Sunday, August 16, 2009

Wanting To Be Electric

Because if I were I could simply plug in to a wall outlet and recharge. My little battery percentage status would blink 100% when I was ready and I would receive equally effective and accurate warning when my levels approached dangerously low. Instead of this highly controlled measurement system I operate in a world of "that was the third night in a row I hardly slept" and "what can someone make for dinner from panchetta, mustard, two slices of bread, and a carrot, because said person hasn't had time to go to the grocery store in a well over a week?" And my current favorite "acquiring deep, dark bruises when a the fluffy cat laid on your leg for 15 minutes. OMG WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING TO MY BODY. I think I might be DYING."

(art is titled "a pile of bruises" and be found here)

Yeah, it is time to attend to my health again. And a sanity check in with a therapist probably wouldn't hurt. And a spa day. In the south of France. Alright, spas and transcontinental travel is not so much a realistic option, but I did go the the GNC section of Rite-Aid today and stock up on my ulcer prevention meds, Malox, multi-vitamins, omega-3 fish oil pills. (Confession, I actually like the "tuna burps" those things give you. No one around me does, but I do.) I have a habit of starting medication and supplements and sticking with it for as long as it takes me to get back to well. After the anemia fades and the stomach cramps are gone I invariably get lax in my approach to healthy regimens and ho-ho's and pickles for lunch and dinner seems totally okay.

Ummm, yeah that sounded so good I sorta went cross-eyed. I'm back now.

It always seems like recharging, attending to personal health, caring for your own person enough to actually treat it like a temple (or at the very least a nice museum or theater) should not be so dang hard. Why is it that I will have to schedule on my calendar what days I will go for a walk/run/die/sweat-fest and finally call the doctor to ask about the bruises, exema, and lethargy after saying I will do it tomorrow everyday for the last month? It would be in my best interest to take care of myself, but it is just one more damn thing I have to do. Hell, most days I come home from work so exhausted that I cannot think past getting my pants off of my being and having a glass of wine while I let my glazed-over eyes flit through the comments on Jezebel and Awkward Family Photos. Adult responsibilities can pretty much suck it as far as I am concerned at that point in the day.

The short-term effect is great. I get a little buzz before dinner, don't have to think too hard for 45 minutes and forget about the t0-do list. The long-term effects can really bite you in the ass though, huh? Laundry piles up to frightening proportions, you end up with more of a tolerance for wine than a gal your size should have and for me the anxiety kicks in at full blast, often in the middle of the night. Since I have been off pretty much all pharmaceuticals for 8 months now I don't have the "oh, I'll just pop a sedative and coast through the hellish landscape of panic attacks" option anymore. I keep some Ativan around just in case I really start to go sideways, but ideally I have been able to address the root causes and thus engage in preventative measures against those very moments. Until I lose focus and forget to keep apace with getting my shit taken care of.

It is no fun to be reminded that for as much of a blast as it is to work-hard, play-hard it is simply not an equation that is compatible to my system for long. Wishing I could leech energy from some easily accessible source and then just keep truckin' along ends up being kind of a lame desire after a bit of consideration. Perhaps if I put in the effort now to discover some of those recharging aspects within me I won't have to keep wishing and hoping for some saving grace from places outside of me. And I like the idea of that better than being an appliance any day.

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