I broke out with a horrible rash before I left Texas. It looked like measles or chicken pox. It was horrible, scratching the entire ten hour drive here to Florida. Two weeks later and remnants of the rash linger. My legs are scratched to hell. My skin is flaking all over my body. Every material irritates the fuck out of me. And I can't reach those spots. When I do, I've clawed my skin to shreds.
At first, I thought nerves and unhappiness about the move back. Psychosomatic. Perhaps it still is a side effect of that. But more and more, I think I'm allergic to my newest medicine. I've been taking it for well over a month. But according to some accounts, people on the med have experienced the same reaction. Sudden onslaught of this horrible, "I'm about to skin myself with a paring knife because it itches so bad" rash.
I can't stop taking it. It's the little boost that is helping keep my mood in check. I also have no fucking psychiatrist! The teetering I'm doing is balancing just enough for me to not fall over the suicide ledge. (Incidentally, I spent a few days in a psychiatric hospital in September because I almost did it. Checked myself in as an alternative to an overdose. That visit was fucked up.)
I'm pissy. I'm trying to be happy with the move back to Pensacola. Emmaline is loving school. She's adjusting well so any crisis that I'm trying to work myself into is worth the idiocy that it will bring about. At this moment....1132p on Friday, November 18, 2011....I hate it here. I've lost my dignity as well as Z. And I'm unhappy to say that I need him.
FUCK!
I'm screaming violently inside my head. I'm restless and tired.
It's all for a good reason. All for a good reason. Fuck, it better be.
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