for the jillionth time, "Well, let's just stay with what we're doing, and let me see you in about 3 weeks."  I have begged him to try something else.  I have brought all my medications into his office, poured them on the floor and said, "These aren't working.  DO SOMETHING ELSE."

I realize that as many drugs as I take, it's a delicate process of figuring out which are effective and which are not, and then calculating how much more or less or each to take.  But nothing, nothing, nothing is working right now, and I have to make him understand that.  Surely telling him I'm now going to therapy twice a week because I couldn't make it with just one session will make some sort of difference.

Scream

My clothes are aggravating me.  My skin is aggravating.  I want to rip the entire world away from me, or me from the entire world.

I am angry and I am hopeless and I want to scream, but I have no idea what I'd say.  Nothing --- nothing --- is calming me.  I have the TV on because silence is deadly.  But noise makes my skin crawl.  

My son is having very serious mental health issues, but he is not sharing (and he certainly has every right to keep his business to himself.)  My daughter is all over the map emotionally.  I gave each of them until December 31st to save enough money to live on their own --- I can't imagine that either of them have even a tiny percentage of what it would cost.

If they cannot pay rent somewhere else, I will allow them to live here, but there will be rent and bills and rules.  Frankly, the idea of all three of us under one roof again scares me.  We are not good for one another in a long run.  And the feeling that they will have that they have failed will only blacken their moods.  And as they go, I go.

Why can't I get better?  My therapist and my psychiatrist and I are trying all we can, but I'm just sinking more.

Panic

I've suddenly found myself with a little bubble of time to get to Nashville this weekend, and I am already panicked through and through.  The thought of going in, even more of staying in, that house just sends me around the bend.  Why, oh why can't there be a way to finish all this up without me having to set foot in there again?

The answer, of course, is that when I was there sorting things out for the estate sale, the plan for Hannah to move up was still in place.  That's gone now, although it has been replaced with a strapping and mostly unyielding opposition to me selling the house.  Briton has come to understand the emotional and financial strain keeping it put on me.  Hannah may be there, too, but just won't admit it.

At any rate, I'm going up late, late, late tomorrow night and getting out as fast as I can Sunday.  (We thought we had Briton and Hannah's schedules lined up so that he could get her to and from each day, but that blew up about 45 minutes ago.)

This should be the next-to-the-last time I have to go in the house.  Briton and Hannah still want to go and say their goodbyes, and there may be an item or two that I simply can't bring back this trip. As unpredictable as their work schedules and temperaments are, though, I wonder if that can happen within any realistic framework.  If we're going to auction, I'd rather it be sooner than later, so that I can start the new year with one less yoke around my neck.

All in the Family

I would tell you how long I slept between Wednesday night and this morning, but it's kind of embarrassing.  Surely, my body and mind required that many hours, or they wouldn't have stayed checked out, but it's still. . .  sort of. . . a lot.  So let's move on.

Our air conditioning unit is running full tilt, non-stop, and, yet, there are periods of each day when it feels like it has stopped working.  A quick glance around the house, though, shows an animal parked on each of the floor vents, so we humans aren't always getting the complete impact.  Hannah and I are both spending lots of time sitting very still directly under ceiling fans.

One of the things I found while going through things at my parents' house was

my baby ring.  It was never engraved, which is a bit odd.  And it is teeeeeen-iney.

I also found a photo of Daddy that struck me as almost identical to my high school senior picture:

Boy, am I his daughter, or what?  People must have suspected my dark-haired, brown-eyed mother of kidnapping that blonde, blue-eyed, pug-nosed child she was always with. . .