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Yesterday as I drove to work the news on the radio was grating as it usually is so I randomly punched a button and got the college station playing Eastern Orthodox liturgical hymns in Russian. It was so surreal and unexpected that it seemed like a sign of something. It was also incredibly calming so I searched out the station website to find out what was playing. Of course there was a playlist for every episode of that particular show, except for today. I guess it will remain a mystery. Though I might go through some of the back playlists and try and find some of the pieces. I could use some sacred calls to God right now even if, no especially if, I can’t really understand them.

Work was work, in it’s long, boring, but excellent source of escapism kind of way. I came home through icy streets and took a long, long shower. When I got out, Hawthorn was home. We talked about our days. We had a long conversation about my new medications and side effects and how I was feeling.  And then he took a deep breath and said, “I’m just not sure I can sustain a long term relationship. I’m not sure how serious I can be about us.” Yeah, you fucker, I know, you keep telling me. So I said, “Can it. Just take a deep breath and let it go.” He tried to reiterate that he loved me and it wasn’t me &c. but I cut him off and said, “Seriously, take a deep breath and let it the fuck go. I don’t even care enough about this right now to talk about it.”

And you know, I don’t. I mean I do care. I want to work it out. I want everyone to have space to breathe and regroup and revisit it all in the future, but oh my fucking good goddamned hell, I can not keep having the same fucking conversation about it. I have been telling him since the beginning that the pressure for long term, consolidated, expressly planned relationship is all in his head. He acknowledges that I have never pressured him, nor even brought the subject up. He asked me to move in with him. You could go so far as to say he pressured me, or perhaps just badgered me until I said yes. And now, 11 months after he started seriously courting me, he’s just not interested in following through? Fucking fucking fuck. I still feel it would unfair of me to scream, “I gave up my whole life plan for you, you fucking selfish asshole.” Since I do want to own my choices and I made the choice to be here. However, I can safely say that I didn’t necessarily make it in my right mind, and I won’t go so far as to say I’m being punished for that because I don’t think the universe is vindictive, but enough already. At least this time I can hopefully dig myself out of one hole before I fall right into the next one.

I actually feel good about being that angry about the whole thing. I mean, I still need to get him on the train about how right now is about me and unless he’s expressly going to talk to someone (else) about his crap then I am not interested. Because I tell you what, I certainly am not getting better listening to his fucking midlife crisis.

All that said, my current plan is to stay here, in this house, in my own room, with my own things, through April. I will at that point assume plenty of student and musician vacancies and try and find something for myself. I have support in the interim. I know if it gets really bad, some friends have a guest house up the street they will certainly let me use. But really I just need some time to get the rest of me together, I do not want to move right now. And if that means shutting Hawthorn down every time he tries to put his unnecessary worrying on me, then I’ll do it for the sake of cheap rent and at least not feeling isolated and alone. I really do not want to live by myself right now, it doesn’t feel at all safe. And while the entire Hawthorn situation has a bunch of emotional baggage that goes with it, I’d really rather be here.  I’ll take his bullshit, since it comes with genuine hugs and many very solicitous gestures (surely born of guilt).

I don’t know what will be different next week, but I just keep repeating to myself that I need to get through this week. Like that is a big enough goal for me. I think I’m going to take some sick time Friday afternoon so I don’t have to go back to work after my therapy appointment. Saturday I’m hopefully going walking with good friend, Violet, so I can fill her in on all of this and feel like I have allies in this city too (my reasons for being less open with her about this are mostly because I kind of can’t stand sympathy, so I really needed enough distance to be able to deal with people reactions).

Last night I got a decent night’s sleep and as always when that happens, everything seems much less dire today.  Also I seem to be tolerating the Lexapro much better than the Zoloft.  Less stomach ick and dizziness and all.  I’ve decided to hold off on the muscle relaxants for 3 or 4 days until I’m sure of how the other drugs are making me feel.  Although I really, really am looking forward to not having the muscles in my shoulders feel like they are made of metal.

This morning I accidentally found listings for hotels for sale in Spain, so I will pepper my workday with fantasies of being a hotelier in the Pyrenees.

How much better would life be if this was the path you walked home from work?

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Last night Hawthorn slept in his new room and I slept alone in my room that was once ours.  Without his furniture, his clothes, his anything, the room is huge and half empty, even with my things pushed around to try and fill the space.  I changed out all the bedding and carefully remade the bed exactly like I prefer it. I sent Hawthorn a text reminding him to kiss me good night (he was in the bath, I wasn’t being passive aggressive, it was just the most convenient way to tell him something).  He came and sat on the side of my bed, told me I had a pretty face, kissed me and went off to his own room.  I didn’t cry, but perhaps only because I was so tired, the emotional pressure was certainly in my chest.  Instead I thought of Vikings and heroic princesses and fell asleep.

I slept well.

I have, in fact, not had much trouble sleeping since I started taking the drugs.  I used to be restless, toss and turn, not be able to shut my brain down enough to go to sleep.  Or if I did I’d wake up in the middle of the night, my heart racing, suddenly panicked and afraid to go back to sleep, afraid to sit up in the dark.

The Klonopin staves off the heart racing panic attacks, day or night. It seems to help with the racing thoughts at night as well, the horror loops of all the bad things my imagination can conjure. But even on the night I haven’t taken the Klonopin, I find I fall asleep easily (for me anyway) and wake more alert and coherent.  The Zoloft does make me feel strange during the day still, but I think maybe it is already helping me sleep at night?

As it happens for the last week or so, the only thing that’s been waking me up at night is Hawthorn coughing, or snoring, or tossing about in bed. And now he’s on the the other side of the house.  So I slept soundly.

The entire Hawthorn situation is distressing and confusing. I feel like every bit of clarification I try to get on what he wants leaves me more mystified. For now I will enjoy my sleep.  I’ll call it healing sleep and revel in it. And as long as he remains tender and comforting when we are together, I will try not fret about any of it needlessly.  But then, isn’t that the whole point of trying to get better? Not fretting needlessly?

Today I called a therapist.  I researched the list my regular doctor gave me and wasn’t happy with any of them or they weren’t on my insurance plan.  I went through the list covered by my insurance and researched female therapists near my home or office.  I came up with a list of 4.  I prioritized them by which I liked best.  I called.  And left a voicemail.

So that was kind of anticlimactic. But I did it.  And I guess I’ll call again tomorrow, or hope for a call back or something.

Talking to people I know makes me very nervous.  Talking to people I do know about my problems, emotions, &c. also makes me nervous.  Perhaps talking to a stranger about this stuff will cause the two to cancel each other out?  I mean a therapist is supposed to help me talk, right?  Not just sit there and watch me nervously pick my cuticles and not talk?  Ugh.  Hopefully she’ll call me back and I won’t have to worry about this part of it for too long.

I think the Zoloft is making me feel way weirder and more disconnected than the Klonopin.  I’m not sure I can even describe it exactly, it’s like being, well, not high exactly, but it definitely is in my body as well as my mind.  I know it takes a little time and I’m going to push through it, but at the moment I definitely feel a little muddled and uncomfortable.  I wonder if the Klonopin will help?  Soon my body will be made of chemicals and my pee will flush out to the ocean and make the little fishes less anxious too.   Bleh.  I’m still not sure how I feel about this whole process.  Dear therapist lady, please call me back, the drugs alone are kind of freaking me out if I think about it too much.

HA!  She called while I was typing this.  I have an appointment in 11 days (it would be sooner, but I am going to be out of town on all of the earlier appointments she had open).

For the last couple years I have been suffering terribly.  In my teens and early 20s I struggled with depression, but managed to mostly control it or overcome it or ignore it. Now, 15 years later, my psychiatric diagnosis is PTSD. A while back I was pulled out of my car at gun point, forced to the ground, threatened and robbed. It was scary, but it wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to me, I wasn’t hurt, I didn’t lose much more than a few hundred dollars and my phone.  The guys who did it where eventually caught committing other crimes and are now in prison.

I didn’t exactly put this out of my mind, but I did my best to move on.  I have since descended into extreme anxiety.  A series of events after the robbery (some caused by, some unrelated) have pushed me down into increasing, continuous panic so much that I’m in actual physical pain from it.  Last week I sought help.  After weeks of psyching (heh) myself up to call a mental health clinic, I finally broke through and did it. Turns out they don’t take my (good) insurance and I can’t afford the regular rates.  Not sure what else to do I called my regular doctor.  She helped set me up to get treatment (both medication and therapy) and agreed to meet with me regularly initially (since I know her and trust her and I have to go out and meet and call a bunch of new people which has become practically impossible for me because of the anxiety).

Here I am going to try and chronicle how I am.  I have always been better at writing down my feelings than talking about them.  I have always been terrible at fitting the pieces of my life together and seeing patterns.  I know I need to be in therapy and talking to someone, but I’m hoping that journalling this daily will help with that too. Or at least telling myself the story of what I happened, who I was, who I am and who I will become.

I started taking Zoloft.  I have been taking Klonopin, periodically, to stave off panic attacks.  I was uncomfortable with it at first, worried I’d feel high or sedated or something, but no, it just makes me feel calm, better able to deal with things like large groups of people (like, oh say, my boyfriend’s family at the holidays).

Because my audience right now is me, I’m not going to try and lay out the back story and the dramatis personæ in my life.  It will perhaps unfold as worry out my own problems.

I know I was once strong, beautiful, creative and a force to be reckoned with. In 2011 I am going to find my way back to being that person.  I am tired of crying.  I am tired of being scared.  I am tired of feeling like my loneliness is whittling away my personality until I am no longer even interesting to myself.