Is that light I see at the end of the tunnel?

Nobody took care of the issue I left behind on Wednesday, so when I got in on Thursday, I called and left messages for the customer. I don’t know if she ever got back in touch with the company.

I was emotional and kept to myself all day. Both of my fellow disgruntled cow-orkers were not in, yesterday. Neither was my boss. But yesterday was supposed to be Mandatory Team Drinky Outing at a stupid restaurant/bar not unlike ChiChis in the movie Office Space.

Every hour that passed was grueling. Time dragged on forever. With nearly every call, I wanted to burst into tears. The only relief I had was that since my boss was not there, there was nobody to overload my inbox with email assignments. Still, I took seven from queue and worked on those.

By 3pm, I could stand it no more, and asked the director of the department if I could leave. He said I could. I called my boyfriend at work and asked if he could also come home. I knew I’d need babysitting.
All the way home, I thought of ways to kill myself again. The noise wouldn’t go away. It had been 27 hours at that point since my last Yasmin pill. I got home and began taking more Lorazepam and washing it down with brandy. My boyfriend came home and I talked crazy talk again, said I still couldn’t handle being in my head and wanted out. The Lorazepam made me sleepy, so we took a nap. My legs were still twitchy – it’s from the Yasmin, they’re always bouncy and twitchy to the point that it hurts. My boyfriend has been such a sweetheart – he’s been massaging my legs for me. So he did that as I laid in bed, and then he laid down next to me for awhile.

Finally, I couldn’t stand the leg twitching anymore. On top of it, I was getting more annoying george cramps. My man suggested we go for a walk. We’d done that on Thursday, too, and the sun felt very nice, and it helped calm my legs down. We’d walked 2 miles (3 km) round-trip. This time, the sun was setting. My man took me on a much longer walk inadvertently, and unfortunately, the cramps began to really set in. On top of that, I was very emotional this time around. I saw a woman with two young girls, all walking back from the store and each holding bags. There was a shopping cart abandoned at the end of the street, so the mom unloaded the bags of groceries from her young daughters (who looked to be around ages five and six) and put the bags into the cart. I got all teary-eyed because I remember being so poor that we didn’t have a car, and we’d have to help mom carry groceries a mile from the local store, too. And their clothes are old, so I know this family I was looking at is poor. The mom rushed past us with the shopping cart, probably embarrassed like my mom always was. The girls, oblivious to poverty yet, skipped along behind her. After they were out of sight, I began to cry. A block later, we passed an apartment complex called the Capri. This reminded me of the hotel by the same name that my father and his wife operated for about ten years after my dad retired from Ford Motor Company. Being reminded of my dad made me cry because I’m so ashamed to be so emotionally broken. I’m supposed to be strong like he is – a survivor. And what would he think of me planning to off myself? And the Capri – it’s no longer there – some big corporation handed my dad a lot of money to move off the property so they could demolish it and put in a bank. I only got to stay at the Capri once during the ten years my dad owned it.
Not half a block later, I looked down and saw some thistle. As soon as I had looked down and saw the thistle, I thought of Scotland, and of our honeymoon that we want to have in Scotland. I began to cry harder, realising that there never would be a wedding or a honeymoon in Scotland.
My man held onto me and we crossed the street towards the beach. This made me continue to cry, because the beach is exactly where I wanted to go so I could drown myself. The tide was in, too.
We sat on a bench and I cried and my man held me. I watched the waves roll onto the shore – it’s just the bay – not the actual ocean, but waves are waves and make a little crashing sound that’s nice to hear. The wind was up out on the bay, so it wasn’t like lake water lapping up onto the shoreline – there were little crashing waves.

After a time, I told my man about the three images that had made me cry. This in turn upset him. On top of this, my pelvic cramps were getting worse, and we were still a mile away from home. My man felt even worse, apologising for taking me “on a death march”. I told him my legs at least felt better for it. In all, we walked about 3.5 miles (5.6 km).

When we got home, we decided to meet some friends at the tiki bar. It wasn’t pissup night but two of our friends had said they’d be there last night. We decided to join them – we needed a distraction. However, I still wasn’t out of the mental health woods. I popped a Tylenol 3 on top of all the Lorazepam I’d been taking all day. My pelvic cramps weren’t that bad as to need Tylenol 3. But I took it, anyway. I knew too that I’d be drinking. I didn’t care.
We got to the tiki bar and it was packed. Our friends weren’t there. It was the first time it was just me and my man there. Eventually we got two stools at the bar to sit on, and we watched the master bartender do his magic. On top of it, he was chatty and funny, and we got to sit right in front of his work space. So that was a nice distraction. I had three drinks last night. As soon as I stood up to leave, the full weight of the drinking plus the Tylenol 3 hit me, and my man said I was “near slobbering drunk”.

I don’t remember a thing after my man paid the check so we could leave the bar. He tells me I staggered out to the car with his help, I staggered into the house, and passed out on the bed. He kept waking me to feed me water. I woke up with a mild hangover.
When I woke up, something had changed. I didn’t feel suicidal. I felt relieved that I didn’t have to work, that I have all day today and tomorrow to just chill the hell out.

Of course, that’s when george took his opportunity. I’m full on bleeding, now, and the cramps are just what they used to be before surgery. I’m on two Tylenol 3 for the pain, just like I always used to be. This alone makes me want to cry. I never get a break. I’ll always be broken. The surgery was a fecking waste of money.

My man told me that he’s been considering comments made by Kahleida to my April 5th post, wherein she wrote, “I would sugest somehow finding a part time job and also getting into a good therapy”. My man says he’ll help support me during that time and thinks it’s a good idea for me to consider. I still think of it as being a dependent, though. I guess that’s where the therapist part comes in, heh.

The drugs have finally kicked in, and the heating pad helped with the pain. So far today, I’ve had no Yasmin, no Lorazepam, and no suicidal thoughts. I’d wondered if the Lorazepam could also be exacerbating my mental health issues (a topic also raised by Kahleida in her comments to my April 5th post), but even well before the meltdown on Wednesday, I’d been taking Lorazepam during the week but not on weekends and I was fine. I really do think it was the Yasmin doing all the nasty work.

I am still very emotional today, and I’m very pissed off that I have pelvic pain. I do know that I just need to be patient – that perhaps it’s the sloughing off of the interior scarring and scabs this time around, plus going off the Yasmin, that has me in pain. I don’t see my surgeon again until June, so that’s two more periods I need to allow myself to have, to see if the pain lessens.

I’m just so tired of being in pain.

I know it could be so much worse. I know that. Some of my friends are in much worse physical health condition than I am, and they persevere.

So, enough of the feeling sorry for myself for a second. I have gossip!

My friend didn’t announce anything to me or our circle of friends but hops onto IRC and leaves a cryptic message about getting married. She set her nickname to ‘IEsherpa’ which makes us think she’s in Ireland. So I called her voicemail and apparently she’s left the country as of March 31 and won’t be back til April 15.

So now we’re all waiting anxiously for the next episode of “Days Of Our Sherpa”.

Sherpa, thank you for the distraction. NOW SPILL THE DETAILS! ;)

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