January 30, 2022 #2

Boy, this withdrawal stuff is going to be a challenge.  

Friday, I was smacked in the face... kind of almost literally... when I went out to shovel off our deck to find our stupid barbecue cover that was blown off the barbecue, thus leaving it exposed to the elements.  Thing is, I neglected doing this for a while now, so a lot of that damn snow was actually ice.  Which equals heart attack snow.  Which equals a lot of panting and exertion (but thankfully, no heart attack).  I've been away from the gym for two weeks because it's been closed due to covid measures.  We were on a roll with going, too.  My wife is down 25 lbs or more since we started back in August, and I didn't really lose any weight, but it makes me feel quite good to exercise.  It clears the mind, and that has a ripple effect with the rest of the body.  It didn't, however, make much of a difference with the quality of my sleep.  I'll take whatever I can get.

Anyway, I finally get said damned barbecue cover on the damned barbecue and got some damned duct tape and security-wrapped it around the damned thing.  Back into the house I go, mission accomplished.  Here I am sweating like a pig in heat enough that you could smell bacon, when I decided I better get some water and replenish a bit.  Pretty safe choice, I said.  Yeah, no.  I drank the water, and quite quickly felt nauseous.  If you've ever read my past blogs, you know of my deep fear of barfing - I mean, who the hell enjoys that, right?  But as a kid, I barfed a lot.  A lot.  One time as a kid, I was so dehydrated I couldn't even move.  My brother actually had to carry me to the bathroom to pee because I couldn't stand.  That was frightening, and left a mark on my subconscious, I think, and that carried over with many subsequent Christmas seasons where I'd wind up violently ill.  So I'd wind up hyperventilating when I'd get sick, to the point sometimes it felt like I'd choke to death or something silly.  I didn't want my obituary to read that a boy choked on his own barf over Christmas excitement.  As the years went by, it didn't get better by any friggin' stretch.  When the wife and me lived in a small basement apartment in the 90's, I got this wicked stomach virus that was so awful, it mirrored that time when I was a kid, only it was worse, because it just wouldn't stop.  It was relentless.  In fact, the only way to stop it was to get me to the hospital and put me on intravenous fluids with Gravol along with observation.  Oh, and that was fun, too.  Back then, I had major issues with needles.  Here the nurse is trying to find a vein in my hand, not the usual crook of the arm, and she's poking me and moving the damn needle around to find the vein.  And I'm there panicking and dry heave-hurling while she's panicking at me panicking.  Good thing I was young, or I might've had that heart attack.  In the end, I got the Gravol in me and they sent me on my way.  The wife was steadfastly beside me the whole time, maybe thinking I'm this nearly 6 ft tall baby who just a few hours ago was at home praying to the toilet, grasping at her pantleg for some kind of mercy from my incessant puke party.  It was scary.  I would go through this same scenario at least one more time in the 90's, only that second time, she would join in and have a pukefest of her own!  We brought our kid to her grandma's while we went to the hospital and got what the doctors called the Honeymoon suite, two beds with husband and wife hooked up to intravenous fluids trying to keep water down.  Ah, memories.

Anyway, there were more nightmare throw-up episodes to follow, most recently when I accidentally took too much THC oil, and wound up power puking so hard I was like a pancake, motionless on the floor between sessions at the toilet, not a glimmer of energy left in my body.  That was one long friggin' day, I tell you.  That was two years ago.  It happened once more when I ate a gummy with THC in it - never again - and power puked once more.  Bearing in mind, every time this happens, I worry that I'll go through a nightmare episode like I did when I was five or so.  I would argue that because of those days when I was little that I got PTSD when it comes to throwing up.  Look, I'm getting queasy just writing this....

Thus, when I feel it coming on, I panic maybe more than most.  Maybe.  Going back to my barbecue battle in the snow, I come back in the house with that undeniable feeling that I'm gonna barf.  Breathe deep, I say to myself!  Better go upstairs where the bathroom is to be sure, though.  Sure enough, looking out my bedroom window, here it comes.  Will I make it to the bathroom?  Nope... I covered my mouth and it wound up projectile spraying right through my hand on my way to the bathroom.  Look, I know no one likes getting sick, but I'm probably among those who are the biggest wusses about it.  This was Friday, or yesterday.  I was alone while the wife was at work.

But, it was just water, so it was a one-off.  THANK YOU JESUS.  But as with every time after I'm sick, I'm spooked that it'll happen again any time.  That's where I've been at since.

So, I'm now left wondering, why in the flying fluck did that happen to begin with?  Maybe a virus going around?  The wife was sick the week before, which we thought was from carb overload, something she'd dealt with not that long ago.  But the more I think about it...

That's where this leads:  I believe I'm experiencing side effects of withdrawal from anti depressants.  That's quite natural, I guess.  Doesn't mean I have to like it or approve of it.  So today, feeling perhaps a bit too confident that everything's alright, the wife and me indulged in our Saturday night chicken wings.  Likely not the brightest idea.  But, after experiencing a bit of nausea and relaxation, it's passed, and I look forward to some sleep very shortly from right now.  

Being a Withdrawal Diary of sorts, I feel the need to notate this information.  I've also been experiencing vivid dreams and nightmares along with the rest of it all.  One particular nightmare being one of those waking dreams where you want to wake up, but can't seem to.  It's pretty frightening.  I know this is also part of withdrawal.

My tinnitus has gotten worse, too.  Stress headaches are a little more frequent.  I should also note here that I haven't had any THC oil now for three days, not that I think that has anything to do with this  withdrawal, because I don't take a lot of it to begin with.  And I've been through withdrawal from meds before, and I know the drill here.  I think tonight I'll take THC oil... actually what I take is a half & half mix of CBD and THC, which is much less harsh than straight THC.  It actually leaves me quite relaxed.  And happy.  Funny, even.  

These blog posts likely won't be daily or as lengthy as this, but I like this whole writing thing, so this particular time, I grabbed the surfboard and rode the wave.  I could do without one particular wave over the last 24 hours, though.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it, for now.

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