When All Else Fails…

Tell the truth. It’s something I tell myself about the things I write. Can’t be clever, or cute, or topical today? Then just be authentic. Tell the truth about something, and let it be enough. I’ve been surprised, sometimes, by what eloquence emerges or where it takes me.

Truth: I’m sick. Sicker than I’ve been in a long time. Dangerously depressed, physically ill in ways that are making it much worse, and apparently bent on my own destruction. The slow slide of the past year is accelerating, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop it. I fled a recovery convention early two weeks ago, unable to tolerate the crowds and unable to shed my shame long enough to celebrate still being clean.

Truth: I stopped taking my meds for nearly two weeks and now have to titrate the dose up again.

Today I had another medical appointment. I got some more of my blood work back, and confirmed that the thyroid issues are getting worse and not better. My blood sugars are acting up, thanks to the weight gain

(insert every gut-clenching description of shame and frustration I’ve ever written here)

and I need to monitor them and take a little medicine for them again. As for the hormones, apparently my bipolar meds are interfering with the treatment.

I am at last being referred to an endocrinologist, but it will most likely be a slow process. I am being advised that the best, most disciplined eating plan I can carry out should not be expected to do more than (hopefully) keep me from gaining any more.

My meds are covered for another six weeks or so…time is running out to find a psychiatrist who takes my insurance and is willing to accept a new patient.

Meanwhile, life is happening to my loved ones and they need me. They need me to love them, and help them, and be capable of thinking.

Truth: I would rather die than fail them. The trouble with this sentiment is that dying would be failing them.

Truth: The early posts on this site annoy me now, because they were written by a woman making strides forward in her recovery. As I fear sliding back in time, I become the audience she is trying to reach. I resent her for having hope I don’t, even as I wonder how I can become more like her. I wouldn’t give up what I have learned, but I don’t want to believe I will never feel so much grace again.

I am ill enough not to be able to come up with the longer pieces I enjoy posting on this site; attempts tend to peter out after a couple of hundred words. I am giving myself permission to post shorter things until I improve.

So, goodbye for now. Only for now. I have not given up.

3 responses to “When All Else Fails…

  1. Hang in there girl. I have had many setbacks and slides but knowing it’s happening is step one. Baby steps back. Guilt and condemnation are emotions that can be brought into submission. I also suffer in those areas and have to forcefully, out loud scream at myself until I can overcome them. I believe in you.

  2. Phoenix @ shadowashspirtflame.wordpress.com

    This is all a part of it too and you ARE making strides by coming here to this space and being so honest it hurts. It might soundn strange, but even despair and hopelessness from time to time is a part of this journey because it is the getting back up and the learning how to hope again, that makes us stronger and stronger.
    I’m here and still reading everything.

  3. Recovery, as you no doubt know, is not linear. Setbacks are normal. I wish you the best at getting a new psychiatrist, seeing an excellent endocrinologist, and getting back on meds (especially getting back on your meds).

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