Email to my mom this morning:
Mom please don’t freak out but I feel really strange this morning. I am getting stuck on things… I was driving and couldn’t focus on driving because I felt stuck on tying my scarf and I’m fighting to focus. I feel really weird and I’ve never felt this way before. I don’t know which medication it is but I’m typing right now and I can’t focus. My eyes keep getting stuck on stuff and my head is swimming. I’m sure it will pass but I’m freaked out.
I woke up and my soul had lifted away out my chest to hover somewhere over my right shoulder, only visible in peripheral sight. I knelt at the side of my bed, hands spread out on the white comforter while I waited for the train and wind and rushing heart to pass. Black dots in my vision melt like chocolate sprinkles over ice cream on a hot day and I slowly get to my feet and bump my way into the shower and try not to let the steam get in my brain because lord knows what would happen then.
I wandered around my bedroom with no regard for the clock because my brain all of a sudden decided it could only take one thing at a time and that thing happened to be a scarf. It took will power to move my attention away from the scarf and realize that I was late and that the scarf is really not all that important. Then I stood in the kitchen packing my lunch and looked at my water glass and couldn’t look away and my hands felt frozen and so did my sight. Still running late for work. In the car, I’m steering with my knee and swerving on the road but I don’t care because I’m still messing with the scarf and oh there’s a jogger but I miss her and keep steering with my knee and keep messing with the scarf.
All the cars in front of me are strung together and I’m the last one, I think they forgot about me. The road clicks into gear and we all move forward and the trees trudge past, arms reaching out to stroke my car and leer into the mirrors to remind me that I am never in control.
At work I am only a tunnel and there is nothing, nothing else that exists except a postcard on M’s cubicle wall while she’s trying to talk to me and I can’t look away or think away. This is awful and wrong and disturbing. I don’t like this.
I can’t take 100mg of Trazodone, I don’t think. I’ll drop back down to 50 tonight and hope this pseudo-psychosis doesn’t happen again tomorrow. I’ve come out of it now… black tea helped and talking to my friends at work and eating an egg to stimulate my metabolism and help my liver process the drug toxins. That was scary.
