a little c

because I refuse to give it a big one

home is where the ambien is

Posted by wendy on 2010/12/17

I just had a 20 minute breakdown/panic attack laying in bed next to my mom.  Silently, so as not to wake her, because she worries about me enough as it is and I don’t want to add to her pain tonight.  So, yeah.   I laid there and thought about my life and everything that has happened in the last week–well the last month, really.  And I realized that a really big part of me needs to be home because I’m next to Pip and in my own bed, but I also know I won’t sleep during the coming months without an ambien.  That’s a really depressing realization, I think.  Percocet for pain and xanax for panic and ambien for sleep and zoloft for coping.  I’m a living, breathing informercial for the spammers of the world.

I lay in the dark and thought about losing my job and knowing that the job I have now isn’t anything I can depend on–hell, I can’t even get them to pay me on a regular basis, and the supplemental job I have is good so far, but I don’t know that it will last and I have all these medical bills coming up and insurance that must be paid and taxes and I am so afraid of losing everything.  It’s amazing how quickly it can all slip through your fingers.  And, some people are smart and have some kind of safety net for this stuff.  I really didn’t.  And, we can all say that there is no way I could have planned for the events of the past month, but I STILL feel like a failure.   I had such plans for my future and it’s all falling apart around me.  I’m scared of dying, and I know that I am only Stage II, but they had to remove all my lymph nodes, which means there’s more to this than what was in my breast and I lay awake and I think about what can be.  I can’t seem to focus on what IS, because I don’t know what IS for me right now and I’m just full of dread that it’s not good news.  When you get cancer, you have people who love to tell you stories about people they knew that had cancer and made it and then every once in a while someone drops a “and then it came back and she died” and that’s my life now.  What if it comes back?  What if it’s already too late?  it’s bit crap at the moment, but I love my life and  I don’t want it to end.  I want to grow old with the man I love and I want to see Aaron fall in love and get married and I want to meet my grandchildren and great-grandchilden, because I want to live a really long time.  I make deals with God all the time now and I cry and I rage and I beg and I don’t know if any of it makes a difference.   I know this is making me examine my faith, and I am glad I still find that I can talk to God, even though I’m out of practice and most of it is pleading for things that I don’t know if I deserve and maybe that’s what’s wrong.  I feel like I’m being punished.  Maybe this is punishment for the choices I’ve made, because I admit I’ve done some less than stellar things in my lifetime.  And, in the light of day, when I feel rational and more in control of my emotions, I know that’s essentially bullshit.  I don’t believe God is punishing me.  I really am one of those happy hippie chicks who thinks God loves us all.  But, bad things happen to good people all the time and bad things happen to bad people and vice versa and we all have moments in our lives that could place us into either category, but hopefully, when you tally it all up in the end, the good column is a little bigger.  Late at night, when I’m trying to sleep, though?  Rational thought is gone and all that’s left is fear.  And, I am so afraid.

I want to be brave for everyone, but as this progresses and it feels like my news gets worse and worse, I don’t know how much longer I can be.  It’s only week 1 of my fight and I’m in pain and I’m tired and sore and panicky and this is just the first week.  My doctor said this is my life for the next year.  It’s so depressing to think that THIS is my life.  Pain and narcotics.

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