Admit it
I was talking to LJ just now (thank you, BTW), and I made a decision that I feel is important to expand upon, when considering my issues concerning my health. Everything else, I'll just stick a pin in them for later.
On New Year's Eve morning, after hours of trying to help me, Terry took me to the ER. I started to decline the night before (we got there at 0230), and I'm going to describe how bad it was for us. This could mean slight triggering material, so I would like everyone to read with the following triggers in mind: suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts, going into shock, ER and hospital conditions.
I'd been struggling with a severe flare-up, one that was worsened with the pressure point blocks I received the same day; we were hoping it would cease the flare-up. It didn't take, and I was in increased pain for two days after. I started tanking at around the morning of the 30th, and by 2100, I was done. I gave up. I just laid there, my eyes closed, feeling nothing but the pain and praying to fall asleep, or pass out, or die, anything. I was overcome with horrific hot flashes, so strong that Terry could feel my skin giving off the heat. He tried to cool me off, to help me sleep, but it failed. And he cried... a lot. After I fought him as best as I could, I surrendered to going to the ER, and kept praying I would pass out or die. I waited two-three hours to see a doctor (10/10 pain, slurred speak, no mobility, crying, disassociating). Two hours after that, I was given an anti-nauseant and pain medicine. It took the edge off, but before, again, I was awful, and made Terry cry. We stayed for one more round of pain meds, and the edge was finally softened enough to bring me home.
I still felt like shit, but... I've stopped showing it. Instead, I keep it inside, except when alone, because I am sick and tired of making him cry, or being cruel to him because I'm in pain he cannot fix, and it's not his fault. It's like I see myself being cruel, and I hate it, but it still comes out. So, for the past week, I've said nothing about the pain I'm in. And you know what? It's better. It's way better. He doesn't stress so much, doesn't hover, doesn't act like my servant or slave... things are happy between us, right now, because he doesn't know why I can't eat much, anymore, or why I've been isolating myself, all of it. I don't want him to ever know. Because I want him to see me, and not see IV bags and blood vials and me looking ready to die...
It's something I'm doing with everyone else, too, pretty much. Clearly, my cover is now blown with this post, but the people I'm sparing won't ever see this, and I'm glad they won't. Like I said before: what right do I have to pile my problems on others, especially people younger than me? None. So I've stopped. I can't do it anymore. I'm so tired of hurting everyone with my pain, when it's MY pain. I need to grow up and move on, or it'll be letting it kill me. And yet again, I'd rather be dead than keep mooching and leeching off of people I love, especially Terry. I don't want our marriage to end thanks to my health problems. It's better to lie.
I'm sorry. I just don't know how to say this. I just want people to be happy. I regret being so open in the past, hell, even right now, and yes, this makes me a hypocrite. But at the same time, after this post, if I make any related posts, I promise, they will be private. Or maybe I'll just go back to pen and ink.
Tl;dr: the pain isn't going away; I need to grow up and accept it, and I'm not gonna force people I love to deal with it, anymore. Starting right after I post this post.
This was originally posted over on Dreamwidth. Feel free to comment on either site!
On New Year's Eve morning, after hours of trying to help me, Terry took me to the ER. I started to decline the night before (we got there at 0230), and I'm going to describe how bad it was for us. This could mean slight triggering material, so I would like everyone to read with the following triggers in mind: suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts, going into shock, ER and hospital conditions.
I'd been struggling with a severe flare-up, one that was worsened with the pressure point blocks I received the same day; we were hoping it would cease the flare-up. It didn't take, and I was in increased pain for two days after. I started tanking at around the morning of the 30th, and by 2100, I was done. I gave up. I just laid there, my eyes closed, feeling nothing but the pain and praying to fall asleep, or pass out, or die, anything. I was overcome with horrific hot flashes, so strong that Terry could feel my skin giving off the heat. He tried to cool me off, to help me sleep, but it failed. And he cried... a lot. After I fought him as best as I could, I surrendered to going to the ER, and kept praying I would pass out or die. I waited two-three hours to see a doctor (10/10 pain, slurred speak, no mobility, crying, disassociating). Two hours after that, I was given an anti-nauseant and pain medicine. It took the edge off, but before, again, I was awful, and made Terry cry. We stayed for one more round of pain meds, and the edge was finally softened enough to bring me home.
I still felt like shit, but... I've stopped showing it. Instead, I keep it inside, except when alone, because I am sick and tired of making him cry, or being cruel to him because I'm in pain he cannot fix, and it's not his fault. It's like I see myself being cruel, and I hate it, but it still comes out. So, for the past week, I've said nothing about the pain I'm in. And you know what? It's better. It's way better. He doesn't stress so much, doesn't hover, doesn't act like my servant or slave... things are happy between us, right now, because he doesn't know why I can't eat much, anymore, or why I've been isolating myself, all of it. I don't want him to ever know. Because I want him to see me, and not see IV bags and blood vials and me looking ready to die...
It's something I'm doing with everyone else, too, pretty much. Clearly, my cover is now blown with this post, but the people I'm sparing won't ever see this, and I'm glad they won't. Like I said before: what right do I have to pile my problems on others, especially people younger than me? None. So I've stopped. I can't do it anymore. I'm so tired of hurting everyone with my pain, when it's MY pain. I need to grow up and move on, or it'll be letting it kill me. And yet again, I'd rather be dead than keep mooching and leeching off of people I love, especially Terry. I don't want our marriage to end thanks to my health problems. It's better to lie.
I'm sorry. I just don't know how to say this. I just want people to be happy. I regret being so open in the past, hell, even right now, and yes, this makes me a hypocrite. But at the same time, after this post, if I make any related posts, I promise, they will be private. Or maybe I'll just go back to pen and ink.
Tl;dr: the pain isn't going away; I need to grow up and accept it, and I'm not gonna force people I love to deal with it, anymore. Starting right after I post this post.
This was originally posted over on Dreamwidth. Feel free to comment on either site!