One day to do the laundry. One day to shower. One day to twist my hair. And then, on the fourth day, she went to Target.
Afterwards, my sister called me but I couldn't talk. Somewhere between the beginning of a sentence and the end, I'd get lost. Even short sentences that only contained two or three ideas. I promised to call her back later with more coherent thoughts.
At my neurology appointment, I tried to convey all that had gone wrong since January, a time when I still had the wherewithal to think about things like painting my room and rehabbing the dresser I'd bought at the Salvation Army. When I'd still had ambitious thoughts like "moving out."
At my appointment, I felt terrible having been upright for so long. My heart had that squiggly feeling it gets around 115 mark. I couldn't shake the feeling that my neuro was more enamored with his new pet theory of EDS as mitochondrial disease to notice the fact that I had gone downhill fast in a matter of months despite having done everything asked and remaining physically active.
The neuro wanted me to try antidepressants but I don't want to. Not because I think he's implying that my problems are all in my head, but because they make me crazy and always have. Worse yet, it's never an immediate reaction. It's slow, as the drug builds up in my system. At first things seem a little brighter, outlines sharper. They hold my attention longer and seem significant in ways I can't explain. And then I start seeing things that aren't there.
I have no desire to add these kind of symptoms to the ones I'm currently feeling. Especially when people tend to throw more psych drugs into the mix rather than withdrawing the offending one and that just makes things worse.
I'll tell you all about my sensitivity to antidepressants and how I learned about it someday when I'm feeling jollier.
So, I'm not taking them. Period. The bad thing is no alternative were presented, so I went home feeling a little defeated, hoping that if nothing got worse I might figure out how to manage in this state.
And then, even in two weeks, things got worse. I've always had trouble with brain fog, but I've never not been able to talk. The most I can manage driving is 30 minutes, maybe 45 and I wouldn't feel comfortable pushing it beyond that. Even then, my reaction times are slower, so I try to keep to the city streets.
In a city that sprawls as much as Cleveland it's a nightmare. Long days spent at home, trapped in the house by the heat make me crazy. I hate stupid tv (although I do have my pet shows) so I read news instead, but then that gets too upsetting. I want to at least pace away my irritation but I'm too exhausted, too light-headed. I'm so weak, the house seems huge. I feel like I'm under house arrest. All I need is one of those ankle monitors.