My readership drops when I post awards. I don’t mind. If I cared about readership, I’d need to do all sorts of things that aren’t authentic to me. Like almost swearing — dam that $h!t is lame.
People who never swear are not to be trusted. Walkin around sayin, “Golly Gee Willikers!” and whatnot. So offensive!
All this award business kept me busy when I could have been sitting around crying over my facial deformity or combating my sudden desire to Google whether the herpes on my lips can become herpes of my eyes, and wondering about why they have that in so many eye commercials, and why I’ve yet to know anyone who was afflicted, and holy crap, do those infected know they’re infected? and and and…mulling over whether my probiotics will arrive before the antibiotic side effects really hop to.
I got to worry about all those things on Tuesday night. You know, instead of sleeping.
Tip of the iceberg for how freaked out sufferers of anxiety disorder get when we’re actually sick.
It doesn’t matter what we’re sick with. My mental state when dealing with a disease that can actually kill me was not any worse than my mental state when I tore a hangnail, and vice versa.
So sitting on the sofa, fetching links and thinking about how much I love my WordPress community was way, way, way better than hours spent worrying.
By the by, does anyone know what to do if you don’t close your antibiotic bottle all the way, not because you’re lazy, but because you have arthritis, and then the kitten knocks the bottle over, spills two days of your shiny blue pills, and has a jolly good time chasing them all over the floor and gnawing on them, to the point where they are far too dirty and weird looking to put into your mouth? Anyone?
The greatest irony of my life was being prescribed anti-anxiety medication and then getting home with the Ativan and realizing I was afraid to take the pills.
Anxiety sufferers aren’t big on meds. We hate medication. We don’t want to take pills, and we especially do not want to take new pills. Even those of us who aren’t actually physically sensitive to meds, although, a lot of us are sensitive to meds, because we’re sensitive to everything, feel trepidation and concern over new medication of any kind, for anything.
Also, we are the people who check that the description of the medication on the label matches the physicality of the pills inside. And we read the attached pamphlets. And we keep the tops of those pamphlets in case anything goes wrong.
For too many of us, anything has gone wrong. All it takes is the one medication we had to take to learn that we cannot take it. I have had EIGHT such experiences.
I also make a list of when I’m taking my medication, as well as lists for when I give my kids theirs. This is really important to me. I can’t handle that whole thing about “Did I take the blue pill this morning?” or “What happens if I accidentally take two instead of one?” and “Did I give her the Motrin before dinner?” Oh, I cannot bear it.
Apparently this has worn off on The Mister, so when he gave me Tylenol Sunday at 4am, he saw fit to add it to my list, and noted my temperature as well.
I am feeling a great deal better. The lymph node swelling has gone down, but more importantly, it doesn’t hurt. As for the cold sore, I do look human now. With the right shade of lipstick, carefully applied, I could appear to be myself from about 6 feet away.
I’ve actually had a really good week, the highlights of which I hope to write about soon, but even happy stress is stress. That’s something people with anxiety disorder do not forget, so we can try to ruin our own fun. If you wanna know who the anxiety sufferers are, we’re the ones weeping with joy over things that merely make other people smile.
I wonder if you can relate to any of this, but then, I don’t write for readership.