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I am so impressed by you. You are kicing ass and taking names, and your refusal to take no for an answer or to be bullied by the uncaring and unethical medical establishment is inspiring.
You rock, and I love you!
It’s something in my tone. Something defensive. Something angry. It’s the mad-bitch tone. Apparently, it gives me away every time.
Ever since I’ve been making this concerted effort not to yell, really really trying not to yell, MrB has been calling me out on the tone of my voice.
I have been trying, so hard, to say what I need to say, ask for what I need, state my feelings, whatever, in the most calm and even tone. I have actively worked toward bleaching all the anger and aggression out of my voice. And not just that. I’ve been working hard on letting that anger go, on understanding where it comes from and learning what to do with it. I’ve been literally practicing in therapy how to say things, how to articulate my boundaries, to state my bottom line.
Strangely, the calmer I get, the more he reacts to me. I feel like I can say the most innocent thing, and he’ll blow up at me, and when I ask why he’s yelling at me he’s saying Well You Were Just Going Off On Me, and I’m like what the fuck?
It’s all in the tone of my voice. He can tell how I’m feeling, and he knows that I’m angry, secretly seething with resentment inside, even as I continue to calmly say what I really mean he argues that I’m lying. He says he doesn’t know what it is, but I just can’t hide the anger that I’m feeling, and it’s really pissing him off that I’m not addressing the thing that’s pissing me off.
It’s weird, to see him losing his temper so often like he is, because that was always my part in the dynamic between us. I was the hot-headed one, he was so maddeningly calm. It’s almost scary, because he’s the one who is so obviously angry, but he keeps insisting that it’s really me who is mad. He’s accusing me of jumping all over his case, or whatever, when he’s the one yelling at me.
Could it be that there is something in the way I’m speaking, some cue that I’m giving? I suppose it’s possible. Maybe I’m emotionally detatched, or just out of touch with my feelings, because of the suboxone. Maybe there’s something there that I don’t even realize and it comes out in the subtext of whatever I think I’m really trying to say.
That’s a scary thought too though, the possiblity that I’m that deeply out of touch with my own feelings, because some of the times that he’s accused me of having an angry tone have been times when I was pretty sure that I wasn’t feeling angry and I had practiced and really intentionally tried to bring up and state whatever I had to say in the most neutral/non-judgemental/non-emotionally-loaded way.
But even in those instances, he heard something totally different from what I was saying. I’d say something like: When you tell me you’ll take care of something and then you don’t, I feel disappointed and angry. And he’d say: Well you just said I was an irresponsible asshole.
I take some responsibility here too. This is a new skill for me, and I’m sure I’m not expressing myself perfectly. I’m sure I say some things out of habit in a way that could be construed as grumpy. But I don’t know how to deal with his continued insistence that I am angry, even after I try to assure him that I’m not.
This is so frustrating. I miss the time when the only hidden meanings in our words were fun and flirtatious ones. I miss being able to talk to him without everything being so loaded and painful. Fuck, I just miss him. He’s far away in his own misery these days, and I am certainly not the one who brings him any relief from that. Most of the time I just feel like I’m another annoying burden to him, one of the things that holds him down, keeps him back…
Maybe if I wasn’t all screwed up sexually, we would have a better communication. I don’t have the energy to write that post tonight though. Meh.
Maybe it’s just my nature to be unhappy, dissatisfied. Maybe it’s true that no matter how good my life is, I will always find something to hate about it. Maybe it could all be better if I could just get a better attitude.
No matter how awesome my job might be, I will always find something to bitch about. No matter how great my friends are, I never feel loved enough. No matter how wonderful my partner is, I will always find fault with him. And on, ad nauseum.
I’ve been happy before, for long stretches of time even. The kind of happy where you wake up looking forward to the day and what it might bring. Lately, when I try to look at my life and make a list of all the good, all that I should be grateful for, I see so much to be happy about. But I’m just not happy. And I don’t know why, I don’t know what’s missing. I’ve had depression for a long, long time. More than half my life. But for many of those years, even though I’d get horribly depressed, I still had this sense of somthing magical about my life. I’ve lost touch with that somehow.
Is that magical thing really just hope?
Depression, you fucking suck. I want my perspective back.
Maybe there isn’t anything missing. Maybe there’s just too much of something. Could I just be tired? Exhausted, I mean – spirtually, physically, mentally, emotionally? I never feel like I’m doing enough, but maybe I’m tyring to do too much right now. If I was healing from any other extended illness, would I be harshing on myself for not getting all my chores done? I don’t think so.
So hard to be kind to myself, to be compassionate.
But I did do a lot today. We made marzipan animals and finished a couple more penguins. I sorted out a bunch of c’s old clothes & bagged them up. I did a bunch of dishes and took out a lot of garbage. Hurt my back lifing the trampoline.
This is going nowhere. I think I should go meditate for a little bit.
Maybe I’ll start getting up early in the morning, before anyone else, to make sure I get some time to myself during the day. Maybe I’ll start going to bed early too. I feel like I need to make some kind of change, I feel like I’m just spinning my wheels.
I didn’t like the way I was talking to c today. I felt like I was channeling my mother. I try really hard not to guilt c about anything, because that shit is poision. Today, I heard myself saying things like: Why do you do that, when you know gum doesn’t go on the chair? Do you do it just to make more work for me? Do you not want me to have any time to play with you? Maybe you’re just trying to make me crazy?
Holy shit. That’s awful. And I knew it was awful as the words were coming out of my mouth, but I didn’t stop it. Not right away anyway. But I did stop, and then I talked to her and told her that I know that she’s just little and that’s why she makes mistakes, and I said I was sorry for being a grouch. But still. Who the fuck was that, saying that shit?
The one prayer I constantly pray is please please please let me not fuck her up. Please.
And the more I pray it the more I see that the only way, the only answer to that prayer is to fix myself. That’t the only way.
I took suboxone today, for the 8th time since I got my 5th implant. According to the study protocol, I am no longer eligible to remain in the study.
My ambivilance toward entering drug treatment so I can continue taking suboxone still hasn’t been resolved. I will try to make an appointment with another doctor who is closer to my home, and at the very least I have decided that I will meet with my counselor at the place where I’m signed up for treatment before I decide.
Friends keep telling me that I can just go along with their program, jump through the hoops and get my medication. I know that I can still benefit from seeing a counselor, but thinking about having to play along with the meetings and the “actively working for recovery” shite just makes me feel tired. I don’t think anyone at the drug treatment place is going to go along with my idea that I wanted suboxone to treat the underlying issues that I was trying to treat with opiates , mainly pain, and also depression. I didn’t go into this thinking that I’d be “working toward total abstinence” at some future point. I went into this looking for relief.
Relief. Which I have gotten since I’ve been on suboxone. This past month has been miraculous for me. My body doesn’t hurt anymore. I have sore feet at the end of a long day standing at work, I get a headache every now and then, I haved a cold and my throat hurts – I can still feel pain and discomfort – but the long-standing, all-over-my-body pain that made me want to stay in bed and cry or take handfuls of vicodin, poof! It’s gone.
And my moods have been so much more stable. I am not numb. On the contrary, I am feeling things much more distinctly now. I am able to realize when I’m annoyed by something, or when someone is crossing a boundary. I feel in touch with my self, and with my family and friends, to a much greater degree than I did 30 days ago. My therapy sessions are productive, and I’ve been able to begin to make changes in my life that will allow me to continue growing and healing.
My life is not perfect, but it is so much better. I think that if I tapered off the suboxone now, I would maybe be able to stay away from the opiates. But I know that my pain will come back, and my depression will too. I could try to continue working in therapy, and maybe go to a pain clinic, though I’ve been there and done that before, and it took a huge amount of effort and will to produce less than great results.
If I could have exactly what I want, I’d find a doctor who was sympathetic to my situation. One who understood that my untreated pain was the trigger for my use, and who would work with me on that issue. I would go to therapy, both mental and physical. I would work hard on fixing my life. But I wouldn’t have to go to groups or meetings, or call myself an addict, or work toward complete abstinence. The thing that burns me up about this is that if I had money, I could find that doctor with no problem. But because my healthcare comes from the state, I have to be in drug treatment to get suboxone.
There is a voice in the back of my mind though, that says that the fact that I’m so adamantly opposed to going to a 12 step meeting is all the more reason that I should do it. I wish it would shut up.
Already, I feel the balance in my mind tilting toward staying on the suboxone even if it means going into drug treatment. I don’t know if this means that I’m weak, or pragmatic.
I have other plans too. Because pain is a big issue for me, I want to use the time I’m allowed on suboxone to make my body stronger and healthier. I am joining a health club where I can swim and take yoga and tai-chi classes and do strength training. This will also help with my depression. I am also going to take some meditation classes, to re-focus my spiritual practice, which I’ve neglected for a long time. If I can, I am going to get help from a nutritionist or a naturopath, to find other ways to support mental and physical health. If I can’t afford that, I’ll get some books.
These are promises I’m making to myself. I know I can’t implement them all at once, but I can make a start. Even if I can only get 6 months of suboxone treatment, maybe that will be enough time to get a stronger foundation of health. Maybe I’ll get so strong and healthy that I won’t need to medicate my pain and suffering any more.
I had my evaluation appointment at the suboxone treatment place that I selected for my backup plan. I am sick with a sore throat and I’m feeling exhausted. Drained. And confused.
In order to get my insurance to pay for suboxone, I have to be in addiction treatment/counseling. This is something I don’t want to do. I want to stay off the opiates, and I want to work on being a healthy person, but I don’t want to sit in drug therapy group three times a week for 2 hours plus additional counseling etc.
My other option is to go to 12 step meetings. I have mixed feelings about that. I suppose that I could learn something at AA or NA, but I have been to meetings before and I don’t like them. I don’t like the language – clean/dirty, character defects – and I don’t like the way “the program” is framed as the one and only way to get sober. I don’t even like the idea of sobriety. Or powerlessness. I am not addicted to alcohol, or cigarettes, for instance.
At the study, I have been treated with so much respect. Part of that, I’m sure, has to do with the fact that the study needs me as a participant. The counseling center is another story. I am not needed there – I need them, I need the treatment, and therefore I will jump through hoops. I should not be there just to “check in and get my suboxone scrip.” I should be really invested in my recovery. I should be working toward eventual abstinence. If I miss group there will be consequences, here is a page of rules to sign, here is the plan they’ve made for me with my first three “treatment goals” outlined in little boxes.
This shit is triggering for me. My parents institutionalized me when I was 14 because of behavioral and emotional problems. I quickly noticed in the hospital that the kids who were assigned to the “green team” got out a LOT quicker than the kids on the “blue team”, my team. How do you get on the green team? Oh, you have to be a druggie! Presto, I invented a drug habit.
I got out much faster than I would have otherwise, but I had to agree to go to NA meetings. I went for a year. At the end of the year, I got my coin and kissed that shit goodbye. But the attitudes and the language still haunts me. Especially the remark of one old crusty dude: No one is to dumb to get the program, but a lot of people are too smart to get it.”
I feel about 12 steppers the way I feel about all fundamentalists. People who are reformed, or born again. True believers. I don’t know if I want to surround myself with that again. Maybe it’s different here, maybe I’m much different now, all I have to go one are memories from 20 years ago. Well, that and my utter annoyance whenever I come into contact with anyone who is “in recovery.” Fucking lingo. I hate that shit.
I have to figure out now, if it’s worth it to me, to get the suboxone. How many hoops will I jump through? How much of a problem do I really think I have? Is there a way to go to meetings and take what I find useful and leave the bullshit behind? I seem to remember that – according to members at least – success is predicated on swallowing the whole enchilada.
The one thing that makes me think that I might possibly have the slightest chance of finding something good in a 12 step program is reading how much good The Junky’s Wife has found in her group. Seriously. That’s it.
Maybe it’s enough.
Little C hasn’t gotten the memo about sleeping late on the weekend, so I’ve been up since 6:30ish. Which is strange, because on school days I have to drag her butt out of bed at 7:30. Anyway, here I am.
Friday I was at the study site picking up my suboxone for the weekend and giving one of my obligitory, thrice-a-week urine samples for UA. While I was occupied peeing on my hand (note to pharmacutical co., you need bigger sample cups for the ladies) a woman struck up a conversation with me.
She asked me if I’d had the recent cold that seems to be going around, the one that won’t go away, seems to get better and then comes back. Absolutely, I have. She told me about this apple cider vinegar cure, where you drink vinegar with water and honey and supposedly it cures whatever ails you. She imparted all this information while pooping, somewhat noisily.
I guess that made a big impression on me, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the whole apple cider vinegar thing. My cold is getting worse, and my throat hurts. I stopped at the market on the way home last night and bought a bottle of Braggs Organic Raw apple cider vinegar and when I got home I whipped up a drink that I was sure would be nasty and I’d have to choke down, but I thought it would possibly help with my cold. Because, according to the label on the vinegar bottle and about a million websites, apple cider vinegar is the exlir of health and youth.
I made ginger tea first by peeling and slicing about 2″ of ginger root and then putting it in boiling water (about 4 cups) for 5 min. I poured the ginger tea into a jar and added 8tbsp of vinegar (2 per cup) and the same of honey. I shook the whole mess up really well and poured some into a cup – the rest I put into the fridge for today.
Maybe I am just strange, but I actually enjoyed the drink. It was warm and sour and it made me feel better. I liked the acidity on my throat, kind of like the way orange juice can feel good on a sore throat. I woke up this morning and I couldn’t wait to heat up my vinegar toddy and get going. Hopefully it will have some positive effect on my cold. I wonder if it’s helpful for mental illnesses?
I am a little mad at Mr B right now. Last night I told him that I wasn’t feeling well, and that I would need him to be around today. He said he was exhausted from not sleeping on Friday night, but he still chose to go out with a friend last night. This morning he asked me for a muscle relaxer, saying he’s been having these awful cramps in his legs and he couldn’t sleep all night. He didn’t wake me up last night to ask for one, because he thought I would be mad. It seems obvious to me that I wouldn’t be mad at him for waking me up because he was in horrible pain, and I would rather have him well-rested in the morning, than just going to bed because he was up in pain all night. He said he’ll make sure I get a nap later, but still. I said I was going to be needing him today, beacuse I am sick.
This is all the more disappointing, because I was talking to him last night about work, and he was saying all of these supportive things, like my boss doesn’t appreciate me, or respect me. But right now I don’t feel respected by him either. He chose to go out, instead of getting to bed and catching up on his sleep, even though I specifically told him that I was sick and I needed to rest and and and.
Well, I can’t do anything to change that situation right now. Anything I would try to say would just end up provoking a fight which would be a huge waste of energy and end up with me crying and apologizing and having a really bad headache. I am going to try to let go of feeling angry that things didn’t turn out how I wanted them to – me sleeping in while he got up and did the dishes and made breakfast – and instead use my energy, such as it is, to make my house nicer and more appealing to myself.
The only problem is, I’m not so good at the whole letting-go-of-feelings thing. Sometimes I think I’ve let go, and I’ll get the kitchen clean or start playing with C, and then he will wake up and I’ll see him and I’m angry all over again. Maybe I’m not doing it right, or maybe I just need more practice. Maybe I have to let go over and over and over again, every time the feeling comes up. It’s hard, because I feel like I have a right to be angry and to have my feelings heard and validated. But I also know that I’m not going to change him and that when I’m angry it’s never constructive. Ah, I’m confused.
For now, I’m going to sit here and quietly melt my suboxone under my tongue and maybe surf some blogs for a while. C is watching a video, and maybe I’ll have some time to get the kitchen cleaned up and then get to work on the living room. I need to do it, the clutter and the mess of my house is making me feel defeated and anxious. I will try to be in a good head-space about cleaning it too. I wonder how I can accomplish that?
Today was a strange day. Half the time I was really enjoying being at work, talking to people, just appreciating all of the really great elements of my job. Like knowing so many of the customers by name, and watching their kids grow up or meeting their extended families when they visit. Or how the store is like a hub of the mama-community in our neighborhood. At the end of the day, an acquantiance who is starting to feel more like a friend stopped by and we talked for a while, and that was nice. She was one of the amazing mamas from the party the other day, and she invited me to go running with her. I told her this week was bad, but I would call her next week for sure. And I will. Also, one of my favorite customers came in and told me she’s pregnant, and she was just So Happy that it was contagious.
Then, the other half of the time, I was feeling resentful about certain things. I feel really unvalued and unappreciated a lot of the time. I have had a hard time saying no to requests to come in on my day off, to work for trade when I don’t think I should ever have to do that again, to drive all over the place running errands. I am also mad about not getting a raise sooner, and about the fact that I was getting paid the same hourly rate as an employee who’d been there for only a month or so and who I was training for fuck’s sake. Oh, and the fact that almost never do I have a day off when I don’t get at least one call from work, usually just someone needing some stupid question answered, but still.
I guess this is all part of the effect of me not constantly numbing my feelings anymore. Now I have to figure out the balance sheet and decide if what I get from this job makes it worth it for me to continue doing it. I don’t feel like I’m even qualified to evaluate my own life like that, which is pretty fucking sad. I guess there’s no time like the present to figure it out.
I woke up with a sore throat and the general malaise that comes at the onset of a cold today. As the day progressed, I was sweaty and achy. As I was driving home the thought briefly crossed my mind that I would like to get high. Then I realized – ding ding ding – that almost every time I have that thought, it’s because I’m uncomfortable in some way. My body hurting is probably my number 1 trigger, and then hating my life/the state of my house/the way I’m relating to MrB are all big ones too. And I realize that this is stuff that’s completely obvious to people who don’t have their heads up their asses, but the thought occured to me that it would be ok for me to let myself feel crappy for a little while, or hate my mess for a bit, or not have a perfectly harmonious relationship. It won’t kill me.
I don’t know when I became so afraid of pain, so invested in running away from it, avoiding it at all costs. I remember times when I welcomed the pain of exertion, or when I could at least sit with an emotional pain and think about it, try to learn something from it. Now, after a long while of eating pills and more pills to suppress every discomfort all it takes is a mild head cold to set my brain to thinking about oxycodone. A bit of overkill, no? Perhaps a hot bath and some advil is in order, and a soild night of sleep.
I did get the 5th implant on Wednesday. I forgot to bring along my headphones, and so was treated to a blow-by-blow description of the procedure as the doctor explained what he was doing to another doctor who was observing. It’s pretty surreal to listen to someone talking about “cutting down to the subcutaneous layer” and “separating these layers of tissue with a forceps” and being aware that they are talking about what they are doing to your body, right that very second, even though you can’t feel it.
I ended up turning on the tv to distract myself. Lucky for me, an episode of Little House on the Prairie was just starting! So hokey, I know, but so comforting at the same time, and so unintentionally funny. Fittingly, the episode was about a surgical procedure, it was positively synchronistic. Caroline had a badly infected leg, and she was gravely ill while the rest of the family frolicked the days away at the lake. A cataclysmic thunderstorm and a runaway cow added to the tension, but the procedure being performed on my arm was done and the nurse came to tell me I was free to go.
J, the med student who works with the study coordinator, was much ragging on me for being into LHotP, and I was denying my interest even as I couldn’t tear myself away from the tv. Soon enough, he was sucked in, and then the nurse came back in and we all stood there in the hospital room, watching the end of the show. Plucky Caroline consulted the Bible to for guidance on treating her infected leg, and of course turned to the passage that tells the reader to cut off your hand if it offends you. Into the fire she thrusts the butcher knife.
Holy Shit! We all thought she was gonna do it, especially when she started winding that tourniquet around her thigh. But she just lanced the infected area and then recovered after some sweating and praying on the part of Doc, the Reverend and of course, Charles. God, I loved that show when I was a kid, and it pains me to see how awful it really is as an adult. Every episode is an ode to Michael Landon’s enormous ego/daddy complex. Sheesh.
I still love the books though. j
The fifth stick doesn’t seem to be working. Or not working well, at least. Meh.
I get my 5th implant tomorrow afternoon.
Woo-hoo.
I would love to hear from other peeps in this same study, has anyone had implants that worked?
Now, I’m going to watch Deadwood and go to bed early.
We had a lotta grumpy around here today. I was cranky because I stayed up waaaay too late reading The Junky’s Wife last night, and then woke up to find that Mr. B never came home last night. So I was underslept and the sole parent-on-duty, meh.
I hate yelling, I really do. This doesn’t mean that I don’t yell, I do yell though not as much as I used to, but I hate to be yelled at or even worse, hear someone else being yelled at. Especially if it’s my daughter on the receiving end of the yelling.
Mr. B finally got home sometime after 1 this afternoon, and he was grumpalicious as well. To make everything perfect, Little C decided she was going to act like a butt, and get up in my self-declared hour of me-time and then be all back-talkative and kick over my last can of Coke all over the carpet to boot. Mr. B blew his stack, which is not usually his style, especially over something so minor.
It was so hard for me to not jump all over him. C was crying, and looking like she felt really small, and Mr. B was still so mad that he was kinda trying to tell her that she was making him yell at her by not listening to him. This reasoning really triggers me, especially since it’s a really big deal in our house if I ever yell at Mr B, and if I do he would certainly never accept responsibility for making me yell at him, because that’s ludicrous. The whole yelling-dad thing is a big trigger too, I hate to see that dynamic in their relationship when they both just adore each other. It makes me want to cry.
He did manage to calm himself down enough to remove himself from the situation today. We talked about it a little while later and I told him that I don’t think we should be yelling at our kid, and that I know it’s going to take time and effort to undo that habit, but that I thought we should agree that when one of us looses our temper with her, we should just make her sit on her bed until the angry party feels safe to talk without yelling. Mr B seemed a bit non-plussed, like he thought that I didn’t understand how freaking infuriating dealing with a precocious and headstrong 5-year-old can be (especially one who was raised to question authority – what were we thinking?!) but somehow I managed to stay calm and the discussion didn’t turn into a fight. We actually ended up in agreement.
I seriously think all the reading I did about detatchment at The Junky’s Wife last night, while I should have been sleeping, helped me today. Then Mr B went into our room and chilled out for a bit and when I came in to get something he totally apologized, and really owned his part in the exchange with C and acknowleged that he was being pretty edgey with me as well. He said when he laid down he realized how much his ankle was hurting (he broke it badly this summer and is still in a cast), and that the pain was making him pissy. He has been really good about this kind of thing lately – if I just leave him alone, he will usually realize that he was being mean or whatever, and then apologize. And I have been working hard on letting stuff go and not nursing my hurts.
I am proud of myself today, for being a good mama even though I am exhausted, and for navigating that emotional situation this afternoon without letting myself get all freaked-out and upset, and for doing a bunch of housework that really needed doing. I was also able to let go of being mad that Mr B wasn’t here to help me out this morning, and that my hoped-for day of family togetherness just didn’t work out. I did have a lot of fun with C this morning though. Oh, and when I was cleaning up this morning I found an OxyContin and I just put it away and didn’t even think about taking it. I really want to be well, and that want is outgrowing the want to get high. Amazing.
I still don’t know what the hell is up with the Probuphine. I bumped myself back up to my regular 14 mgs of Suboxone today, and I felt fine all day. Then I ate lunch around 3pm (I took my pills at 9am) and suddenly felt overly-medicated and almost like I was going to nod-out, it was a most unpleasant feeling. I made myself get up and do the dishes, and it passed, but I don’t know what that was all about. I only have one more day of supplement before I get the 5th implant – and then I think I will try to hold out for as long as I can to see if the implants are working at all. I am also calling 2 alternative suboxone programs tomorrow, just in case.
In fact, I am starting to lean toward just doing that anyway. My arm is taking a long time to heal, and even if the implants are working, they are certainly not working as well as the suboxone does. I just want to feel ok, so that I can fix my life, go back to school, hang with my man and my kid and not feel shitty all the time. I’ve been trying to let myself think that that is an acceptable thing for me to want for myself. My therapist had to tell me so – I’ve so lost touch with what mental health feels like, it seems like too much to ask for myself. But it’s not.
I really should stop agonizing over the choice to stay in the study or not. I know I will know what to do when the time comes. I should stop worrying about it.
I do deserve to feel well, to not be in physical and mental pain all the time.
I was starting to get excited, thinking that the Probuphine implants were starting to work, but now I’m back to doubting. If they are working, it’s only sporadically and not very effectively. I lowered my dose from 14, to 12 to 10 yesterday but when I woke up today I felt horrid. Aches everywhere, sweating, feeling like the flu was coming on. So I took 8 mgs and waited for a bit, then took 4 more. I thought 12 would be fine, but I was just feeling super crappy at work. I got an espresso, but that didn’t even help so I took the final 2mgs around noon today, and I’m right back where I started. Now, it’s just 9:30 and I feel faded. It’s so frustrating and confusing – because for a few days it seemed like my need for the supplemental suboxone was waning and I was feeling like I was maintaining a steady level, rather than crashing every night. But there’s no consistency, and if I can’t even get down to 8mgs for my supplemental dose, how is the extra implant going to cover me?
My arm (at the implant site) is itchy, but in that deep-inside, something-is-healing way that I’ve experienced after surgery before. When I press on my arm, I can feel a lot of swelling (I guess that’s what it is) around the implants – it feels like a big lump in there. When I saw A&J yesterday, I felt her arm where her implant is and I could barely feel it at all. I don’t know if mine is just still swollen because I had mine done a week after her, or if my body is freaking out in some way. ARGGG.
I also had a wicked headache today, though it’s hard to tell if that is an effect of the probuphine or suboxone or if it was unrelated. It was horrid though, and it still isn’t fully gone.
On the positive side, I haven’t felt like using except in the most fleeting way. If I’m under-medicated with the suboxone all I want is to get to the right dose so I feel normal, and if I’m on the right dose I just forget about it completely. So that’s progress I suppose. I’ve also been feeling more secure in trying to reach out to people around me & start to create a healthy social life & support network, and I’ve been doing lots of artsy-crafty stuff (folded a lot of origami this weekend) which feels so healing right now. It’s like my brain works stuff out on its own while I’m occupied creating something, and then I feel so much better and more able to deal with the hard parts of getting better – like cleaning up the messes, both literal and metaphorical, that I’ve made/allowed to happen while I was busy trying to get numb.
Well, I guess this wasn’t a quick post after all. I do tend to go on. And on.
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