Health and such update, mostly for tracking purposes.
I can tell I'm getting better because I'm actually able to fight my mood. It's a little like finally getting the strength to work your way out of barbed wire. It's not actually any more comfortable than just laying there, it's not any easier, but you do the work all the same, hoping that it will help in the long run. No guarantees, of course. I am not sure it's an improvement at all, actually. At least, it won't be until it results in actual improvement.
For purposes of record-keeping, dinner with the in-laws last Thursday required another clonazepam. It wasn't bad or anything, just the loud restaurant and the stress of being out around other people. I've tried for years to act normal, like doing that stuff, as basic as it is, is not difficult or stressful for me. All that's done is make me feel inferior because, Jesus Christ, practically everyone else can cope with this shit. Why can't I? It really does make me feel like a pathetic person. I'm trying to get over that, but it's not easy to let go of this idea that more capable of socializing = better person.
Also for purposes of record-keeping, my pharmacy fucked my prescription up, giving me a bottle of Synthroid in a dosage far too low than what I should be on, then telling me that "their distributor changed" and that's why it looked different. Yeah, umm, no. Name-brand Synthroid, which is all that I can take, never changes its appearance, and has a different color for each dosage. I got the mistake fixed and didn't take any of the wrong pills, but I'm still annoyed.
My skin is still fucked. The medicine and the nice soap help some, but it's like it gets bad in one spot as fast as it heals in another. It hurts, it's gross, it's not my fucking fault, and I look like a zombie plague victim. Ugh. At least I live with someone who understands completely. It hurts to eat. It hurts to smile. It hurts.
On the bright side, ART! I am working on something really cool that I am looking forward to sharing with you.
X-posted from Dreamwidth. Comment count:
For purposes of record-keeping, dinner with the in-laws last Thursday required another clonazepam. It wasn't bad or anything, just the loud restaurant and the stress of being out around other people. I've tried for years to act normal, like doing that stuff, as basic as it is, is not difficult or stressful for me. All that's done is make me feel inferior because, Jesus Christ, practically everyone else can cope with this shit. Why can't I? It really does make me feel like a pathetic person. I'm trying to get over that, but it's not easy to let go of this idea that more capable of socializing = better person.
Also for purposes of record-keeping, my pharmacy fucked my prescription up, giving me a bottle of Synthroid in a dosage far too low than what I should be on, then telling me that "their distributor changed" and that's why it looked different. Yeah, umm, no. Name-brand Synthroid, which is all that I can take, never changes its appearance, and has a different color for each dosage. I got the mistake fixed and didn't take any of the wrong pills, but I'm still annoyed.
My skin is still fucked. The medicine and the nice soap help some, but it's like it gets bad in one spot as fast as it heals in another. It hurts, it's gross, it's not my fucking fault, and I look like a zombie plague victim. Ugh. At least I live with someone who understands completely. It hurts to eat. It hurts to smile. It hurts.
On the bright side, ART! I am working on something really cool that I am looking forward to sharing with you.
X-posted from Dreamwidth. Comment count: