Sigh. I even hesitate to write tonight. It's been a very trying week. It's gone from bad to worse and I am hanging on by a thread. I'm going to make it though. I am. If anything, I am a survivor. My head is not okay, my body is not okay, my emotions are totally out of whack, and I'm just plain tired.
I'm doing all the right things. I keep telling myself that. This is February's meltdown come May. And it feels way more extreme than any meltdown I have experienced since I got sober. I've had some really hard times in sobriety, but this one? It's winning. And I don't want it to win.
I am not going into detail, but Saturday, I had to go to the ER and I've since been diagnosed with peri-menopause. At 38. I know that my drinking messed up my hormones. Bad. I've had night sweats and hot flashes since my late 20s. The "feel-good" hormones in my brain have been broken for a long, long time. I take antidepressants reluctantly, but I do. Because if I have another major depressive episode, I know that I will drink again. And to drink is to die for me. So, I do what I am told and swallow those little pink pills every morning, hoping for the best.
But the early menopause thing? I googled it. And everything on the Internet is true, right? Ha! I lost all hope of a baby. I went down that black hole of regret and shame. I've been praying (whatever praying is for me anymore) that The Universe would see fit to make me a mother, with the caveat that The Universe knows what it is doing and should it NOT see fit, that I would gain the necessary acceptance to move on and foster new dreams. But in my heart? I didn't want the caveat and I didn't mean it. I don't mean it. Not one bit.
But now? My body is revolting. And I have to sincerely come to terms with the fact that it may never happen. And it's killing me inside. I have been urged by Carolyn to call my psychiatrist for months now. And today was the day. Last night's pain and confusion scared me enough to take action.
This is not going away. And when the nurse started to question me, I lost it. Totally lost it. She asked me what was going on and I spilled it. Cowgirl's divorce and not seeing the munchkins anymore. I love my new job and I don't actively go home and worry about clients, but the days someone breaks down in my office? I fall apart later because I relate. The Jason look-alike brought all kinds of shit into my brain that I don't want to think about. Miss M is in grad school and I never see her anymore. I found that stupid journal that I don't remember writing. The seasons are changing. My body is messed up beyond belief? I'm not okay.
So. I did what I've been told to do. I make the phone calls. I humble myself enough to say that I can't do it on my own. And I take the right actions, whether I want to or not. I'm not proud of where I am today, but I'm proud of the actions I am taking. It took some convincing by Chakra Queen at lunch today, but I did it. Because I AM a survivor. I WILL manage this. Not react to it, but manage it.