It's weird. I don't know exactly how to explain it, but I feel so completely lost right now. I'm all out of sorts… and I don't even know why.

I'm tired. I know I'm tired. But it's like I'm so tired that I don't want to sleep. And I'm hungry (I think), but I don't feel like eating.

Also, I'm worried about meds. The perennial, anxiety-inducing worry of mine. I have pain pills now, yes, but not enough to get me through to see the pain specialist, even if I take them only every 6 hours. Will the new rheumatologist see that I need continuous pain meds and give me a script? Will the insurance let me cash it in? Will I have to spend a few days here and there throughout the week with little to no meds at all in the hopes that the pain docs will write me a script at our initial consultation? I don't even know what to expect. I need consistency in this, and in switching my care from the less than mediocre, I feel as though I am throwing myself off a cliff with no idea what awaits me in the abyss.

I wish I could just worry about, you know, "normal" things. Like holding down a job. Pursuing a career. Going to school. Planning a family. Taking care of my house. Saving up for vacations. Enjoying hobbies. But it seems as though my entire life, every minute of every day, is dominated by the draining, overshadowing worry of, "What if, by taking this pill to relieve my suffering now, I am dooming myself to even greater suffering in the future?" I am drained. I am tired. I am tired of worrying about how I'm going to survive. So very, very tired. I wish I had doctors that would champion for me, that would worry about this for me, or that would make the situation so that I would not have to worry.

I'm so tired… so very, very tired of being sick. Of being in pain. I'm all out of sorts. Now that the initial surge of joy from getting my pain killers has passed, the waves have receded and left me once more run aground on the rocky shoals of "what if".

Do you know what it's like to live in fear that the economy will tank, or there will be some national disaster or something because then you will not be able to get the meds that are keeping you alive, that are making life even semi-bearable? I literally live in terror of that thought.

I suspect that it's the looming closeness of the appointment with the new rheum that has got me all worked up. The unknown, it mocks me. Can this doctor help me? Will we begin finding answers at last? What is wrong with my body? Is it treatable? Is it curable? Is it fatal? Is there irreparable damage? Will you take me seriously? Will you help me, and not expect me to do your job for you? I'm so scared… scared of another dead end and even further declines in my health. How much further can I sink? Where will I go? How sick do you have to get before your body or your mind (or both) finally says "Enough!" and just stops? How miserable does life have to get before you just kind of snap and try to end your own suffering? So far I've managed to resist the temptation. It's been hard. Very, very hard. I have stayed, though, because of those who love me and want me to stay.

I don't think they realize what a sacrifice I am making for them by staying, by living in this body and abiding with this pain and sickness day after day. Every day that I am alive is a monumental declaration, a neon sign that says, "I care about you more than I care about not hurting anymore. I will continue to hurt so that you do not have to feel the agony of losing someone dear. I languish for you, dear heart, for you mean the world to me. Your happiness is more important than my own. I hope you know that." I would dearly love to put an end to my pain. Oh, yes. I would. But I care too much. I love too much. I don't have it in me to hurt the ones I love like that. So… I try to find the happiness here, with them. I try to find the smiles and the joy and the laughter. I try to find what makes it worthwhile staying here… and I have. In many ways, I have.

I do like living. I would like it better if I could actually live, I think, but it's pleasant enough. At times. It would probably be even more pleasant if I could at least have a piece of pie once in a while.

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