The Evil Needle Chronicles, part II
Well, now. Sorry about the absence. Let's do a brief recap of the past week and a half...
Day 3: Saturday- I awoke at 8:30 and couldn't go back to sleep, even though I felt like I'd been steamrolled. 3 hours of sleep is fine, I guess. It didn't help that my eyes opened and my brain said "Morning. Needle." After fifteen or so minutes of mental anguish, I managed to do it. Relief was immediate, but very, very short lived. I realized nearly immediately that now that I knew I could do this, I had to. I'd succeeded, and was therefore totally screwed. I was, if possible, even more depressed. Later that night, another fifteen or so minutes of pumping myself up, gathering the courage. Again, I managed to do it. I recapped the needle and just kinda stared at it for a minute. I then threw the dumb thing on the bed and sank to the floor for a good ten-minute sobbing weep. I can't explain what I was feeling, except that one thing permeated the whole stupid ordeal: hopelessness. Depression was thick as I lay in bed again, unable to fall asleep.
Day 4: Sunday- We slept through the alarm and didn't make it to church. I guess not sleeping will do that to you. Andy was starting to wonder...he woke up a couple of times over the past 2 nights to find me very much awake at all hours. Again, I awoke thinking of the dumb needle. We went to Shawne's and met with the realtor at noon. Finally, about 1:00, we started talking about food and I realized that I'd have to eat. Which meant it was needle time. I went into the bedroom because the bathroom was taken. Andy kept calling questions out and I snapped a couple of answers, then finally just yelled "I don't freaking know!" A few seconds later, he popped his head in the room to find me in basket-case mode. I finally fell apart on my poor husband. I cried, I sobbed, I felt hopeless and hated myself all at the same time. I told him I 'don't want to do this anymore' over and over. And I didn't. But five minutes later, in the bathroom and feeling like a druggie, I did. Later that night, I decided I didn't need to eat again that day.
Day 5: Monday- I totally lost my nerve. I don't know. The past couple of times, it hurt a little bit, which was probably due to my shaking hands, complete meltdown method of injection. But regardless, now, on top of all else, I was afraid it was going to hurt. For thirty minutes I tried, and I just couldn't do it. I went outside and found Mom there. I dissolved into tears, meeting my quota for the day, and tried again unsuccessfully before I left. Now I was depressed and self-loathing. True to form, later that night, I tried unsuccessfully again, but my nerve had deserted me. I went to bed completely pissed at myself and still terribly depressed.
Day 6: Tuesday- Had to work today, and couldn't find my stupid needle pen. Don't know where it was--put it on the desk before bed and in the morning it was gone. I really did look for it, but couldn't find it. My husband came home and it was apparently laying in plain sight. Whatever. Either way, no needles today. The depression didn't lift with the absence of the needles, not so long as I knew they still waited. By 6 pm, I just wanted to go home and I wanted my husband. I felt...emotionally unstable. Like everyday life was just a bit too much to handle. And so, of course, at about 6:30, a parakeet escaped and flew into the wall, breaking its neck. It didn't die immediately, and I watched it open and close its beak as blood poured from its mouth. We took it to the docs in our store, and they euthanized it. But not before it suffered, plenty. Me and my emotionally unstable self then sat in the breakroom and cried like a baby. Quota filled.
Day 7: Wednesday- I managed to stick myself before I ever left the house and actually had breakfast. Score for me. I was still depressed, but somewhere during the day, it started to feel less heavy. I started to fight back a little. Did the druggie routine in the bathroom at work, only a minute or so to get the nerve up. All in all, a good day. No crying fits--the first time in nearly a full week I hadn't dissolved into tears at least once.
Days 8-12: Thursday- Monday - It got steadily better. I had some nerve troubles here and there, and misjudged on Sunday, missing a dose. But it's better. Not good, but better.
Day 13: Tuesday- Today. I had only a few moments' hesitation with both injections today. I can sleep again. I started writing my book again as an outlet. I'm not depressed for most of the day anymore, though there's still a heavy fog weighing down on me. Maybe it's just the time of year, though. I haven't cried in a week. Yay for me.
See? I tried, just like I said I would. And, who'd have thunk it, but I pulled it off. I'm not sure if that's good or not, seeing as how now I'm stuck doing it. But...I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I hadn't tried. I just hope they don't come up with a medication that has to do with juggling spiders or something...
Day 3: Saturday- I awoke at 8:30 and couldn't go back to sleep, even though I felt like I'd been steamrolled. 3 hours of sleep is fine, I guess. It didn't help that my eyes opened and my brain said "Morning. Needle." After fifteen or so minutes of mental anguish, I managed to do it. Relief was immediate, but very, very short lived. I realized nearly immediately that now that I knew I could do this, I had to. I'd succeeded, and was therefore totally screwed. I was, if possible, even more depressed. Later that night, another fifteen or so minutes of pumping myself up, gathering the courage. Again, I managed to do it. I recapped the needle and just kinda stared at it for a minute. I then threw the dumb thing on the bed and sank to the floor for a good ten-minute sobbing weep. I can't explain what I was feeling, except that one thing permeated the whole stupid ordeal: hopelessness. Depression was thick as I lay in bed again, unable to fall asleep.
Day 4: Sunday- We slept through the alarm and didn't make it to church. I guess not sleeping will do that to you. Andy was starting to wonder...he woke up a couple of times over the past 2 nights to find me very much awake at all hours. Again, I awoke thinking of the dumb needle. We went to Shawne's and met with the realtor at noon. Finally, about 1:00, we started talking about food and I realized that I'd have to eat. Which meant it was needle time. I went into the bedroom because the bathroom was taken. Andy kept calling questions out and I snapped a couple of answers, then finally just yelled "I don't freaking know!" A few seconds later, he popped his head in the room to find me in basket-case mode. I finally fell apart on my poor husband. I cried, I sobbed, I felt hopeless and hated myself all at the same time. I told him I 'don't want to do this anymore' over and over. And I didn't. But five minutes later, in the bathroom and feeling like a druggie, I did. Later that night, I decided I didn't need to eat again that day.
Day 5: Monday- I totally lost my nerve. I don't know. The past couple of times, it hurt a little bit, which was probably due to my shaking hands, complete meltdown method of injection. But regardless, now, on top of all else, I was afraid it was going to hurt. For thirty minutes I tried, and I just couldn't do it. I went outside and found Mom there. I dissolved into tears, meeting my quota for the day, and tried again unsuccessfully before I left. Now I was depressed and self-loathing. True to form, later that night, I tried unsuccessfully again, but my nerve had deserted me. I went to bed completely pissed at myself and still terribly depressed.
Day 6: Tuesday- Had to work today, and couldn't find my stupid needle pen. Don't know where it was--put it on the desk before bed and in the morning it was gone. I really did look for it, but couldn't find it. My husband came home and it was apparently laying in plain sight. Whatever. Either way, no needles today. The depression didn't lift with the absence of the needles, not so long as I knew they still waited. By 6 pm, I just wanted to go home and I wanted my husband. I felt...emotionally unstable. Like everyday life was just a bit too much to handle. And so, of course, at about 6:30, a parakeet escaped and flew into the wall, breaking its neck. It didn't die immediately, and I watched it open and close its beak as blood poured from its mouth. We took it to the docs in our store, and they euthanized it. But not before it suffered, plenty. Me and my emotionally unstable self then sat in the breakroom and cried like a baby. Quota filled.
Day 7: Wednesday- I managed to stick myself before I ever left the house and actually had breakfast. Score for me. I was still depressed, but somewhere during the day, it started to feel less heavy. I started to fight back a little. Did the druggie routine in the bathroom at work, only a minute or so to get the nerve up. All in all, a good day. No crying fits--the first time in nearly a full week I hadn't dissolved into tears at least once.
Days 8-12: Thursday- Monday - It got steadily better. I had some nerve troubles here and there, and misjudged on Sunday, missing a dose. But it's better. Not good, but better.
Day 13: Tuesday- Today. I had only a few moments' hesitation with both injections today. I can sleep again. I started writing my book again as an outlet. I'm not depressed for most of the day anymore, though there's still a heavy fog weighing down on me. Maybe it's just the time of year, though. I haven't cried in a week. Yay for me.
See? I tried, just like I said I would. And, who'd have thunk it, but I pulled it off. I'm not sure if that's good or not, seeing as how now I'm stuck doing it. But...I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I hadn't tried. I just hope they don't come up with a medication that has to do with juggling spiders or something...
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