avalanche, veux-tu m'emporter dans ta chute?

I've been buying herbs from a Chinese pharmacy in Little Saigon for a couple months now. the owner is a diminutive woman who appears to be fluent in several languages. she stocks all the major medicinals for decoctions as well as the most commonly used pills and teas and creams and liniments. We've gotten to be on a first-name basis and I've joked about getting her to sell me her shop when she wants to retire.

I've been in there about 5 times in the past week; I've been having horrible hot flashes that make me feel like my bones are boiling, sending a very uncomfortable fizzing sensation through my muscles. I get so hot that I get goosebumps, despite having no measurable fever. I'm frantic with worry and sadness, not sleeping well, nauseated, downcast, miserable. I've spent about 80 bucks in the past week on medication and herbs trying to get my body back to its normal miserable state. seriously, I can deal with just fibro, but this endometriosis and pseudo-menopausal crap are grinding me down.

Lin, the owner of the herb shop, was asking me about my health. she knows what she's selling, so she can tell from my purchases that I'm not the average 30 year old. I was trying to give her the short rundown and somehow ended up giving her the whole life story.

I don't give myself enough credit. I really don't. between the culture shock of the South's suburbs and my brother's attempts to molest me and then getting sent off to a brainwashing lockup and force-fed lithium for years, I went through more hell in my early teens than most people do in their whole life. and shit didn't even stop then. my life has been an avalanche of poor health and poor decisions made from an inability to plan for the future for most of my adult years too.

I've had a hard time being around people lately. I'm ashamed of my inability to keep my composure. I am constantly afraid that the few friends I have will turn their back on me, that they will be sickened by my neediness if I ask them to keep me company when I am sad or scared or feeling self-destructive. I have been hiding in my apartment for weeks, watching hours of downloaded tv, sticking needles in my feet and hands to keep from cutting myself. I schedule one or two social events a week and try my hardest to put on a brave face.


I am fragile. I am crumbling. but I have to believe that I am not broken past all hope of mending. as much as I want all this pain and fear and anxiety and sadness to be over, I'm not done living yet.

I just have to hang on a little while longer. and then a little more after that.

I'm too unforgiving towards myself. I let my physical fragility cause emotional fragility and then get angry at myself when my circuits overload and I lose control of how I feel. I need to learn to step back.

these past few weeks, I've felt like I'm running on a giant hamster wheel, constantly tripping and falling down and skinning my knees and palms, busting my lip. I feel like a giant bruise emotionally.

I should have broken down and called my shrink. she was out of town and I didn't want to bother her, but she told me to call if if I wasn't doing well, and fuck. this past week has been one of the worst I can remember.

hindsight is 20/20, right.

cheer up, honey (I hope you can)

today seemed slightly better, as if I've rounded some sort of bend, as if the light at the end of the tunnel has come microscopically closer. there was an earthquake this morning and a foot of snow on the ground. soon it will be March.

I don't think I have ever missed anyone this intensely. not and still believed that they were coming back.

please come back.

fail

I gave herbs and acupuncture a year to try to fix all my mysterious lady problems; today, after having to combine vicoprofen and tylenol 3 just to get out of bed, I broke down and called my doctor for a birth control script.

I'm so hormonally overloaded it can't possibly make it worse, right?

I'm ok with my boobs growing, but I can't afford new britches, so let's hope my ass stays the same size...

consolation prize

I keep telling myself, "At least you still look good," but honestly, it's not really helping. I'd rather be ugly than hurt this much.