So, three days ago was four months out. I guess, technically, two days and six hours, but whatever. The 14th was four months, and it's the 17th now.
I'm up at 2:15 in the morning because my fourth daughter was sick, threw up all over her bed, and I'm doing laundry before I go to work on a closing shift during Christmas retail season. Yippee. I also haven't gotten my first fill sized check yet, that was due on the 13th. Problem with the mail or something I guess. Hard to stay motivated when ya ain't been paid.
It was, I think, this day last year that the phone bill shows her first conversation with the OM. I could be off on the day, but I'm almost positive it was the 17th. I sort of want to go doublecheck so I can wish her a happy fucking anniversary, but that would be petty. Besides,s he probably started talking to him before this. She says it was December, but she's a habitual, pathological liar. Nothing she has ever said to me has been the truth.
On this day, a year ago, I made a post on my Facebook about my anxieties and misgivings about my medication. I felt like it was dulling my senses, making me ignore the things I should be concerned about, like I was allowing myself to be drugged into quiescence. My ex was REALLY BIG on me getting on this medication.
So, this stupid thing happens.
I'll be going about my business, coming up on the time to take my pill, the one that treats my anxiety and hypervigilance. I'll know it's about time to take it, and most of the time I do, but sometimes, I get this nagging, gnawing little voice in the back of my head.
It tells me that the only reason I am taking it is to make myself not care about the things that I should care about. That I am dulling my senses, covering my wits, and forcing myself to forget about the things that make me angry, that make me -rightfully- angry. To not care about the times I've been hurt, been betrayed, been talked bad about, been lied about, to not care about the things I only know half of and -need- to know all of. To not worry about the things I should worry about.
It tells me that I should stop willingly drugging myself into complacency, that I should seek out those things that lurk behind me, waiting and plotting to hurt me and betray me again. So I hold off on taking it.
And I hold off.
I skipped two pills today. I realized I was clenching my jaw and operating on autopilot. I could hear my wife huffing in the next room, picking up on my tenseness. I could feel myself hardening my heart against it, wondering what was hidden, what was being said, worrying who is hearing lies about me now, who is saying them, what's being said to who, and where it's going to bite me next.
I took my pill. I need to be on a better schedule.
I should write a book for the bible, because that's some prophetic shit right there.
I need to just go to sleep. I'm on a lowered dosage right now, for the first time in three months. I increased my dose voluntarily in September and I've been on it since then. I'm dropping back down as of yesterday and moving forward, with the goal of weaning myself off of this shit. It makes me calm, yes, but if I were to stop it cold turkey, my blood pressure would skyrocket and I could very well have a heart attack. As it is, I can see my veins puffed up because my BP is elevated.
I feel like the ex pushed me to get on this shit to hide her affair. I resent her for that. I could be wrong, I could just be reading into it, but it is how I feel as I sit here and look at my body reacting to me lowering my dosage of a pill she advocated so hard to get me on.
Once I fell out of love with her, I dislike her a little more every day.
[This message edited by Incarnate at 4:24 AM, December 17th (Tuesday)]
