Can’t Escape Torment

My head is in too much pain today and nothing is working.

It’s times like this, alone in the house, laying in bed, can’t put my glasses on because my head hurts so much, I want to reach out to a friend, but there are none.  I can’t do this.

I can never make amends.  I will never be worth their time or effort.

I am a worthless mass of pain. I should never have tried to be a friend.  I am so heartbroken.  I cannot imagine how much I must have hurt them.  I, WE, reached out to people we hated when they were far less miserable than I am now.  The amount of loathing they must have for me, I do not understand.

——

To my friends, should you read this …

I am not strong enough to do this alone.  I am sorry.  I wish you both could see me.  I daydream of getting on a plane, of enduring the pain it would entail, just to be able to apologize in person.  I want you to see my eyes, my facial expressions, hear my voice inflections.  I want you to know how much I love you both and regret putting such pressure on you.  I want you both to KNOW how highly I think of you.

I am in a Catch-22.  I am not going to get better without your support, and I cannot ask for your support until I am better.  It all got too out of hand.

I wonder if we had met without a Covid shut down.  I was doing so well in my rehabilitation before everything went to shit.

I have not had fun in over a year.  I tried warning you both how much this new house exacerbates my suffering.  I thought I was asking you for help, but I was putting pressure on you, yes?  I’m sorry I was not strong enough.

I am giving up.  I cannot endure pain like this hidden away from everyone.  I won’t.

If Cymbalta doesn’t help substantially, I am done.  This is torture.

I so would have liked to watch your journey as parents.  It pains me greatly, all I have missed already.  I hope you both know how beautiful you are.  You’ll have such a journey.  I wish I had been a better friend. I wish I did not drive you both away.  I am a broken fuckup.  

Perhaps I’ll finally be able to let go of you both in spirit finally, when I let go of my body.  :’)

Why I’m Miserable

 I had a lonely childhood.

I’ve had very few friends.  I am not in touch with anyone from before moving to Sacramento over 20 years ago, and I have none here now save one of my wife’s co-workers whom I could call in an emergency.

Since I was very young, I would get a lot out of nature.  I would go for walks.  When older, bike rides.

I was rarely happy, but I could view nature and feel some peace.

I used to be able to see the beauty of nearly anything in nature.  I would soak it up.

I learned I needed to soak up all the good that I could in order to get by.  It was easy when I lived in the Bay Area.  There were so many beautiful views.  I can remember many, not picture them (aphanatasia), but I remember them.

I realize this used to be how I dealt with sadness.  I used to go for some very long walks.

Sacramento does have some decent views, some beauty, but for the most part, it’s a flood plain, a miserable place to decide to build a city.  I was very upset to move here.  I did explore some, before my body went to shit, the rivers and open spaces, the dog parks.

Our yard in West Sacramento had a view of the deep water canal and some open space.  We had several trees and open views.  That’s gone now, too, here in this little box surrounded by neighbor’s 2 story houses.  I can’t stand it.

The park on the way to the pool is nice.  I really need to start trying to walk there when the weather allows.  Wrong week for that right now, lol.  106 degrees, today!  Expecting 113 degrees for the next two days!  

My wife chose to apply for a job here without asking me first.  That will haunt me until the grave.

In more recent years, the beauty was more difficult to find.  I would even look at roadkill, and see the life that was, and try to soak in the beauty of what had been.  That is how low I was, how little joy was in my life when Lizzie started going to school, so many days alone, for years.

The two friends I met during Covid closures, my best friends ever, were the first time I found beauty in others.  I loved them both.  I loved their marriage.  I enjoyed so much about them that I felt better, and I enjoyed who I was when I was with either of them.  It was so incredible.

And while I am upset they are gone, the real sadness I face is of lost opportunity.

I am 51 and my health is deteriorating so much more every year.  I am running out of time.

I do not have access to the nature I have enjoyed all my life, nor the friendships that showed me even greater beauty.  And I am running out of time.

More time wasted.  I have wasted so much of my life already.

This is the truest reason for my misery and the tears I cannot stop making.  I know I am running out of time and I have nothing to enjoy while it slips through my fingers.

I sit in a room with no view and listen to the air conditioning.  I truly hate it here, in this house, in this city.  

I remember when we first moved here, and people tried to argue it was wonderful to be a 2 hour drive to the mountains or a 2 hour drive to the ocean.  “You can do whatever you want!” they said.

No.  I can’t.  Spending time in nature is now outside my control.  Now, even spending time with friends is beyond my control.

Resisting Urges

I’m having a beast of a time resisting the urge to reach out to my … best friends.  I can’t help but think of them that way, still, and maybe that’s part of the problem.  I mean, I don’t believe they stopped caring, but I imagine it is more probable than not that they don’t think of me as a friend anymore.

Only, I can’t stop crying, lol.  It’s everything, but they were such a valued relationship.

I have unplugged my XBox for a few weeks now (plugged in to send what I thought was important messages last week, only for my doctor to not give a shit) and deleted the App.  It helps.  I still grab the iPad to check for messages and when I have one I momentarily want to send before remembering, but at least I am not spending the entire day on the XBox and it’s apps, where it was habit to check what friends were playing.

Of course, I’m blocked by the “friends” I’d want to reach out to.  So, I guess it would not scratch that itch anyways.

I think the goal for the day has to be to keep the XBox off.  I have to endure the rest of today (only 10am, fuck) and get to Monday.  I wish I did not miss them so badly.  [tears again. Lol]

I really did collapse back into missing them as if they just left since my Shingles Vaccine delirium. I’m not going to say I was doing good, but I had made some progress and was definitely crying a lot less than since it.  I think I got through so many really bad stints of pain with them in mind the last two years.  Even when they could not respond, I felt connected to them.

I could really feel the void left behind during that post vaccine shitshow.  Starting over fucking sucks!

I think I am too embarrassed to get back on the Xbox, too.  So many had ghosted me, I was definitely spoken of, at least between those I tried to reach out to.  I feel so pathetic, an old fool.  Odds are no one checks to see if I have returned, and I’ll likely never even be thought of again by most.  I was pretty insignificant.

I wish the NFL started today.  That’d be watchable tv, at least.  Yet, I’ll be bummed all season, again, not getting into any fantasy leagues with friends again.  So it goes.

Guess I’ll try more Breathe of the Wild on Switch.  Not liking it too much.  I think I would like Craftopia much more if it did not glitch so much, another single player (for me, lol) game.  It’ll get me through an hour, maybe.

I find it so insane that a little more than 2 years ago, I was at an incredible low point.  It was unfathomable that things could get much worse.  This isolation is much worse.

Okay … one hour at a time.

Edit - made it to 5pm.  Woohooo!  Only needed to get through 40 or so urges and a couple crying bouts, lol.  I’m pathetic.

Cymbalta Feedback Scaring Me

I got a lot of feedback on Reddit and I am freaking out a little.  Brain zaps?  Harsh withdrawal?  Just what is this stuff?

There are positive reviews, too, and I get that I pretty much have to try, but fuck I hate feeling coerced into this.  Doctors always fucking hurt me, as seen by the last week thanks to that Shingles Vaccine.  I just have a feeling of dread that I am going to be hurt more.

I am really tired of everything always getting worse and worse, and a common theme from doctors is he doesn’t have a clue what is wrong with me (doesn’t listen) and throws spaghetti at the wall with the things he’s been promoted to use.  I tend to pay.

I’m sacred.  I can’t say I want to do this.

Many have had help from it for “nerve pain,” whatever the fuck that means.  I’d feel more confident if I had that diagnosis.  I’d feel better if anyone fucking understood what wrong with me before trying to shoehorn me with other treatments.

I’m not going to have any support when this goes badly.  

Fuck.  Here comes another breakdown morning before my day even gets started.  I can’t keep doing this.

Time to sit in the hot tub for a few hours, stifling tears and moans, because I’ll be right under all my neighbor’s open windows with this heat wave going.  Two hours to kill before the pool opens.

I guess this is my life now.

No Other Options

 I do not feel I have any other options than to submit to my doctor in wanting to give me Cymbalta.

I do not trust it.  I am weary of any med that has had way too many commercials pushing it.  If it was good and worked, doctors would see the evidence and prescribe it without needing to have people convinced to ask for it through commercials!

Still.  I have no doubt I kill myself soon on this present course, friendless and in pain, constantly alone.

I fear it will fuck up my unwinding.  This has always been my fear.  I’ll ignore some physical pains, lose the sensations that help guide the needed unfolding.  I’ll have to be mindful for other cues.

I also do not know yet what meds my doctor may make me quit to prevent issues, … or maybe I’ll just be permanently pickled.

This is me giving up on ever getting better.  I will never regain my balance.  I will never unfold my love.

I truly believe fear has stayed my hand at suicide.

I believe first breakdown while on Cymbalta likely results in killing myself.

At least it will be over.

AAAAaaaauuuuuggggghhhh!

I miss my friends too much.

It’s a nightmarish situation.  I would complain too much about my pains to them, but I did also chat a lot.  Now, having driven them off, I have so much extra time and I am in more pain.

I’ve been trying to use Reddit, chronic pain and mental health threads, reading a lot and commenting when I feel I relate or can help.  I post once in a while, but it is not very useful other than a time kill.

I’m noticing that not having them to chat with at all, just “hellos” and jokes and headlines and such, I am missing such a crucial part of how I managed to endure.  Chatting with them was a mindset, like having them with me.  I always liked to joke and make them laugh, so I’d be looking towards the funny side of everything, hoping to share.  I don’t look at the positive or funny side of anything.

My mornings all start so badly now, too.

They are 2 hours ahead of me, and both early risers.  My nights are horrific, constant dislocations and little sleep, often near sleepless.  I could greet and start joking and talking with them sometimes at 4am, even 3am.  Just a little banter would help end the night’s agony and often steer me towards a positive start to the day.

It snowballs now.  Pain cascades and I have nowhere to turn all night, only to realize they are likely awake at some point, active and living a beautiful life, and they don’t want me anywhere near it.  My despair causes breakdowns, and I leave for the pool and my morning swim with bloodshot teary eyes.  I start the day at the bottom and it’s hours and hours of loneliness and pain to follow.  So few distractions.

I wonder if I was so horrible they don’t even miss me in any form.  Was any banter enjoyed?  Am I missed in any way?  Did I so overwhelm any good feelings toward me that I really am a monster?

I hope they are happy.  I love them.  I wish they missed me enough to want my company, the good me, anyways, or consider giving me a chance again, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.  They have the perfect new chapter of life to move forward and be happy.  Truly happy.  Yes, I wanted to be part of that life, but …

The first half of this post shows I am too much effort.  They suffered too much of my misery.  When I hit rock bottom (what WAS the bottom, lol), I was WAY too much for them to handle, and I vented at my life, but hurt them in my confused idiocy and blame.  I cannot imagine myself ever worth their attention again. Why should they risk it?  I have Ativan now to take when I begin an anxiety based cascading collapse of pain, and that would have been enough before.  

But that was before, before hurting them and sinking even lower … to THIS.

How do I accept so much more time and pain?  How do I possibly find any joy again, let alone casual friendships?  I am an abomination, doomed to spiral further and further into misery and pain.  Fuck.

F M L

 It’s been one weird week.

I had a realization I believed was HUGE.  I’ve been a paradoxical breather for as long as I can remember.  It causes an extra exhale to occur when I am done speaking.  I used to get teased for it.

I had no idea it was a medically known condition.  They do not understand it, of course, and maybe that is why my doctor, after I tell him this, hoping to finally bridge the gap in understanding between us regarding my folded, perverted postural issues and muscle memory, he responded, “My dog has a reverse sneeze.”

All the excitement of the previous two days was gone in an instant.

All was not lost, however, as I did manage to talk him into allowing me to try Ativan when my anxiety spikes, before I have cascading pain events.  I do need to be careful, as I still have Vicodin, and the two should not be mixed.

I’ve been a total mess for months now, the appointment was a goal, and I at least managed to to completely come out screwed.  I was in agony by the end of the visit, the drive, the waiting, the exchanges.  I set up blood draws and tests for the rest of the week, and then he said I should get both the Flu and Shingles Vaccines.

I was an idiot to do them both.

I am just now regaining my wits.  I spent two days delirious with fever/chills and incredible pain.  I could not sleep for the first 38 hours because both shoulders were in too much pain to lay on.  It was one of the most miserable experiences of my life.  Except for two 5 minute stretches where I begged my wife to scratch my back, I was moaning and screaming and miserable and alone.

Coming around today, thinking again, everything came flooding back, how I am friendless, how my hopes of my doctor understanding me finally went for naught.  I lost all motivation.  I feel dead inside.  I did force myself to swim, but it remains a difficult experience.

I used my first Ativan about 3 hours ago, and it’s why I can write this.  It appears to be working.  It headed off a crying spree and mental collapse.  Maybe this stuff will work.

I did go off on my doctor for a while in the visit.  He wanted to give me Cymbalta and refer me to psych, just as I had worried he would.  After not even trying to understand how paradoxical breathing fits with my situation, I ranted.  I ranted about my condition and how no one has even been able to say back to me anything near what I believe is the problem.  I ranted that I have had an exceptional record using my Vicodin, yet still am untrusted.  I ranted about how my daily regimen, and how it fits the goals you find in any psychological treatment of chronic pain, my exercise, my meditation, my activities with friends …

Then I pointed out to look at our records, our appointments in the last 2 years, and how I begged every time for stronger meds, needing a break from pain I was not getting.  I pointed out it was to supplement my activities, the very things a psychologist would be trying to get me to do.  I pointed out that I HAD friends that also helped me so much to distract from pain, and maybe had he given me what I had begged for, I would not have collapsed as I did.  Maybe I’d still have friends.

No, I ranted.  I am lower than ever, and still not listened to.  He told me he did not want to give me Ativan because I could overdose.  Quite angry, I went lawyer on him, “So, … Cymbalta … do they still have suicide warnings on those bottles?  Did I not tell you earlier that if you get rid of my fear that I’m a definite suicide risk?  How is Cymbalta less a risk than Ativan?”

He caved.  We’ll see how it goes with this bottle, but at least I get to try it.

Then, the vaccines.  Fuck my life. That was ridiculous.  Such pain.  Wiping my memory, too.  I could not think for 2+ days.

It’s like I am starting all over again, like 20 years ago, new city, no friends, pain, no one believing or understanding me.  I do not want to try all this shit again.  I was so miserable and alone for so long.  I don’t have Maya and Matilda this time, my favorite dogs.  I don’t have the West Sac rec center where I was respected and liked by many.  I don’t have a backyard with nature and birds where I could sit in peace.  Everything is so much fucking harder now, and I have so little help.

The people at the Club pool all avoid interaction with me.  I tried a few conversations, but it’s clear the rumors about me after the cops visiting have had an effect, coupled with my difficulty walking and chronic dislocations, occasional tears and the slight muffled screams of pain.  It’s not at all like my old pool.

It’s going to be well over 100 degrees every day for the next week, too, lol.  So much for the swim spa.

So, I’m struggling, you could say.

——-

I’ll wake up tomorrow and go to the pool.  It’s all I can do.  Maybe something gets better.

————

Update - home from swim, NOT ONE person at the pool gave a return nod to me today.  Many that made eye contact were people I used to speak to, only now their eyes went back to straight in front of them and no return nod.  I wanted to go full Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique on their asses.  Not one person?!?!  What the fuck do they think of me?  

Maybe I’ll bike farther and try the new rec center pool tomorrow, though I’ll have to pay to get in and likely have to share a lane.  I truly among the unluckiest people on the planet, managing to to achieve isolation from online friends and all real world acquaintances, when I need a friend, Jesus, just someone to have a random conversation with and distract myself for a while.

It’s 19 hours until I go out and swim again.  So many hours to endure.  Do I deserve this?  I must be such a worse person than my greatest fear.