…That I was preparing a bathtub full of chocolate for my husband but the mafia kept attacking us. Quite frustrating.
Today has been…not a good day. Not mafia-attack kind of bad, precisely, but not great all the same. I’ve been carefully weaning myself off of the Luvox this week (the Stealth Luvox, that has yet to do anything but occasionally leap out at me from around corners in a most unhelpful way). My psychiatrist suggested that I cut the dosage in half for a week, and that should do it. I almost laughed at him.
So I broke out my pill cutter and started carefully scraping the edges off of pills that evening, and have them all carefully tucked away in day-by-day containers now, from the slightly abraded to the tiny sliver that’s currently slotted to be my last dose. Body appears to still be noticing the change, though. Only emotional symptoms rather than physical so far. That’s good, I guess. Or it would be if I could stop being BAT SHIT F*ING CRAZY long enough to notice.
This week was hard. I had recognized that it was hard. I had wondered if perhaps it was partly the changing doses rearing their ugly heads. They tend to do that when my dose goes down (Or up…. Or stays the same…). At any rate, when I uncurled from the couch this afternoon, half-naked, still sobbing, and miserable seemingly beyond repair at realizing that we have too many errands to do this weekend, I began to think that perhaps, just perhaps, there was some merit to this “dosage change” theory. My poor husband put on the music I’ve been liking lately, and patted me helplessly, and reassured me in ways that may as well have been Yiddish at the time, and tried not to look at me like my head was exploding. Which it may have been. A little.
It’s an odd sensation to recognize perfectly through it all that the whole thing MAKES NO SENSE, and that I’m inconsolable for entirely chemical reasons. Still, hurts like hell at the time. Even the sunlight made me cry. What the heck is that about??
Ride it out, girl. Just ride it out. At least I know this isn’t me.
But so help me, if the mafia bothers me today, they are going to regret it.