Posted by: catsandfish | January 24, 2013

The Battle Inside

I am having a panic/in pain/sick day, bad. It’s been really bad like this ever since I had a cyst burst, about a week ago. Maybe. Time never lines up right anymore. I am not sure what happened when, or in what order. I’m ignoring it for the most part. Keeping my notebook, a play by play diary of every pill I have to take, everything I eat, everything I do.

The cyst bursting was way worse than usual. Shitting enough blood and blood clots to make the ER an option, of course at 4:30 in the morning, with William’s mom Cindy staying over. The bleeding stopped, and I didn’t have a fever or nausea, so I just had William watch me. I slept. I ate. I drank lots of water. 

The physical pain doesn’t scare me anymore. I deal with it every day. It’s just part of life now. My body and brain have decided to flood my body with panic chemicals. Every cell in my body constantly screaming that something is wrong, fix it, fix it, fix it. The worst are the tactile hallucinations. Creepy crawlies. My skin feels like it’s covered with biting ants on the outside and squirming maggots on the inside. My brain…buzzes. Like a hive of bees. My soft tissues, like my eyes, mouth, and lungs, sting like they are filled with sand or bits of glass. I want to rip out all my hair. I want to scrub my skin until it bleeds. It is all I can do to not scream, just sit still, distract myself, make sure I stay on enough sedatives. Eat enough.

My thoughts are like a hive of bees as well, each one running here, flying there, all connected, but in a way disconnected. Time doesn’t flow normally. It’s too fast, or too slow, or it jumps around.

I feel so obligated to do everything in my power to be normal, to not let anyone know, do my part. Physically, I’m so weak that standing hurts, all muscles and joints beg to collapse. Pains, sharp and throbbing, let me know where the damage in my intestines is the worst. I can’t tell anyone. I can’t let them know that it’s this bad again.

I also can’t tell them that I’m afraid I’m losing my grasp on reality. I have trouble telling dreams from real events. It isn’t just the meds. It’s the stress, and something else, something wrong, defective with the way my mind processes things. I am trying so hard to keep hold of everything in the right order in my mind.  It’s hard having this constant invisible battle with myself. All I want to do is curl up in a ball, tear at my skin and hair, scream, and drink until I pass out. I can’t allow myself to do any of that though. 

 Not being able to do what my panicked mind is begging me to do, compelling me to do, is like holding my hand over a fire. Letting myself be touched with something filthy. Even little things, like not being physically able to tidy up the messy house, throws me into nausea, difficulty breathing. People who don’t have compulsive disorders don’t understand. “Just don’t do it.” Yeah. And then I feel like I have inevitable doom looming directly over the horizon. I feel covered in filthy slime, pond scum, itching, choking off my airways. 

I have to deal with it though, or I will hurt myself by doing too much. Physical health versus sanity. I get to choose. I am going with the physical health and insanity for now. It is less expensive, and if I lose more of my physical health, the problems inside my mind will just get worse. I am not a danger to myself or others. I have enough resolve and pent up rage to not allow myself to slip up and end up in a mental ward. I will not scrub my skin until it bleeds. I will hold tight to what i know is real. I will take a Xanax and force myself to stay on the sofa, watching TV. I will just keep trying to improve. New doctors, new medications. Put on a happy face, even though it feels like the skin on my face is crawling. 

 

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