I know it sounds dramatical, but my life is probably 38% better when I am involved in a great book. I just finished "Sister of My Heart" which I highly recommend. I'm half way through "A Hundred Secret Senses" right now and am really enjoying it.
As a tangent to what I'm thankful for, can I just say how much I'm still struggling? I'm doing better than I was at the beginning of my pregnancy. I'm not NEARLY as nauseous and I have my appetite back. I can't remember if I told you part of the reason I was going so crazy in the beginning was because I went cold turkey off of my Ambien. But that didn't last. The panic attacks and insomnia were too severe and I got permission to go back on it. I feel more addicted to it now than ever and it is scaring me.
Addiction amongst Post Traumatic Stress/Tragedy survivors is very high. The interesting thing is, people assume I started Ambien after Lucy died. It was actually after she was born. The way a newborn throws your sleep patterns off is no joke. I developed what they call "self induced insomnia" where my brain was unable to relax, knowing Lucy would wake up crying soon anyway. At that point, Ambien really saved my life. I don't remember exactly, but I must have started it when she was a few months old and starting to wake only once a night or so.
And I weaned myself 3 weeks before she passed away. I was so proud. Then she died. I went back on it. But within weeks I was pregnant and was able to wean myself again. Then Peter was born...and the cycle started all over again. And the anxiety. And the grief. And here I am 2 1/2 years later (5 years counting Lucy's birth, minus the few breaks in between) and I feel at a loss.
I've also started Zoloft, which seems to be really helping. Or so I thought. Now I'm seeing some side-effects (make believe? or real?). I just want to feel 'normal' and healthy. I have no extra energy for anything. My house is a mess. I don't workout (who am I?). Peter is super needy and I'm constantly worried I'm going to have a heart attack, panic attack, stroke, faint, or go into a coma (from lack of sleep or too many drugs).
I'd love to go to a detox center of some sort (they say three months is the most effective). But who will take care of Peter? This isn't the most serious situation, but serious enough. I only take it at night, but it's been years! And I'm the mother of young children. And I can't nap without it. Which means I don't nap. EVER. It is pure torture.
So I guess that's why I'm so thankful for books. They get me out of my own head. They send me into another world where I don't have to think about cleaning my house, chasing after Peter, that my daughter died, or how healthy my baby is going to be and how I'll take care of it.
So what do I do?