Heatherina

The Darkness Closes In

Disclaimer: This post may be upsetting or unsettling. I wanted to write this to keep my blog honest, so it is a true portrayal of my journey. If you are a member of my family, you may want to think twice about reading this. Everything I’m about to write is being discussed with professionals and will be monitored.

Today the darkness closed in. The storm clouds that have been looming ominously nearby finally rolled in with the force of a hurricane.

My body feels like lead. Sitting up is an effort sometimes beyond my strength. I am exhausted both physically and mentally. I have always been anxious, but now my anxiety is a force to be reckoned with.

When I lived in Buffalo, I used to have terrible trouble walking to class against the winds. They were strong to begin with and something about the architecture of the campus made a mini-wind tunnel that increased the force of the winds. Once, when it was storming, the wind caught under my umbrella and I was blown back onto the top of a car.

That’s how I feel. I’m constantly fighting against the winds of my fear, my paranoia. Normally, when I’m really stressed or anxious, I will take an Ativan and go to sleep. But the darkness has invaded my dreams.

I don’t sleep anymore. When I am asleep, it is a sort of half-sleep. Jesse tells me I talk constantly and frequently whimper. I wake up multiple times a night in the middle of a panic attack. During the day I’ll find myself crying for no reason.

Because I can’t sleep without being terrorized in my dreams, I fall asleep many times during the day, only to wake up in a panic.

So much of it is irrational, and there is a logical part of my brain that tells me that; but the logical side can’t seem to balance the paranoid part.

I need help. I know that. The doctors tell me I may be chemically imbalanced because of the medicines. All I know is I’m not myself, and I’m not in control. All the drive and spirit and determination I once had has been drained from me. I feel like a rag doll…I feel like I have no backbone.

I’m ashamed and guilty because I’ve started to think horrible thoughts. What if I were to just go into my room and swallow that bottle of Oxycontin? Or what if I just took a few extra Xanax with a couple of extra Ativan? Maybe I’d chase it with the vodka that’s in the freezer.

It’s not about suicide. Although I have at times thought that death may be easier on everyone who has to watch me suffer and suffers with me. It’s about making it stop. Stopping the crazy thoughts in my head. Killing the pain- both the physical and emotional pain. And I know how twisted that is. That’s the mentality of an addict. Something I certainly never want to be.

I never wanted it to come to this. I have always been strong, a fighter. And I have certainly been through worse. It’s like I’m a runner who’s hit the wall. I just don’t feel like I can push forward anymore. Thinking about chemo is like looking down the barrel of a gun. I’m just waiting for the bullet to come… waiting for the drugs to start ravaging my body once again.

I hate it. I hate the feeling of the saline in the back of my nose and throat, as if I jumped in the pool without holding my breath. I hate the initial stab of the curved needle into my portacath. I hate the initial cold as my veins open up to allow the drugs to flow through me. I hate how my mind goes fuzzy and I can’t focus or concentrate. I hate the burn of the Procrit as it is injected into the flesh of my arm. And I hate how for the next 4 days afterward. I will be lost in a state of half-consciousness.

Now, on top of chemo, I have 3 CT scans, blood tests, and an MRI to look forward to. I also have to meet with many doctors: surgeons, gi, ob-gyn to make sure I’m on the right track.

I’ve been having new symptoms which worry me: abdominal cramps, headaches after eating, trouble with balance and coordination.

Every new problem is scary. A potential set-back. It was so easy for awhile to forget that I had cancer. I know that sounds crazy, but everything got to be so routine and so normal. Now I have to face it again. I have to face the fact that the cancer may have spread. I have to face the possibility that I need more, stronger drugs. Or possibly a major surgery.

I don’t know if I have the strength. I feel like I’m going crazy. I’m paranoid. I’m anxious. I’m depressed. I’m in such a state of darkness. I thought that going home for awhile would fix everything…renew my courage and determination. But it was just a temporary ray of sunshine through the blackness. The truth is… I was having panic attacks when I was home as well, I just didn’t tell anyone.

I feel like such a disappointment. I’m so ashamed. All I ever hear from people is how inspired they are by my courage and perseverance, and here I am… thinking about overdosing on pills.

I know I need help. I’m not afraid to ask for it. Jesse has been watching me ever since I admitted how badly I was feeling. I think he knew. I think he knew before we went upstate. He’s been hovering over me for awhile now. I just couldn’t admit what was wrong. I’m so embarrassed. This isn’t me. I don’t know who this is, who I’ve become.

Tomorrow we’re discussing our options with the doctors. Maybe I need a change in medications. Maybe I need to start seeing a psychiatrist. I don’t know what the answer is. All I know is that I need light back in my life. I’m overwhelmed by fear and darkness. Thunder and lightning and raging in my head. It’s like I’m caught out in the rain without my umbrella.

Please, if you are reading this, I ask you not to respond. I know it may alarm you and cause concern. I write because this is it. This is part of the journey, part of my struggle. And I think it is a part of everyone’s struggle. You can’t have a hill without a valley, and I’ve just had a landslide.

All I ask for is prayer. All of this… what I’m feeling… it will be sorted out. But I can’t face it. I can’t face all the looks of concern and pity, I don’t want the phone calls where I can hear the fear in your voice. I just need to work this all out. And part of that may mean closing everyone out for awhile.

I need to figure out how to find my way back. I’m longing for the sun to shine again.