This is before he gleefully forced me to drink a medicine cup full of Buckley's cough syrup. For those of you not familiar with this brand of Canadian cough syrup, I can only describe the taste as mentholated sperm.
Yep. Spunk with camphor.
The taste is so bad that as you are swallowing it, you reflect on the foulest blow job you have ever given and think "Well, at least it wasn't menthol tasting too."
In a show of confidence, Terrance also lay a bucket next to my throne of disease. This is not, for the record, my throne of lies - which smells like beef and cheese.
I've been sick for a couple of days. It wasn't until my coughing reached violent gagging that Terrance was prompted to look up and say "Wow. You are sick."
And of course, I am on the third week of the new depression medication.
After deciding it made me fall back to sleep within 2 hours of my taking it, we swapped it to night time. This has helped with the passing back out at 10:30 a.m. - or the "Hi, my name is Dawn and I am not a narcoleptic, but I play one in real life" syndrome.
The shingles broke out too. A little added "HA-HA" from my body's immune system to me.
So I have acquiesced and decided to go back to therapy. Real Therapy. The therapy I have been avoiding for nigh unto two years.
Physician, Heal Thyself! you may all be shouting at me. I know. You can play hella phone tag for two years, if you work hard enough at it -and I am, for the record, an expert Dodger. Artful, if you will.
The last time I had this kind of collapse of physical health? The end of the manic episode of 2006-2007. Before that? My first diagnosis of the clinical depression with panic attacks.
My body, in a last show of desperation, has broken. It think it figures if this doesn't at least flag me off to the side of the road, nothing will.
So Ok. There are lots of monsters that have been pushed into my closet for the past two years that are howling to get out. Rather than to pretend to not hear them anymore, it is time that I invite them out to smite them, one by one.
It's not going to be pretty.
2 Baleful Regards:
I wish you well in your therapy course. It does suck, but it's worth it in the end.
An aside, I call Buckley's Koala jizz. Eucalyptus flavored cum. mmmm.
hope you feel better; sometimes it's the only way we'll face things head on once all other avenues of avoidance have well worked quite well
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