Pressure

Sometimes it's hard to write. Sometimes it's hard to just exist. I'm in one of those funks right now.

Last Sunday, I made a terrible mistake and bought too much ice cream. The act of buying ice cream was not a mistake in and of itself - it was way over triple digits out - but the quantity was. I am diabetic. I do not take medication for it because it's completely under control via diet. When I eat sugary stuff in normal quantities, I do not have an issue. But a double Hot Fudge Sundae with a brownie on the bottom for good measure was just too much.

I paid for that transgression the very same evening that I ate it. I was shakey and dizzy and nauseous and felt like my heart was racing all at the same time. I paid for the transgression yesterday afternoon into evening to when the ice cream hit my colon. And at the same time, it was time to give myself my Methotrexate injection.

The Meth is a necessary evil, but leaves me ill in a whole different way. Additionally, I know that it clouds my thinking and processing abilities. While I am able to write clearly here, in eral life, I react erratically to stimuli, and although I've become somewhat practiced at appearing calm now, internally I am anything but. I make decisions that seem irrevokable (and sometimes they are), I decide what people's motives are while knowing on an intellectual level that my thought process is not making sense, I question my sanity.

I'm back in that mode now. I've been on Prozac for three weeks and even though it's supposed to even me out, based on giving myself the shot yesterday and my reaction to it, it hasn't. The Prozac does make me nauseous though, and ultimately - according to the web sites - will be responsible for me gaining about 20 pounds.

I suppose that if I am even questioning my ability to understand the world, my concern that I have gone off the deep end is not valid. But there's a pressure in knowing that things I may say or do right now when I appear right but am not necessarily, will impact the future.