Nothing but my pain to comfort me tonight. If you can call that comfort. I tucked my husband into bed, the poor guy fighting off a cold or some bug I am hoping my vitamins can protect me from. Because whatever bug he has could easily crawl inside me and fuck my day up twice as hard as it is doing to him. It happens quite often with me. Someone brings a cold into my house, I get pneumonia, sinusitis, or some other terrible infection I wasn't supposed to get. Because maybe, just maybe, my immune system isn't as great as it's supposed to be.
But I am hoping I have armored myself enough this time I will be passed by any bugs lingering in my house.
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| Thanks to my friend Dina for this image. |
I do feel for him though. I make him tea. I give him cold meds. I tuck him into bed. Because I love him. He's done the same for me. As if I was a normal person who just gets colds. Who doesn't sometimes limp into bed like I've been battling demons all day.
He tells me though he's glad I am feeling better than I was. And yes, there has been improvement. I am no longer on the pain scale of "TOO SERIOUS FOR NUMBERS" and now I live at a 7 or 6. Improvement indeed. It's because I am back to a more even level mentally. I can censor myself again, cage myself from the world. I can pretend I am okay (or so I think right now). And yeah, my pain isn't making me crazy, so I am better. My bipolar swing has subsided, and now I'm just depressed. Listless. Fighting off entropy by painting and enduring. Of course, for him and his perspective, he is much more pleased with this. I can understand that, even if it hurts. Dealing with someone who is not just suffering physically, but had all her dials fucked with at once is terrible. Especially when you love them. So he wasn't saying this to hurt me. He even claimed my pain levels were lower than what I know them to be, because from his perspective, I seemed so much better.
"You look like you are at a 5 or 6." He claims.
I'm not, but I get why he said that. I have my shields back up. I'm being "strong" again.
I just sigh and nod.
It hurt to hear him talk like this, because he doesn't live in my skin.
Tomorrow I go to my doctor. I'm not really pleased with her, and haven't been since I started seeing her. She just keeps...fucking up. Her bedside manner is terrible and she treats me like a child. She had to actually correct herself last time I was in because she did call me a kid, then looked at my age on the chart.
Yeah, bitch. I'm 33. How about you fucking start treating me like I'm 33 and not just look at my exterior? Yeah, I got fucking weird ass hair and dress like a goth. Who cares? I do it for myself, not for you or anyone else. You are supposed to be helping me function. So stop looking at the outside and look deeper.
I don't want to go tomorrow. I don't want to deal with any of this anymore. I want to crawl under a rock and disappear. I want the pain to stop. I feel like this is a futile attempt at this point to get a professional to listen to me. To send me to someone who specializes in chronic pain. So I can figure out once and for all what is wrong.
The worst part is when you feel like no one sees your suffering. When your brave face is too good at being brave. So good, no one believes you hurt.
Yeah, I feel better. That's because I am not literally going insane with pain anymore, for now. I STILL HURT... and it just feels too much for me to bear. It hasn't gone away. It hasn't changed from when I was here before I did all the stupid self treatment with drugs. I did that for a reason. This pain just slowly keeps trying to destroy me.
If you think going into a depression is me "doing better" then I think you've been mislead.
I'm not okay. At all. And I am tired of people not listening to that truth.
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