Xanax and Wine - party of one?

So many days in a row of feeling bad.... I can't even differentiate between them.

How is it only Wednesday? Surely the breakdown I had this afternoon was worthy of a Friday breakdown..... but no. I made it there in record time.

Of course, I did spend two days all but couch-ridden. (I refuse to be bed-ridden.... bed-ridden seems so much worse.) How did I not see the follow-up emotional tidal wave coming at me? It's like I have selective vision.

And yet, despite my lack of foresight (or maybe because of it?) there I was - caught up in it's undertow, powerless to swim against the current.

(I know, I'm so melodramatic. It's the wine. and Xanax.)

((my apologies.))

The neat and tidy version? I couldn't stop crying.

The whole way home.

I was actually on my way to yoga. But how can one do yoga when one can't catch their breath through the hitching sobs?

Yep. No yoga.

Wine, instead.

Not enough strength for the warrior pose.

Plenty of strength to lift a glass.


(advantage: wine.)

Yesterday.

(Disclaimer: you likely will not understand this post if you were born anytime after 1980. Just saying.)

Started feeling bad towards the end of the day... was wiped out by the time I got home... stuck on the couch ever since...

Some days I just want to lay down and die...

Remember the movie "The Never Ending Story"? The horse who gave in to the swamps of despair and sunk to his death? Atreyu?

Yeah, I get that horse.

"Atreyuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!"

*UPDATED*: Okay, so my jumbled childhood memories may have had this a bit wrong.... whilst food shopping on Sunday (because who doesn't do their best thinking while pushing a cart full of food, listening to muzak and crying children, and dodging other half awake/half irrate shoppers?) it suddenly occurred to me that - I think - the warrior character was Atreyu and his horse was Artax. Possibly.

Shit.

"Artaaaaaaaaaaxxxxxxx!"

Maybe it's the endorphins that make me less murder-y.

So it's Friday - 7:50 pm - and I managed to make it through another week that was not only personally exhausting but insanely busy at work.

And I didn't murder anyone.

(true story.)

Did I want to? Yes, of course. Did I cry unintentionally and have to hide in my office for fear someone would see me and think "oh, there goes the MS girl gettin all worked up again!"? Um, yes, but only two or three times. Did I drink myself into a coma? Actually, no.

(yeah, go back and reread that, it's not a typo.)

On a seperate, but likely related note, I started yoga last week and have been trying to take more walks. Maybe I have the endorphins to thank for the lack of dead bodies that could have been strewn about? I mean, it certainly wasn't the alcohol. Which is sort of shocking in and of itself.

But, just in case - and not to throw off the balance of the universe - I am going to head out now and get stupid drunk.

Because really? I can't take a chance on these endorphins quite yet.

Cheers.

I am in an abusive relationship. With myself.

MS is sort of like an abusive spouse.

Which would clearly make me a battered woman.

I woke up today and got out of bed, only to have to climb on the couch 5 minutes later and remain there for the rest of the day. At some point, I started to think "what did I do to bring this on?" And then I realized:

nothing. at. all.

Sometimes it's clear why a symptom flair-up occurs. I've pushed myself too hard - physically, emotionally, whatever... or maybe I just haven't been sleeping well..... or maybe the stress is just getting the better of me...

Sometimes MS hits me because of something I have done.

Sometimes it hits me for no reason whatsoever.

(It's almost like I can hear it muttering "see what you made me do to you....?")

I only wish I could hit MS back. I would so be Jennifer Lopez in that movie "Enough" where she goes all bad ass and kills her abusive/crazy/stalker husband. Except I would clearly have better hair and bigger boobs. But wouldn't that make it a better scene anyway?

That would be so bad ass.

(Okay, I have to get off the computer before MS catches me and throws me down a flight of stairs.)

((Send help. Please.))

I shouldn't be allowed to talk to people. Or email.

Below is the actual text of an email I sent to a friend of mine:

"So I am now thinking your lack of reply indicates that your meeting today went well and you're just afraid to tell me because that means you'll likely be leaving and you don't know how to break the news to your moderately crazy friend that the one person who consistently tolerates her craziness is leaving.

Fuck.

Oh, I mean... Yay! Yay for you! (Fuck for me.)

Or, perhaps your silence is due to your displeasure at the results of your meeting and you're just too depressed/angry/drunk to want to talk about it.

Fuck.

No, I seriously mean *fuck*.... not even yay for me.... because really? When you're unhappy? No one wins.

I mean, it's clearly not as bad as if I am unhappy. Because when I am unhappy, everyone loses.

**I realize, on the surface, this may look to be the same, but it's not. When you're unhappy and no one wins, there's still the chance of everyone receiving a conciliatory "participant" ribbon. When I'm unhappy and everyone loses, there's a fair chance people are going to be kicked in the crotch. Literally and/or figuratively.**

(You know I'm right.)

And now my head hurts because I don't know which situation is the better outcome and all can think about is kicking people in the crotch.

Great...

Another typical Friday night."

Is it any surprise that people don't reply to my emails? I should not be allowed to maintain friendships.

P.S. I figure it's okay to post the email on here, sans names anyway, mostly because not only does he not reply to my emails, but he sure as hell doesn't read my blog.

P.P.S? Just in case he does - at some future point - read this, I do genuinely hope things went well.

Kind of.

Okay, maybe.

A little bit anyway.

All right, not really.

(Sorry. I'm selfish.)

Stones.

Yes. This is a plate of stones. Pebbles I picked up today on the beach and stuffed in the pockets of my jeans until I ran out of room. I then threw a few more in my purse, just for good measure.

You see, today was an unusual day for me, for any number of reasons. One, it was early March and beautiful - sunny, mid-sixties, light breeze. Two, I found myself at the Jersey shore on this exceptionally beautiful day. Three, (maybe most importantly) I was not at work.

And lastly? I didn't have a single MS symptom. All. Day. I walked for over two hours, in the sun, sand between my toes, sea breeze blowing, sea gulls crying....

It was so.... well, honestly? I don't have a word for it.

Peaceful?

Life-affirming?

Zen?

Mocking?

Because seriously? I'm pretty damn sure that if I could tap in to that sort of vibe on a regular basis? My MS symptoms would decrease ten-fold. Fuck. Make it a hundred-fold. I need to move to the shore. I'm not even particular on which one really. Sand? check. Surf? check. Okay, I'm there.

(I guess a job and a place to live would help too, but these are just minor details.)

I know the NMSS has means to help people living with MS survive the bills and crazy costs that can come along with this illness, but I don't think I am selling them on a shore house as a preventative to my flare-ups. Maybe a shore house that houses multiple people with MS? Maybe we can all benefit? You know, if we don't kill each other in all our group-craziness?

(that's a form of synergy they never really warn you about in those group workshop things. just fyi.)

But back to my stones. I truly would have been that crazy person, out on the beach, walking along where the waves came in - careful not to get my jeans wet - in a near constant crouch, looking at the sand like it was littered with gold, for hours, had my husband not, after a certain well-advised period of humoring me, drug me back to the boardwalk.

You see, I was walking along today, and this little, perfectly smooth, beautifully well worn, pebble caught my eye. I stopped to pick it up. Marveled at how smooth it felt in my hand. Held it up to the sun to check out the flecks of minerals that had been polished to a shine. I showed it to my husband..... his response? "Yeah, they're all over, so what?"

(okay, that might not have been his exact response... and I'm sure he didn't mean it to sound dismissive... I mean, how could he have known that one pebble was going to mean he had to humor his crazy wife for over an hour as she examined a good half mile worth of beach?)

But here's the "why?": MS, like many things in life.... and even life in general.... strikes without warning. You never know what it's throwing at you.... or which way it might be throwing you. It's easy to get caught up in the waves and be tossed ass-over-tea-kettle before you even realize what's happening. But isn't that the same thing the produced this amazing little beautiful pebble?

You see, the constant tossing of the waves.... the disruption and confusion.... it polished out the rough spots.... smoothed over the flaws.... and produced something more compact, more beautiful, more resilient.

Yes, I realize I may be reading too much in to a few pebbles. But really? They're beautiful. Each in their own way. And as I continue to get tossed in the waves of MS? I want to remember that this constant state of motion.... while it might seem like chaos? While it might seem disruptive and damaging? It's smoothing over my rough spots. Making me more beautiful than I already was. Polishing me.... so that I might sparkle in the light.

(I wish I was here.)

It's MS awareness week. (but clearly that is just another reason for me to spread the craziness.)

I think I do my fair share to spread MS awareness everyday. I mean, anytime I need to? I blame whatever shit I can on the holes in my brain.

(What? They're there anyway. They might as well serve some purpose, right? Okay then.)

((You know you would too if you had them. Don't judge.))

At the end of last week, I held an assembly for our academy cadets. I actually decided that I would try "dropping the MS bomb" (which is my term for telling people I have MS, because it rarely goes over cleanly and has the potential to blow the whole conversation to hell) to about 200+ generally apathetic teenage boys all at once.

I have to say? It was actually one of the best experiences I've had with breaking the news to people. In fact, I may have to insist, that from now on? I will only disclose my illness to groups of at least a few hundred. With a powerpoint.

I did this, not for MS awareness week - although, had I known? That could have been a whole additional PP slide - but so that the cadets could, perhaps, learn a little something about empathy and compassion. MS is a rather silent disease. No one, just looking at me, would know I am ill. I wanted them to, perhaps, think about what others might be dealing with, unbeknownst to them, when they're interacting with others.

Will it work? Who knows. But I figured it couldn't hurt. And also, now if I fall in the halls? Or have an emotional meltdown? Or stumble over every other word? At least they won't think I'm a drunk.... they can blame it on my holes.

(see how this all comes full circle?)