I’m about to make a list that will probably horrify some of you, but THIS is the extent to which I have insomnia – here are the things I’ve taken tonight. I’m not wide awake, but I’m “end of day” tired, instead of “go to sleep” tired. This will give you some idea as to why my posts have been few and far between as far as good content goes, as well.
- 150mg diphenhydramine (as sleep aid, generic)
- 1000mg acetaminophen with 50mg more of diphenhydramine (in the form of Tylenol PM)
- 20mg cyclobenzaprine
- 700mg carisoprodol
- 100mg tramadol
- 10mg Ativan
There was a time in my life where half of an Ambien would make me goofy and dopey and knock my ass out.
Two Tylenol PM pills were enough to make me groggy the next morning, to the point where if it was past 11pm, I just wouldn’t take it at all.
The above list is my complaint about fibromyalgia. I don’t need any of these drugs to survive, so I’m still technically in my realm of “non-suicidal about amount of medication.” (If you missed that, here it is again: If I have to take 6 or more pills in order to live, I consider it high time for me to just shuffle off the mortal coil.)
I can’t tell what medication is doing what, but they’re all supposedly a major cause of drowsiness. I mean, hell – that’s why I take them. Thus far, 3 hours later, I’m reminded of how I used to feel after taking ONE Tylenol PM.
I’m nervous, pissed, and nearing desperation for a good night of sleep. That’s what the Ativan is for, BTW – my anxiety.
Fibro sucks. I’ll be the first to say that life is far from perfect right now, but I have people around me who care for me, so my discomfort is purely physical in that respect.
If I sit in one position for too long, my joints freeze. I haven’t been able to feel the soles of my feet touching a floor or other surface in well over a month. I have absolutely no internal temperature control (this is particularly fun when you’re married to a human heater). I can’t hold a coherent conversation because I’m either too tired to care, or I honestly can’t think of anything to say.
There aren’t many things that make me happy right now, and of course it’s worrying JB, but I don’t know what to tell him, except that he has my word that I’m not going to hurt myself or anything. And I’m not. At least, not intentionally.
The fact is, however, that the levels of medication that I’m taking at night just to be able to grab a few hours’ sleep might kill me.
There’s a very fine line between “desperation” and “addiction,” and I don’t want to go down that road.
I honestly have no idea what else to do. My doctor’s been great, but he can only do so much. JB offers moral support, and that’s important, but again, he doesn’t know all that’s going on, and I don’t know how to explain it to him, so there’s a lot of frustration in the house.
How did this progress so quickly? How did I go, in the space of a year, from a moderately healthy (though slightly lazy) woman to this mess I am now?
A lot has happened since my diagnosis and subsequent drug roulette, but other folks get through the things I’ve dealt with, and worse, with little to no real problem.
I’ve been borrowing spoons* for weeks now…I’ve built up an incredible amount of sleep debt in the process.
Now with this medication switch, the stress on my body matches the strain on my emotions, and I feel literally paralyzed sometimes because I have to decide whether to take a shower that day. Shower = sapped energy, but clean. No shower = energy to do something else, but stinky.
Do I have the energy to fix something relatively healthy for lunch, or am I just going to have to pour myself a bowl of cereal?
How many naps can I get away with in the middle of the day without people thinking I’ve lost my mind or died?
Will putting the massive pile of laundry away do me any good, or should I just leave it there, since I’m going to have to drag it out of the closet, anyway?
If I wear my slip-on shoes that are worn to bits, am I sure that I won’t have to do much in the way of walking that day? Or should I choose the thicke-soled shoes with the pads inn them, just in case, even though they don’t match anything I own and make me look like I have cartoon feet?
Is that REALLY a zit, or is it one of the weird blister/cysts I get on occasion? Will it be gone in a couple of days, or will it linger for weeks? Why the hell is it on my chin? Is there one coming up on my finger? Seriously?
Will my fingernails ever just be flesh-colored again?
If I wear this Medical ID bracelet, will I look like a tool, or is it justified because I’m so sleep-deprived that anything could happen?
Do my in-laws think I’m just lazy?
Does my husband regret marrying me?
How am I supposed to make up all of the work I missed from being sick? Is that going to potentially ruin my last semester of college? Will anyone care?
Will this self-loathing and disgust at my own body’s lack of ability to complete simple tasks EVER end?
Will I ever be able to make a proper fist again?
Yes, this is the shit I worry about. You never realize how much you take for granted – things like spreading peanut butter on bread – until you can’t do it any more.
You want to know how I am? Let’s just say I’m not optimistic at the moment.
Also? I have cramps, and I don’t care how good a mood I’m in beforehand, a cramp can turn my whole day into sour grapes in a matter of seconds.
Naturally, because of this bad mood, I decided to watch Intervention, to remind myself that there are people out there who are much worse off than I am. Unfortunately, one of the stories hit a little close to home.
I have some work to do. If you’ll excuse me, I may check back in, but seeing as how I expect many of my future entries to be of this same tone (and it’s annoying me just to type it, even though they’re my thoughts), it’s not worth it to waste either my time or the time of my readers with that bullshit.
*(The post I was hoping to link for that story is not available at this time, but “spoons” are an analogy for energy and ability to carry out day-to-day tasks when you have a chronic illness.)