Bippity-Boppity-Boo

Yesterday I remembered the words of my huisarts, ‘When you don’t feel right, take your temperature’. I took it and yes, I had a temp. Not a big one, but enough to explain my extra aches and pains, headaches, and malaise. 9 a.m. I pounded a couple of paracetamols to make it thru my appointment with Heike.

I got to my appointment early, of course. So I smoked and paced, paced and smoked. Thought a lot and talked aloud to myself. Many points to bring up came to mind and drifted away. I could hold no coherent sentences together. My mind went blank. There was just..nothing. Bits of things, but no tirade.

Heike didn’t trigger me. In fact, I can’t remember exactly what she said that started what happened yesterday. I remember she asked me how I was. I told her I was a bit ill, talked first about the exhaustion, the extra pain, the Rheumatoid arthritis, and how difficult it is to be kind to myself when I feel my body is at war with me.

And then it happened. I just kept talking. Calmly. My voice was low, a little quiet, my speech slow. And it all came out; my anger at the multiple cancellations, being triggered by the ‘time out’, how I’d been ready to come in and tell her she was just fired and if we don’t drop the smoking and find a new focus, the relationship between us wasn’t going to work.

She agreed, and she apologized for the cancellations.

We discussed smoking and time outs in a passing fashion; she did want to know what I’d been thinking about all of it. I told her that a lot depended on Yoda and how he wanted to proceed. I reminded her that 30 days ago he said he didn’t think it was a good idea to stop smoking, and that somehow we’d gotten off track from that. I told her I held her responsible for that, that the calendar and the continual focus on smoking was coming from her and the people pleaser in me allowed myself to be led astray.

My final word (my final DECISION on the whole thing) is that if Yoda wants to put me on medication AND wants me off marijuana at first to try it AND if he really and truly thinks that going into the clinic for a while will be helpful to me, I’ll do it. This morning I am not entirely convinced that my current illness wasn’t brought on by my emotional turmoil earlier in the month. And I realize if the doc wants me completely smoke free for 30 days, I’ll be facing more than just emotional upheaval. Since I got this disease doctors have told me anxiety will increase my symptoms. Chances are as I have to deal more and more with my anxiety and issues with no smoke, my body will experience more physical pain. I’m afraid of that, and I want to avoid it at all costs. I’ve already spent probably close to two years not being able to walk, not being able to get out of a chair by myself, needing help getting dressed, getting on and off the toilet, needing help FEEDING myself sometimes because my damned jaw closed up and I couldn’t even raise a spoon to my mouth.

That’s a ten star cliff of dread.

After clearly stating my thoughts on the matter, I took control of the appointment. I shifted the focus to the reading I’ve been doing on narcissistic personality disorder, and adult survivors of NPD parents. I talked about mom and my sister, how my mother was distant and cold and my sister loved to inflict pain in my life. My first recurring nightmare as a child was discussed; my research into NPD sheds new light for me on that mystery. I talked about how difficult it is to care about myself – much less love myself. And I wound up with my idea of stitching ‘kindness’ on my shoes.

At the end, Heike again asked me how I felt. I replied that I thought I’d stated my truth pretty well and didn’t think I fell into any mean or sarcastic remarks towards her. She confirmed that I did not, indeed, do any of that. It felt..good..I guess. I’m still not sure about that. There’s a niggling of worry there, too. I had a hard time looking her in the eye while I considered how the appointment went, and it wasn’t out of shame over my behavior. There’s no question about her being offended; I did nothing to offend her, just calmly and without using any triggering language myself, offered her the truth. If anything, it was a flat moment. I felt flat. Not happy over what I’d just done, even tho I knew it was a big deal. Not relieved over having spoken up. Just flat. It was just another step in the day, no big deal.

That flat feeling followed me into the evening. Once again I sat at my brother’s side while he laughed and made jokes over what we watched on tv. I tried to respond, offer a few chuckles, rouse myself out of my nothing to make a comment or two. But too often I saw something that should have made me laugh, and it didn’t. Another nine and a half hours of sleep and I still feel that flatness. I’m wondering if this is the beginning of the slide down. I’m overdue for one in my book.

Oh, fairy godmother, where the hell are you? I’ve been waiting so long with this damned pumpkin. Can’t you just come down and do the bippity-boppity-boo bit? Just make it go away. Turn it technicolor and put it to song. Please.