A good follow up to the last entry would be:
Well, there's nothing wrong with me.
I had a covid test even though we were quite certain it wasn't. Confirmed. The ct scan showed that there are some nodules in my lungs but nothing that is "bad news," she said. Common in adults, more common in smokers - continue not smoking, and that is something I will do. I haven't even been counting the days this time, and I feel like that's a pretty good sign. It feels like I returned to the three months I was quit, without missing anything. It's pretty easy to stop when you feel like you can't breathe. I am still going to have to deal with the thing where I feel like writing or other serious creative pursuits involve smoking, but that's part of working out the general misconception that writers must be 'mad' in some way. It was fun idea for awhile, but one I wish I hadn't been fed so frequently or eaten from so heavily.
No smoking also means no cannabis for the time being, at least not until things change, and that's probably fine too. I spent most of the year not doing it, I somehow went back in November, which was enjoyable and it helped in November [or I perceived that it did, see above] but if anxiety is the issue, then it's not going to help if I don't know what I'm getting. And I'd have to try things other than smoking. So, goodbye again.
Which leaves me with the kpin when I need emergency help. I talked to my psych yesterday, we updated my 'as needed' to three times a day, but he suggested that I take it three times a day regardless. Bruh I would be asleep all the time. And I'm already lethargic enough. Hopefully the new iron supplement will help with that.
The breathing situation is not as bad as it was. I managed to get up and around to do a few things yesterday to test it out before my phone appointment. I had my first cup of coffee in over a week yesterday (and now I'm having another! whoaaa!), did a few things around the house, tried to agitate myself emotionally. I was affected a little, but again, not as bad or constant.
He said it's entirely possible it was an 'isolated panic event.' Cool. That sounds fun. Basically a low level anxiety attack for three weeks. That seems rad. I'm sure the complete lack of physical activity and self care routines don't help, and I can feel the winter doldrums permeating the dusty corners of the house. But it's an odd thing to think about. I'm familiar with generalized anxiety, the kind that doesn't seem to be attached to anything in particular, but what are these symptoms without feeling anxious? Of course it's the fingertrap, as I like to call it - have trouble breathing, feel anxious about it, have more trouble breathing, be quite sure you are dying, and so on.
Anyway, no fun. But at least it seems to be easing up.
I've been drawing a little. Maybe I'll do some more of that today. Cay and I were discussing romance novels again - I don't read them, but they sell on amzn. I'm not interested in selling anything on amzn, but I am interested in finding some way to bring in some kind of cash flow. This measly stimulus isn't going to do much for me, and I don't foresee myself returning to work anytime soon, given that the continuing plague is not a great place for unappreciated customer service veterans, and that even thinking about work results in an immediate "I have failed at life" meltdown. When this happens, the lovepartner reminds me that these thoughts are symptoms of a capitalism infection, but it doesn't change that I will be thirty-eight next week without any path or "purpose" or anything to show outside of that which I have acquired by virtue of living with a man who has those things. He definitely wouldn't say his job is his purpose, though. And don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for what I have. But you know what I mean. All I have is a pile of half used notebooks and mechanical pencils. I have friends who are very successful in their chosen fields, which have enabled them to have adventures and nice things, and I'm over here like, it's an amazing day if I can force myself to go for a walk. The plight of the former gifted student (except so were those friends).
And again, I am grateful. Not just for the objects and the food and the shelter, but for the love and acceptance and stability. I've been thinking about my last relationship a little in the last couple weeks (I did the math and this began after I started having the anxiety troubles). In my head, I rarely label him as my "ex-husband." Sometimes he's my "ex," most often he's by name, and occasionally I forget we were technically married. I mean, there's no technical about it - we were engaged for a year and there was a wedding, even if three months later I wanted out. Three months after that, I moved out, before we'd hit a year since the wedding. We didn't sign divorce papers until the following year, but that was only because divorces cost money. At least on my end.
I have a lot of baggage about this, I'm sure I've written about it. maybe I haven't since I'm not often specific about things. Even now I'm struggling to put these thoughts down. I don't really want to. Maybe later. But.. his job became his purpose, and I was less-than because I didn't have that figured out, because I wasn't striving for that. He wasn't understanding of my issues, which, to be fair, further developed while we were together. But he didn't have interest in understanding. He didn't want me as I was, except when he could feed off me.
And that's definitely not the relationship I'm in now.
There's more to this, some specific things, but.. ugh, I just don't feel like getting into it. Let's just say I wish there was a way you could one-way block someone (this is for my own protection, I don't care if he looks at me) with like, a time lock. Only let me look every six months or so. I can't help myself from eventually wanting to check up on people. I still want to know about them. To know they're okay. To see what their lives are like. To whatever consequence.
Hey, let's not get maudlin, it's not even noon. The sun is out, the houseplant is smiling, I have had half a cup of coffee without incident, my hair is (too) long and brushed... it can be a fine day.