What happened blindsided me. I wasn't expecting anything like it to occur due to the plan inside my brain planted by prior doctors.
A couple of weeks prior to my Dr K appointment, I began experiencing symptoms that reminded me of those I had years ago. It also brought my attention, no matter how I lived this past Summer, to the fact that I am indeed still ill. I was devastated, heartbroken, as I had truly dispatched the ill mentality. I felt so alone, though this period may have softened the blow of what was to come.
I was expecting another simple three month round of antibiotics. I feared that the Lyme had come back due to lack of medical wrangling. The anxiety set in again at once without seam. The pain in my body seeped into everything I did, as if my blood were tainted a sinister black. I felt the work, the pain that I went through to kill was now ejected outwards. It was nothing.
I have hives all over my body, Rizol reducing them for the next swell. After telling Dr K about them, I slid onto the AART table. He tested me for allergies, and one was undeniable: I am now allergic to Oxycodone. I have been on the maximum dosage for the past five years under my psychiatrist's supervision. The pain in my body, that which I considered Lyme, was due to the drug's waning ability to protect me from it. The acne, hives, rashes, they are all from this addiction. In fact, the drug is causing the pain it will then relieve. I guess that's what dependency is.
I was in utter shock, knowing that I not only had to go on without the pain killers, but also go through a grueling detox possibly at a clinic in a different state. Of course, I will be in an altered state anyway.
I'm so terrified. I've been in quiet isolation for the past five days, processing, eating, organizing, crying. This isn't slight. I think the worst part of it is that I could be put back on that couch, unable to do anything, living a half life. What about Christmas? Thanksgiving in Houston? Our trip to Hawaii? Tickets to see Lady Gaga? There are the evens and then there are the abilities- to drive, to direct the scene I am working on, to take a class, to be able to dictate my progression in any way. I'm sick of being sick. I'm tired of watching my youth leave me as if I were fading life like breath. This illness has squandered my freedom- not the freedom itself but the capacity for it. Torture.
What am I to expect? I want to reduce the dosage as soon as I can, though I want to wait until January after the aforementioned events have occurred. I will see Gaga, I will see the Hawaiian sun and drink guava. I have to. Its the only way I can move forward with this.
I know I will come through. I know myself in that capacity. I am strong and tough and a damn good writer. If I can write my own belief set, I can write my own path.