Pulling Petals

 It had become pulling petals. Fixing this. I had to remove it all.

I had been using a visualization. A sort of disembodied arm reaching into my chest and pulling out every moment I didn't need. Every thought I didn't want. The residue clinging to my chest and skull. All of it.

My blood test results had come back. It was a good idea. After months of trying one medication after another, maxing out dosages, getting nowhere but worse, my therapist suggested I get blood work done. In case. My vitamin D was low. Off-their-little-chart low. From what I understand, low vitamin D can affect your mood. I don't know if it can affect it to, well, the point I've been, but maybe. I haven't spoken to her since the results had come in, but that night I took the maximum dose, and will probably continue to.

The Welbutrin was also maxed out. Any higher and I risk seizures. I'm not entirely happy about that, but in the last week I have noticed some change. Not a lot, but some. I'm not there anymore. 

Well, at the moment, I guess.

Was it a combination of those three? The arm, the vitamin D, the maxed Welbutrin? Or was it the meditation? Was it the vocalizing? Was it the reading? It doesnt matter, really. 

Elle had talked me down. Again. On ironic advice I had made it a point to make amends with a handful of people, Elle among them. Both in bad and similar spots, we were able to talk and listen and be a support for each other, and she had talked me down. And here I am writing this. Past that moment, and grateful.

Now, I could walk around my apartment. I could drive to work. Small steps, but now I can do those things.

Leanne had come over and it felt nice to put things aside. For a few hours. The band rehearsed. I had been cancelling our rehearsals for weeks. It felt nice to put things aside. Small steps.

I don't know where this goes. I don't know who I am after I come out of this. I don't know if I do come out of this. I can only hope and fight until I can't any longer. C'est la vie, as I'm sure you're tired of hearing me say. C'est la vie. 

Because what else is there to say? Nothing that really matters.

Except, for each of us eventually, I suppose;

I love you and goodbye