All right, might as well get this done.
So, yesterday, I felt awful.
Like I did in “There can be no doubt” in “Not so good” on Friday, but a whole lot worse.
My bad appetite turned into feeling like something died in my stomach, and it wasn’t happy about it. And progressed from there.
I got a sinus headache that made my skull ring like a church bell, and no amount of sinus draining seemed to make any difference.
My muscles ached all over too.
I had that weird sucking feeling in my bladder, too. Still do.
But the most important symptom was that I was having trouble breathing. Which is not an easy subject for me to handle. Jesus, I am freaking out just thinking about it.
Which is ironic because it might have turned out to be mostly a panic attack. Whatever.
Anyhow, all this got worse and worse till I decided it was time to go to the ER. I grabbed my meds and some books and such, and Julian was nice enough to drive me there.
Got admitted. Then waited. And waited. By the time an hour and a half rolled passed, i was out of patience and starting to wonder what the hell was going on when I kept seeing people who arrived after me be admittedly.
So by two hours, I was pestering harassing the triage nurse demanding answers. She said she couldn’t admit me yet because they didn’t have a bed,
Or at least, that’s what I figured out she meant later, when I calmed down. It was a perfectly reasonable reasons for delay but I was in way too much pain to be reasonable about my needs.
And while I feel bad about menacing that poor nurse for no good reason, I am also proud of myself for sticking up for myself for once. And in realtime, even.
Anyhow, got fully admitted. Put on the gown, laid there naked, had a heck of a lot of blood taken, various other tests
Including a Covid test. Which was waaaaaay more painful than I thought. I mean, I knew it was a big Q-Tip up the nose – I had picked that up from pop culture.
But holy frick did it hurt, especially the last inch or so.
At least it was brief. Crunch, Done.
And luckily I have Hospital Mode, where I doze at around 80 percent sleep most of the time. Makes the time pass and lets me rest while leaving me awake enough to wake up when someone needs me,
After all the poking and prodding and consulting with my doctor, it was determined that I had a bladder infection. Looking back, I think a lot of the problems were caused by the blood sugar crash that going so long without eating enough caused.
I’m too tired to rephrase that better.
I got home from the ER and just the effort of walking from the cab to the apartment damned near kill me, and I felt completely miserable. Absolutely wrecked.
And it just got worse and worse and I sat there glowering at the world because I had just spend 9.5 hours in the ER and I came back feeling worse than before.
Luckily, taking two extremely labour intensive poops made things way better. Turned out I was very constipated. Probably also from not eating enough.
Once I had a little appetite, I ate a quick meal. Too quick – I ended up bunged up again, and had to stay up till I figured out how to unbung again.
Turns out it was Tylenol. Gave me enough pain relief to sleep. Not what I expected.
Now I need more sleep. This will probably take more Tylenol. Over the next few days I Will have ot build myself back to being somewhat healthy.
Oh, and get the antibiotics for my bladder infection.
More after the break.
Where did that come from?
I have been trying to read a book called The Self Confidence Workbook.
Trying for a while now, in fact. And in theory there should be no problem,
I have the book. I can read. I have plenty of time.
But there is this nagging issue that holds me back : it makes me explode with rage.
Routinely, regularly, and for no sane reason.
It reminds me of what happened when I tried to join and participate in MyDepressionTeam.com, a sort of specialized social media site where people who suffer from depression can talk about their problems and offer each other support.
Sounded good to me. In fact it seemed like the sort of thing I could benefit from.
But then again, so did group therapy.
Instead, when I went to write or comment, this incredible rage that burned like a stellar remnant exploded in and made me want to scream and rant and spit in people’s faces.
This came as a shock. I had no idea I had that in me.
I’m going to try to give it voice :
“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you, you dull, driveling, ridiculous people! Fuck you and your banal Pollyanna bullshit advice and your dull bovine support and your meaninglessly placid reassurances that you ‘understand’. Because ya don’t, you hear me? Ya don’t! Ya don’t understand a god damned thing. And you certainly understand me. And if you can’t even understand me, how the fuck can you help me? Spoiler alert : you can’t. So just leave me the fuck alone instead. I’d rather be alone than misunderstood. ”
That proved fertile. Turns out the real problem is the teenaged classic, “nobody understands me”, raised to the power of excess IQ.
It’s really lonely at the top of the IQ chart. Nobody understands you, and if you try to get help, you get resentment and jealousy instead because people can’t look past their envy long enough to see your humanity.
I’ve been metaphorically locked in this lonely capacious skull of mine for a very long time. I don’t even know if it is possible for me to let alone in.
No wonder so many people in my position become raging elitist assholes. It’s a way of dealing with all that frustrated rage.
I’m starting to wonder if they have the right idea.
I mean, at least some of them seem to be happy. \
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow,