It’s only a problem if you know about it.

Ever forget where you left your keys?  Ever forget an appointment with your accountant? Doctor? Manicurist?  Ever forget to send permission forms up to school?  Ever forget to turn the iron off?  How about forgetting your passwords or forgetting about the Tooth Fairy?  Shit happens, right?

What about these then… ever forget that you have ordered a book and went and ordered a second copy?  Ever forget that you bought someone’s birthday present and then spent a week trying to come up with an idea for it?  Ever forget a conversation you had in the morning about the Goat Pie Guy and then wonder why you’re unexpectedly presented with goat pies for lunch three hours later?  Ever forget that you’re out shopping for a toaster and come home with a new kettle instead?   Ever tell the same person the same thing three or four times and watch their face glaze over as you realize you’ve already imparted that information?  Ever forget what the family said they wanted for dinner even though you asked them every half hour from 3-6pm?  Ever forget to turn off the TV or lock the door or set the alarm or close the garage and just leave the house and come home to find the place wide open?  Ever forget about a ‘to do’ list in your own handwriting and have no recollection of writing it?  Ever forget driving your child to school and spend the day believing someone else took him?  Ever completely forget something you only just learned the day before?  Ever scarily forget you’ve taken your nightly medication and promptly turned around five minutes later and taken it again?

We have been laughing about my goldfish memory for about five years now.  So what if you accidentally order the same book twice?  It was on medieval gold smithing and the extra copy made a great present for Surly’s next birthday anyway.  So what if pink Tupperware turns up in the mail and you have no recollection of ever having ordered it?  So what if you arrive a day early for your doctor’s appointment?  So what if you boil the kettle three or four times before remembering to actually make the cup of tea?   So what if you get frustrated trying to logon to your PC using a password you changed two years ago?  So what if you forget the Small Child’s basketball training…again?  So what if you have to keep the world’s most complex calendar because you can’t trust your memory to remind you of ANYTHING.

prescription drug addiction dependence memory loss concentration

Well, this is where I’ve been at for the last five years.  Too many drugs with too many side effects.  Not the least of which it turns out over long term use include diminished cognitive abilities, loss of concentration and drumroll please … memory loss.  Woulnd’t be so bad, in fact I doubt I would have come to call it a serious problem at all, if I weren’t trying to learn Classical Latin at the moment.  You see, I’ve managed to get through two semesters of Latin (I still have no idea how I did that) and am in the middle of my third (and fucking final) semester of Latin Language and Literature… and I CAN”T REMEMBER ANY OF IT.

Now, this isn’t the usual, ‘I hate Latin and brain is resisting learning Latin’ thing that often comes if someone is forced to deal with something they think is unpleasant (like me and income tax returns).  I like Latin and was finding it challenging and enjoyable, even though it comes with more than it’s fair share of monumental mind fucks.  No, the problem here is I am being taught grammatical concepts one day and the next day being unable to recall what the concepts were, what they were called, how they are applied or how they are translated, which is seriously hindering my ability to complete the course.  Homework assignments that should take only a matter of hours are taking me two days to complete as I look up words and then look them up again three lines later having already forgotten the English translation over the duration of about ten minutes and facepalming the minute I see the English again.  Seriously frustrating.  At the moment, with some changes in medication, I can’t seem to recall anything we learned last year – not even simple noun declensions, verb conjugations and tenses or principle parts.  Asking me to explain the mood or case of something, when parsing, is like asking me to teleport to Ancient Rome to run Cicero to ask him why he’s inflicted all this shit on us in the first place!  Impossible!

So struggling with Latin has gone from being challenging and enjoyable to being frustrating and riddled with anxiety, as I just can’t seem to remember what I need to know.  And it has bought home hard, like a slap upside the head with a wet haddock, just how bad my memory has become.  I can’t remember the Latin I learned yesterday, but to test a theory, I started working through an online self taught French tutorial program and have been sailing through it on high school French that I learned over 20 years ago!  I’m paying more attention to the memory problems now and I’m noticing more and more that I can’t remember shit.  I can’t remember important stuff, I’m losing track of menial stuff and I’m now officially getting worried about it because after a tiny bit of research and a meeting with my dealer… err I mean doctor, it turns out I have developed some serious prescription medication dependencies.  Or flat out drug addictions if we want to do away with the niceties.

Problem is, I can’t give them up.  I don’t want to give them up.  Go ahead, make my day… just try and take them off me and see what happens!  For without the drugs, there is no sleep.  Without the sleep, there is no coping with being in pain ALL day.  Without the coping there is a bottle of the most ludicrously expensive champagne and ALL the pills at once in my foreseeable future.

So… my name is Borys and I have a prescription drug addiction.  But somehow I doubt there are meetings for people with no desire or motivation whatsoever to kick their habits.  🙁

Nope. No Desire to Build My Dream House

I have reoccurring dreams of this house, and by reoccurring I mean I have been dreaming of this place since I was maybe in my late teens?  I am pretty sure the house doesn’t exist, and thank fuck for that!

My ‘dream house’ and I use the term ironically, is a place filled with a sense of latent menace, potential danger and lurking evil… think the basement from Silence of the Lambs or the training camp/armoury in the more contemporary TV show, The Following.  The walls are solid brick or cement, once white but now filthy with age and neglect.  The rooms range from huge with makeshift fires in the corner that people can huddle around to tiny narrow hallways with lowered ceilings that make me duck as I walk along.  The whole place is rather dark and somewhat dank, but I can see clearly thanks to old bunker lights high on the walls in a variety of amber and deep red colours colours… which reminds me of untold hours spent in the B&W darkrooms at Uni many years ago.  The most disquieting aspect of the house is its inhabitants.  There are a multitude of hairy unwashed miscreants, who appear to be hiding around corners and loitering around leeringly down the long and dreary, windowless hallways.

dream analysis therapy

The people are often congregating furtively in corners, engaged in unknown but definitely nefarious deeds… I can feel their ill intentions washing over me when I come across them and it takes considerable willpower not to scream and run.  They seem to be constantly scheming, but will stop and stare at me when I come into a room.  They watch me as I inch past them warily with my back against a wall, until I leave ‘their’ space, and then they resume their evil confabulations once I have departed.  Moving through the house is always quite disconcerting, because even though I know the place is populated with plenty of these undesirable individuals, they inevitably and invariably scare the crap out of me when I walk around the corner and discover a group of them congregating somewhere.

Occasionally, I can hear cries of anguish or distress in the echoing hallways… no, it’s definitely not a ‘dream house’ in the traditional sense of the term.

I could try to map the place out, I’ve been there so often in my dreams that I can visualise the rooms and hallways and how they interconnect, but I doubt the effort would result in anything remotely practical, as I know the house doubles back on itself and rooms connect to other rooms in such a way that defies architecture and physics – the place is a veritable maze and I can never find my way out, I’m stuck there until I wake up feeling slightly alarmed and insecure.  I’m not sure what causes these dreams… but when I find myself wandering these hallways I always feel alone, unprotected and extremely nervous that something bad is going to happen.  I’ve had these dreams many times and again last night… but have never bothered to try and find out what they might mean.

So I decided to look up a bit of dream interpretation on the Internet – reliable sources that they are.  And this is what the Internets in its infinite wisdom spat out:

A house represents your life. The rooms are aspects of your life. Being or living in a foreign or unfamiliar house means you’re in an unfamiliar part of your life. It’s not dangerous but it can be scary, as new things often are. Something wrong about the house means something in your life isn’t working.

Small rooms may mean you’re feeling confined or limited. Having a lot of rooms could be a lot of choices or just confusion in your life. Hallways are transitions, such as when you’re deciding something or in between parts of your life. The more winding they are, the more trouble you are having transitioning or accepting changes in your life.

Not having windows also would be very confining, very stifling. Getting lost means being confused, unsure where to go with your life.

Going into the basement represents your subconscious, your deeper thoughts and feelings. Finding a new door would be you’ve expanded your life somehow and a wall with a secret room would be thoughts, ideas, memories that you’ve hidden even from yourself. These dreams really are a collection of very easy to understand symbols!

It’s good that you go in the secret room, you’re exploring those hidden thoughts, and that does lead to other levels, but each level is harder to understand, maybe you’re reaching a more basic you without the superficial, which is a good thing but can be scary.

Things being under construction and dirt floors simply represent that you’re still under construction, you’re still figuring out who you are and so on.  Having an old feeling probably comes from these feelings being rooted in the past. Lack of lighting would mean you’re having trouble understanding, things are not “illuminated” for you.

Feeling you’re being watched or followed could deal with others you feel are observing you, or a sense of your own behaviours as others see them.

You’re figuring out what’s wrong with the house, so that’s introspection, looking at your life and how you can improve it. Being stuck and can’t get out would simply mean you feel stuck, unable to progress, unable to break beyond limits, unable to change your life.

Well that all sounds like pretty typical psychobabbly really.  Most of it readily applies back to dealing with chronic pain and/or the complete inertia my life seems to have taken on since the last car accident.  Damn, thought maybe there’d be something new or useful there.

Oh, well… maybe one of these days there will be unicorns and rainbows in my dreams, but to be honest, if there ever was, I’d probably be checking the labels on my drugs quick smart!

Just one pain free day.

Ok, I try really fucking hard not to complain about back pain in this stupid blog, else I would be boring even me to death every single day.  But today I am OVER it.  It’s barely 10am and I am utterly and completely OVER IT!  If I didn’t have to go out to get the Small Child later today, I’d be drugged up to the eyeballs right now and just write the entire day off.

I went to sleep with my usual amount of Valium, at a usual hour and have woken up feeling so much worse than when I turned in.  My back is not just causing me pain, it is making breathing difficult as the pain is radiating around to my chest and rib cage.  The same pain feels like it is radiating up my spine and has taken residence in the top of my head, which feels very much like I have been repeatedly smacked on the back of the head with a basketball since I woke up.  My eyes are hurting for crying out loud!  Literally aching in their sockets with acute spikes in eye pain when looking in any direction other than straight ahead.  It hurts to blink and I’m not even hung over!

I’ve obviously been clenching my jaw overnight because my teeth are aching and the muscles around my jaw and face are painful and tense… which has the disconcerting side effect of making my ears feel like they are bleeding .  This in itself, is a sensation which is not at all pleasant after a few hours of it.  I’ve got pain in my lower back and in my hips, in my forearms and my wrists!  There’s a weird wtf-something-or-other going on in my right foot that is making me hobble!  My shoulder blades and collar bones are complaining if I have the audacity to move my arms!  And my neck. Holy snappin’ duck shit!  My neck seems to have forgotten that it’s primary function is to hold my head up and move it from left to right, as it is currently only doing so under extreme duress and with incredibly painful complaint!  I fucking hate my body with it’s ‘snap, crackle and pop’ every time I try to move.  It’s sending me round the bend.  Who can fucking live like this?  Constant pain and, for reasons beyond my understanding, today (just a random ‘any’ day, when I’ve not done anything to cause it) it has decided to ramp up and really test me.

And none of this is conducive to finishing my Latin assignment!

pain free day. chronic pain enough

 

Lesson learned: Do not compare yourself to others!

Bathers – check.
Towel – check.
Kickboard – check.
Fins – check.
Goggles – check.
Swim pass – check.
Car keys – check.
Small child + accoutrements – check!

Right – all ready to go.   Jump in the car.  Drive to the pool.  Find a park.  Swipe in at the counter.  Go find an empty lane.  Dump my gear.  Disrobe outer garments.  Jump in pool.

Sigh… feel exhausted already!  Strike out at a slow and stead pace bobbing along up and down, up and down.  Fight the obsessive personality traits thing and try hard not to count the strokes because that’s just damn depressing.  Do first two laps and feeling okay.  Do another two laps and still feeling pretty good.  Maybe this getting stronger plan is going to pay off dividends eventually.

Then, look over at the sleek, lithe, aquatic-looking creature in the lane beside me and come to a sad realisation… We look about the same age but I have to acknowledge that he is doing about four or five graceful and effortless laps to every one of my slow and laborious bobbing up and down laps!  And I think to myself, ‘Mutter, mutter… got a fricken long way to go…  and doesn’t even look like he’s out of breath!’

Then I see something out of the corner of my eye that goes a hell of a looong way to making me feel less inadequate and so entirely hopeless.  Is that?  Are those?  Is that what I think it is?  Why, yes… that tattoo on his chest is a depiction of the internationally recognisable Olympic rings logo.  And then I notice the green and gold Aussie swimming cap and the speedos with “AUS” stamped firmly across the butt.  And then I notice he’s not alone and is swimming with several other equally superb aquadynamic specimens, some of whom are also likewise bedecked in Aussie swimming caps and “AUS” speedos… oh, and is that another Olympic rings logo tattoo?  Yep.

olympic tattoo chest

Well, suddenly I’m feeling a lot better about my lack of grace and prowess as I bob up and down up and down the lane barely managing to keep my head above water.  I shouldn’t compare myself to these small god-like creatures who’ve been training in the pool for years… ‘Come and talk to me guys when you’ve been in pain for the last 20 years and can’t walk properly!’

By the time I finish my allotted laps for the afternoon, I am in a lot of pain and absolutely stuffed… and I’m well aware that I’ve done but a fraction of the distance, with a fraction of the technical proficiency of my fellow swimmers – by now they have all gotten out of the pool, changed poolside and are standing around in a huddle listening intently to a weatherworn looking gent who, given he was earlier barking incomprehensible numbers at them as they turned at the end of their laps, I assume must be their coach.

It is then that I notice that they’re all huddled around exactly where I left my towel and my clothes.  🙁  Now, I’m not one usually one for false modesty, and I’m not usually one known for being hideously self conscious nor do I usually get all wrapped up in negative thoughts about my body image.  Thanks to four nasty car accidents and PCOS (which resulted in infertility, insulin resistance and multiple miscarriages)… My body and I have had, what I would characterise as an uneasy relationship, for many years.  The body I have is nothing like that which I should prefer it to be.  And I have often felt it has stymied me at ever turn, forever rising in revolt against me time and time again… In fact I consider my body to be somewhat of a traitor!  It never lets me do what I want, it never turns the pain down to a dull roar, it never works properly at all!  But all the same, you only get one, and this one is the one that I am stuck with, and my physical limitations have forced me to accept and recognise years ago that it’s physical appearance just is what it is.  I’ve always been far more concerned with it’s complete lack of willingness to co-operate with me on the pain and the fertility thing that how it looks!  So for the most part, meh, I accept the neat figure of my youth is long gone and take solace in being told I have ‘an awesome rack’.  What are you going to do? *shrug*

BUT that said, there was no way in hell I was going to get out of that damn pool in my granny togs with their bust support and walk into the middle of that teeming pile of tanned, sleek, capable, healthy, muscular bodies!  Nope.  No way, no how.  Just not gonna happen!  So I did a couple more very slow laps and thought, they must be leaving soon.  A couple more laps… argh starting to really feel serious acute pain in my shoulder girldle and am clenching my teeth here.   And just as I reluctantly decide with a decidedly sinking feeling, that I’m going to have to walk in among that collection of super fit, fine athletic Olympic specimens to fetch my towel and get ready to go home… suddenly they disperse and leave.

Phew.  Disaster averted.  I wouldn’t have to display my blindingly white thighs and quasi-tuckshop arms to the Beautiful People after all.  🙂   And almost immediately, I felt rather sheepish and more than little bit silly at being relieved!