Coming to a boil.
Wednesday, 4 August 2010 10:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
carose59"No, I Definitely—I Don't Believe That. But I Have Found It To Be True."*
-:- -:- -:-
My Cymbalta hasn't been doing anything for me for a while now. It's the latest in a long line of drugs to start off promising and then renege on those promises.
Or maybe it was the doctors who made the promises. It's hard to tell. I've never been sure if any of them (besides the Great God Paxil) did anything more than help me sleep better for a while, which would make me feel better all by itself.
Cymbalta was also supposed to help with aches and pains, and I think it started off doing that. Now, not so much. And I'm on a higher dosage than when I started it, except I'm not.
I'm being non-compliant. A while back I started taking one every other day, so I'm back to my original dosage.
Then my GP recommended I start taking fish oil for my cholesterol and incipient carpal tunnel. So I've been scaling back further on the Cymbalta and taking more fish oil. (Scaling back. That's a joke, son.)
I tried telling my psychiatrist about the Cymbalta, but he wants to raise my dosage, after I'm tested for sleep apnea, which I probably have because I am, after all, fat.
Diane and I talked about the whole shame cloud that hangs over so much of this. I know that I deserve everything that's happening, even if it's not really happening, because I'm fat. Being fat is my own fault. Blaming my short, dumpy grandparents and their people is useless. If they were alive, they'd tell me how fat I am, too.
Anyway, I'm having some problems, mostly that I'm not getting enough red meat and that I'm crying a lot. I see my GP on the twelfth, and I'm going to tell him about this stuff, see if he still likes me.
I long for someone who understands all this to tell me what to do, but who understands all this? I looked for Dr. Thomas, the psychiatrist I had for a while last year, but I don't seem to be able to find him. So I'm going looking for someone new.
In the meantime, I can't seem to stop crying, particularly when I write about this stuff. I think it's all the stress that's been suppressed by the drugs, climbing out of my body the way on TV when somebody dies, you see a filmy image of them get up and leave. I haven't been up and I haven't been down, I've just been. Right now I'm feeling down, but I've also felt up lately.
*Tiffany Porter
I'm leaving comments on, but please don't think badly of me if you don't get a response this month.
-:- -:- -:-
My Cymbalta hasn't been doing anything for me for a while now. It's the latest in a long line of drugs to start off promising and then renege on those promises.
Or maybe it was the doctors who made the promises. It's hard to tell. I've never been sure if any of them (besides the Great God Paxil) did anything more than help me sleep better for a while, which would make me feel better all by itself.
Cymbalta was also supposed to help with aches and pains, and I think it started off doing that. Now, not so much. And I'm on a higher dosage than when I started it, except I'm not.
I'm being non-compliant. A while back I started taking one every other day, so I'm back to my original dosage.
Then my GP recommended I start taking fish oil for my cholesterol and incipient carpal tunnel. So I've been scaling back further on the Cymbalta and taking more fish oil. (Scaling back. That's a joke, son.)
I tried telling my psychiatrist about the Cymbalta, but he wants to raise my dosage, after I'm tested for sleep apnea, which I probably have because I am, after all, fat.
Diane and I talked about the whole shame cloud that hangs over so much of this. I know that I deserve everything that's happening, even if it's not really happening, because I'm fat. Being fat is my own fault. Blaming my short, dumpy grandparents and their people is useless. If they were alive, they'd tell me how fat I am, too.
Anyway, I'm having some problems, mostly that I'm not getting enough red meat and that I'm crying a lot. I see my GP on the twelfth, and I'm going to tell him about this stuff, see if he still likes me.
I long for someone who understands all this to tell me what to do, but who understands all this? I looked for Dr. Thomas, the psychiatrist I had for a while last year, but I don't seem to be able to find him. So I'm going looking for someone new.
In the meantime, I can't seem to stop crying, particularly when I write about this stuff. I think it's all the stress that's been suppressed by the drugs, climbing out of my body the way on TV when somebody dies, you see a filmy image of them get up and leave. I haven't been up and I haven't been down, I've just been. Right now I'm feeling down, but I've also felt up lately.
*Tiffany Porter
I'm leaving comments on, but please don't think badly of me if you don't get a response this month.