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Look at me go! I’m now registered to start classes this Fall to become a chemical dependency counselor. I think it will take about a year of school, then a year of work to become fully licensed. I still plan to go on to finish my BA and hopefully grad school – but this is a quick(er) way to get a job skill that might actually net me a semi-decent paycheck and health insurance while I grind my way through the next ten years of college.
Thirty days have elapsed since my last dose of Suboxone. As I predicted, the past week, also known as the PMS week, has been the hardest. My hormone cycle seems intimately and intricately bound up with my fibromyalgia and as my estrogen drops my pain increases. And because I like to fuck myself even more royally, this is the time when I give up and sit around watching tv and reading instead of pushing on thru with the yoga and the walking and all those other things that I “know” would make me feel better. Theoretically.
Give into it I did this month. I fought so hard through the first two weeks of withdrawal that I was just spent by the third week and had fuck-all for the fourth. But hey, that’s why I quit a month early…to give myself time to get through this, right? And getting through I am. I hope.
Lack of sleep didn’t help the situation much either. Doc gave me ambien, which does put me to sleep but I think it messes with my daytime motivation. Seemed like I was actually getting more done before I started with the sleep-aid. Can’t win for now, but it will pass. Still, even with all this PMS bitching, this has been WAY easier than I was thinking it would be. I thought I would be in bed crying and screaming my hate of life but it’s been nothing that dramatic.
I predict that if I force myself to take a walk eery morning for the next 30 days, I will be feeling 100% better at the end of September. So that is what I’m going to do. Take a fucking walk.
Ugh, last month sucked, and so far September hasn’t been too rockin either. But I did start this blog with the hope that it would help me give up my habit of quitting, so here I am.
I’m getting down into the low doses on my Suboxone taper, and it’s…uncomfortable. On the positive side, my sex drive seems to have come back from the dead, hosannah! It’s kind of strange though, when you find yourself lecherously contemplating the dood who drives the yard-waste truck (yes, the garbageman, that is correct) or the neighbor’s friend as he shingles the roof. What is wrong with me?!? Am I going to turn into the proverbial desperate housewife, banging the gardener? As if! Like I’m even married, bah-hahahahah! Or could afford a gardener, woot!
Went to the gym yesterday, and now I can’t fully straighten out my left arm. Convenient, especially since I work today. Who knew how dangerous the bicep-curl machine could really be. The rest of me feels pretty decent though. Now if I can just get back there three or four hundred more times, I might just get in shape. The combo of med withdrawal and a month off from the gym (though I did swim a lot for a couple of those weeks) left me feeling pretty decrepit upon reentry to the world of exercise. Entropy, you suck.
I’m off for my coffee date now – part of my “Back to Living” campaign. I can’t hide in my bedroom forever you know. If you want to read some more of my whining, I have a post up at The Second Road.
Love to you all and my apologies to all my friends who I haven’t called. xoxoxoxo
I am on vacay in Florida at the moment. Got here yesterday afternoon after an overnight flight, a layover, and an early am flight.
Lots to think about, much to write…but for the moment I have to wrangle the six-year-old into a swimsuit and go see my sisters.
For now let me leave you with this thought…a lot of the stability I have in my recovery is based around habits and routines that I’ve developed in my life at home. As soon as I got taken out of that environment…hell, even when I was just thinking about being out of my home environment, my brain started scheming, thinking bad thoughts about other people’s medicine cabinets and how I was sure to be in a lot of pain after such a long flight and and and…
I caught myself and put a stop to that runaway train, but still – I was kinda suprised that I went in that direction at all. I’ve had it so good with the Suboxone treatment, and I hardly ever have cravings anymore, so I guess my defenses were down. Taking me out of my safe little life and then heaping on the stress of traveling (on my own with the kid no less), not to mention the whole visiting-my-family thing (They put the FUN in DisFunktionaL! har-dee-har-har) – well, let’s just say I probably could have seen that coming.
Lucky for me, I’m really starting to enjoy my new life and I don’t want to mess it up. Not for a feeling, a fleeting feeling that never really was as good as the joy I get to feel nowadays. I’ll prolly go to the library or the bookstore and get some kind of inspirational reading to do while I’m here (Hat Tip to the fabulous Erin who gave me that idea!) and I’ll do my best to make time to chronicle the wackiness that is my family over the next two weeks. Sure, they’re on their best behavior now, but the vacay has only just begun.
We’ll see how things are in a few days.
Love to you all, I’ll be thinking of you as I lounge by the pool eating lobster and trying to avoid skin cancer. Kisses!
That’s right, I think I’m starting to become almost like a “normal” person. Ha ha!
I know, I know, there’s no such thing as normal, and even if there was, it isn’t something one should aspire to be anyway.
What I’m getting at, I think, is that I’m starting to cross over into a place where I, and my life, am not totally defined by what is fucking wrong with me all the time. Does that make sense?
My depression seems to be in remission and I’m not even taking any antidepressants anymore (unless you count Suboxone as an anti-d, and it is a very effective one.) My anxiety is largely controlled by exercise and meditation, and I rarely have to take anti-anxiety medication anymore. My fibromyalgia flares are getting shorter and less intense and I have longer stretches of well-being between them. Migraine headaches are largely a thing of the past.
I’ve been going to the gym. I’ve made some new friends and reconnected with some old, good friends who I lost touch with when I was so sick and using too many drugs. My house, while not perfect, is way cleaner and more organized that it was a few months ago and I don’t feel so overwhelmed by it. Sleep is no longer the best part of my day, or the only thing I have to look forward to.
I still have a lot of work to do, and I know it. I’ve got issues with self-esteem and procrastination, my relationship needs a major overhaul, and then there’s the whole pandora’s box of food/eating/body image issues. I’d like a more developed spiritual life, and I need a haircut…
But still. I feel good. Dare I even say that I feel happy? That doesn’t even adequately describe it. I feel accomplished, and today I feel like I might even make it for the long haul. I know that feelings are fleeting, but I’m going to enjoy this one. I’ve earned it. I think that I’m only on the verge of realizing how much energy I was using up by living in a state of emergency 24/7/365. I’m kind of excited to see if I can keep going forward now. Ahhhhh….
You, all of my blog friends, thank you. Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to quit, but I didn’t because I felt some sense of accountability to y’all? Thank you for reading this mess, and leaving your comments and baring your own souls on your own blogs. I wish I could have you all over for a BBQ. Thank you from the very bottom of my almost normal heart.
It’s hot today, hot outside and hot inside the store where I work. We are in a hundred year old building with no AC, the only fan in the store is a ceiling fan 20 feet above my head.
I’m PMSing and my feet are swelling up. This annoying phenomenon first occurred while I was pregnant, but it didn’t cease when my pregnancy was over. Now my feet puff up at all manner of inconvenient times. This whole combo is irritating as hell. My bra is too tight, my joints ache…even the weight of my hair up in a bun is oppressing me today. Fuckin A.
It sucks getting old.
The only good thing I can find in this situation is that it’s not making me wish for drugs. Instead, I’m just fantasising about a refreshing swim in the cold-ass lake at the end of the street. That’s where Little C is today, and I have to say I’m jealous.
Guess I should try to get some work done. Later, y’all.
Since Little C’s been away, I feel a little lost. Her presence gives a shape to my day, and without her here I’m devolving into aimlessness.
Seriously, I’m not sure what’s up with me this week. My sanest guess is that I overdid it over the Solstice weekend, and now I’m suffering. I have to say it was worth it, for the pure joy of the day we spent at the park and the beautiful walk around the city, plus J and I went dancing that night for the first time in ages.
Now I’m recooping and trying hard not to get down on myself for lazing about and not accomplishing much. Hopefully I’ll be back in the game tomorrow and can accomplish some of the things I wanted to get done this week. For now, I’ve got to prioritize my physical and mental health.
On the positive side, I got myself some cute new clothes yesterday for my upcoming trip to Florida. And Little Cappie’s birthday is coming up, so I guess I’ve got some external motivation to get the house in shape right there, huh?
I feel like I’m in a strange place right now. I feel like I’ve come through the fire in a way, and gotten my hard-won little bit of stability. Now I need to move toward steering my life in the direction I want it to go, which is scary since I’ve spent the last however many years just reacting to stuff and trying to keep my head above water.
Also, now that I don’t have the immediate, huge, pressing concern of drug abuse fucking up my life, I’m finding that there’s a bunch of other shit wrong with me that I really need to deal with. I’ve made a good start on the addiction thing, and even the physical health bit has improved since I’ve been exercising. But my spiritual life is crying for attention, and I’ve got a messed-up relationship with food, I’m not sure how to stay motivated in my life, and lately I’ve tip-toed up to a big-ass well of fear that seems to be at the center of all of it.
And it’s summer. I was really looking forward to fucking off and enjoying life – so why am I now feeling called to resume the excavation?
I’ve got some stuff to think about.
My doctor said that the letter I got (the one I was not freaking out about in my last post) was just informing me that the first six months of my treatment were up, and that he would still apply for a second six months. He seems confident that I’ll get the extention, and he’s done this a lot, so I’m not going to worry about it.
Little Cappie had her first dance recital tonight – holy cuteness overload! Her class, pre-modern dance, performed first. They were little monkeys and their dance was a take on the classic monkeys-jumping-on-the-bed story. Freakin’ adorable. I was a class chaperone, which meant I got to take the class out to the audience after they were done performing and sit with them through the rest of the show. Monkeys, indeed! Actually, J said that from across the audience they looked like a bunch of prairie dogs, heads popping up and down as they got up and down in and out of their seats all through the show.
Getting ready for dress rehearsal and the show today was more stressful than I thought it would be. I wasn’t feeling well and I’m stressed about my final exam tomorrow, and time seemed to be slipping away. It’s been miserable weather here in the PNW, and all I wanted was to curl up in bed with my new book. I had a few moments of almost spinning out of control, but me and J managed to pull together and work as a team. Now I’m glad that I put the effort in – it was worth it when I saw my little girl’s smiling face as she came off stage tonight. We even managed to get a new charger for the video camera (something we’ve been putting off for, oh, 4 years) so we could record the event for the East Coast branch of the family.
In other news, I have a new post about dealing with pain in recovery up at Suboxone Blog. I do hope you click over and read it, and if you do read it I hope you enjoy it! Maybe you’ll even find something useful there, who knows?
Now I have to go study for my final exam. There’s something to be greatful for – Logic will be out of my life after tomorrow! Woot!
Goodnight, y’all, and sweet dreams.
I almost didn’t go into the class. I stood on the threshold, looking anxiously around the dimly-lit studio, assessing the situation. This was not my regular yoga class, not my usual yoga instructor, and I was feeling deeply unsure that this class was going to work out well for me.
Why the trepidation, especially when I love yoga so very dearly?
Well everyone in the class was skinny. And there’s nothing wrong with that, it’s just that I’ve noticed that the kind of yoga instructors who are good at adapting yoga poses to different body types tend to attract students of different body types. When I see a class full of wiry students, taught by a wiry teacher, I get a little nervous.
But I really wanted a yoga session that day and this was the only one on the menu. So I went in and plopped my fat booty down on a mat and hoped for the best.
Things started off all-right, with some chanting of Om’s and a bit of centering meditation. Then we started right in with some flows. The teacher was exactly as I feared he would be – presenting every pose in exactly one way and not giving any modifications or any instructions or assistance for those of us who needed props to get the job done. He seemed like a totally nice and chill dude, and he was great at demonstrating the asanas. And he made a point to call out the few students who were especially strong and flexible for their good work.
But. When it came to telling me how to make a pose work for my body, he totally wiffed. Lucky for me, I’ve been practicing yoga for a long time and I have some experience with modifying poses and using the props. Seriously, if this class (which was billed as all-levels) had been my introduction to yoga, I’d probably never have come back. You would think that if you loved something enough to teach it, you’d want to make it accessible to as many people as possible – but then again, I’m not doing so hot in my Logic class, so don’t trust my reasoning.
Things went from frustrating to uncomfortable when the teacher announced that we’d be doing some partner work. First up – some preparation for locust pose, in which one partner was to lay on her stomach while the other partner sat upon the prone partner’s legs and pulled her arms back (click the link and look at the picture!). Of course, I was freaking out that I was going to totally crush my tiny little partner or pull her arms out of their sockets or something – but it all worked out fine and she was way cool. Whew!
Then we worked on wheel pose, which is a backbend. We were supposed to spot our partners, which was no problem. My partner went first, and did a beautiful backbend. When my turn came, I was feeling pretty relaxed and groovy, because I’ve been working on this particular pose for a while. Just as I was ready to push up, the instructor finally noticed my existance and ran over to help my partner spot me. I guess he was afraid I might fall over and hurt her or she might bust a gut trying to life my fat ass, I don’t know…but he sure did book it over to us.
I did my backbend, and the instructor actually sputtered. He definitely seemed caught off-guard, and asked dubiously: Have you done this before? WTF? I didn’t know whether to be proud of myself for busting a stereotype or angry at him for being such a tool. I was keeping up with the class the whole hour, no thanks to him. Did he really think I was totally inexperienced? Is that how he treats all newcomers to yoga? Bah! (He did recoup minor credit for quickly recovering and telling me I did a “beautiful job.”)
In the end, I was feeling to good to be angry (thanks, yoga!) but I am definitely going to speak to him next time I take his class. I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt, and assume that he’s just not had many fat students. But he’s got one now, and he’s going to have to adapt and make sure that his class is safe and beneficial for me and any other fatties who might wander in.
And can I say how strong I am feeling in myself, and how glad and proud I am that I didn’t turn around and walk out of that class when I was having my moment of indecision? I have grown so much in the past six months, learning to take risks and even feeling ok to put myself into uncomfortable situations so that I can grow. This is pretty remarkable, considering that when I was abusing opiates, my main goal in life was to avoid any kind of discomfort whatsoever. And I’m rediscovering the things that I used to do to make myself feel “high” – by which I mean “happy.” It’s not always (ever) easy, and I know that I still owe a lot of my stability to suboxone, but I am feeling better than I have in years – and I love it.
Erin has a good post up right now about the ebbs and flows of recovery (and life in general). She makes a great point about doing the work we need to do when we’re feeling good and able to to it, because this is the work that will sustain us during the hard times. She’s totally right, and I’m so glad she reminded me of that. I’m definitely on an upswing right now, feeling the rewards of hard work I put in even when I really, really didn’t want to do a damn thing. And I’m fully aware that the wheel will cycle round again and the hard times will be back – but for now I’m going to soak in this feeling of happiness and well-being. It was hard-won, and I’m profoundly grateful for every moment of it.
FYI – So far in my practice I’ve found viniyoga to be the most fat-friendly, and it’s also my favorite type of yoga. Viniyoga is known for lots focus on breath, being gentle and having lots of modifications for poses for those of us who are not gumby. Viniyoga classes feel the most healing to me, and though it is a gentle yoga I always manage to get some really amazing stretching done as well. The thing I like about it the most though is that the focus is more on the process and feeling balance in your body and getting the most out of the movement – rather than just trying to force the poses.
I’m writing this post due to my hopefully not-misguided belief that pushing through the way I feel right now to produce something will somehow benefit me.
How can it be that my hands literally hurt from the effort of typing? Yes, you heard that right, typing. Seriously, tears are welling in my eyes right now as I think of how completely, pitifully, un-fucking-fair it is. I mean, it’s so hard to comprehend, even after these several years of dealing with this crap – how and why it is that just days ago I was feeling fine, and now I am exhausting myself with the pain and effort of composing these whiny-ass, self-indulgent thoughts into a semi-coherent paragraph.
There is no discernable pattern to what provokes my mysterious disease. Too much exercise or not enough? Did I eat something I shouldn’t have? Is the barometric pressure dropping? Allergies? Stress? Some change in my body chemistry? Hormones? It’s infuriatingly ineffable and it’s driving me crazy.
Yesterday I fell into an empty well of exhaustion. I shut off my phone and slept and slept. If I was awake, my body was in a constant state of throbbing ache. And there’s the oppressive feeling of heaviness, and slugishness that dogs me when I try to get anything done…by which I mean the most basic of tasks, like taking a shower or cooking some mac & cheese for my kid. I think I slept most of the day yesterday, and when I was up I didn’t do much other than watch a few videos that J downloaded for me. Thank you Bravo, for the awesome distraction from my misery that is Project Runway.
Mentally, I just can’t get it together. This quarter has been an exercise in falling behind and struggling to catch up in school…only to fall behind again right after I finally get to where I should be. I missed class yesterday and today and haven’t had the energy or mental capacity to work through the chapter on my own. Now I dread having to go back to class tomorrow because I’ll be behind and won’t know what’s going on. I keep hatching these plans of waking up early and going to the library to try to get work done, but I give in to my body’s demand for more and more and more sleep.
I am super irritable. My kid needs me, she doesn’t know how to not need me, but all I really want right now is to not be needed. I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to pay attention, don’t want to listen, to hear, make eye contact, care. I have to, so I try and I try to explain that I’m sick and I’m so sorry but inside I’m just crying Shut The Hell Up and then I harsh on myself for feeling that way. And really, she’s been so amazing the past few days and has barely asked for any attention (for her anway) but I just can’t help it. I’m scraped raw and I can’t shoulder any demands right now.
The thing that kills me is that I already had one imaginary disease (depression) that nobody understands and everyone has limited compassion for and most people think I should be able to “snap out of.” But fibro is even less accepted/understood/believed in than depression. Depression is practically trendy compared to fibro when you think about it. Anyway, it’s hard to shake the feeling that I should be able to prove somehow the level of pain that I’m in and it’s hard not to believe that people doubt that it really hurts as much as it does (especially considering that my doctors routinely dismiss it and tell me I’ve just got to learn to deal.)
Which is not to say that I wish I had something worse or more quantifiable. Oh no. I’m glad that what I have will merely make me suffer and not outright kill me. But some validation would be nice. It would be awesome to email my prof and say: Can’t take that test today, my brain is too foggy and it hurts to hold a pen. But, that’s not happening.
And I have to say that today I feel that I’m falling short in my ability to manage my pain. Today all I can do is remember that I felt ok a few days ago and hope that this flare will be short-lived. I can hold on and remind myself that these days were far more frequent when I was abusing painkillers, and that as much as I crave that relief right now, it’s not a viable answer for me. I don’t know what else to do, I really don’t. I want to escape from my body but I can’t, and right now I don’t have enough perspective to find any kind of lesson or silver lining in that.
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