What an odd couple weeks it has been. Today marks three weeks off Klonopin. I have to admit that generally I have been feeling well, but there have been a few notable instances where things have been somewhat uncomfortable. I haven’t posted for two weeks for a couple reasons. The first is just time. I have such limited time to myself that I have to decide what I am going to do with it, and frankly I have chosen other things of late. The second is just me being cautious. I really feel like in a way I am learning to live again, and sometimes it feels like it might be better if I don’t look into things to deeply when I am feeling reasonably well. It is over thinking and over analyzing that works against me after all. To stay with the theme of my blog title I feel as if I have been living several steps back from the edge on secure ground. Walking back to the lip just so I can look in the hole seems unnecessarily dangerous. I did sit down and begin a post about a week back, but it is still in draft form collecting dust.
As said I have mostly felt pretty good, but that doesn’t mean it’s been all sunshine and roses. Before when I was not well I hated going out. I didn’t want to be away from home and deal with anxiety and panic, and I certainly didn’t want to be away from home and deal with being sick. Over the years with the Klonopin I was very functional. I had my days, but for the most part I was pretty normal. Losing the Klonopin has been akin to a trapeze artist performing without a net. I am now operating with nothing between me and anxiety/panic except my own rational faculties. I have really at times had to force myself into doing things in hopes that cumulative positive experiences will help my confidence. The other measure with which I gauge myself is my stomach. For years the most useful barometer of my stress level, my stomach has been pretty quiet over the past couple weeks. In fact I think it has been over two weeks now since I last took anything to seize up my bowels which is always nice.
The only trouble I have faced has been the unpredictable occurrence of the Flight side of my Fight or Flight reflex being activated. There is nothing to be scared of, but several times over the past couple weeks I have felt the sudden urge to flee. To where I haven’t the foggiest idea, but I can feel the sensation of being turned inside out and the building urge to run. I have fought it back and won each time, but last night I woke up at about midnight feeling the urge to flee. That has never ever happened to me and I have found the experience unsettling. I have no idea why this has been happening. I hope it passes, but I will admit to a fear that it may be the beginning of something bad. It scares me that even putting those words on paper will make it a self fulfilling prophecy. I want to ignore it and hope it will go away. The bright side of it has been that it has not really controlled me. Even last night I was unnerved, but I changed my position in bed and took some deep breaths to try and reset myself. I was back to sleep before I knew it. I didn’t sleep well after, but I had gone to bed a little angry with the Mrs. so I cant really tell why I had trouble sleeping.
That brings me to another point. I may have spoken to this before, as the truth is I cant always remember what I actually put on the page and what is just passing through my mind. Since the Klonopin has been out of my system I have been more emotional. I feel things deeper again. I laugh harder and I feel sadness on a deeper level. I have lost track of the times my eyes have watered due to something I have read or seen. Since Christmas I have read a couple historical accounts of The Second World War and Vietnam. The WWII book dealt with American POWs in Southeast Asia. I was shocked and appalled at the cruelty and tortuous experiences these men endured, but I was moved to the point of tears not by the horror they witnessed but by their experiences when they found freedom. I cried with them when the Rising Sun was taken down over one of their camps and replaced by an American Flag the men had hand sewn from cloth scraps they had gathered over years in captivity and kept hidden from the guards. I don’t know why I am writing about this now except I find it odd that I can read about death and disease with shock but not sadness, while the emotions of their freedom overwhelmed me. Strange.
Regardless I hope to continue posting here and reading the blogs of others. I enjoy the community of folks who may understand the ramblings I put here. In another week and a half I will submit the paperwork the Coast Guard requires to revaluate my application package. Hopefully things will stay stable that long.