Fell asleep without lorazepam and again I couldn’t stay asleep. HR stayed in the 70s till I took a lorazepam a few hours later and could then get into a deep enough sleep in the 60s.

Although I managed a quick bike ride and a trip to the Walmart we used to go to when we lived in Auburn (ours isn’t open 24 hrs.), I felt like shit most of the day. Goes to prove that while Tom’s presence helps, especially if things turn scary like with killer racy HRs, he can’t make it all go away. I still have the butterflies, fatigue and lightheadedness.

I’m totally losing hope of ever getting better for good. Those pre-Citrus Heights days are gone forever. :( So, so depressing. Sometimes I wonder if I should just kill myself.

I just downed 1.5 chicken wings. Mood’s stable but not normal. What I mean by “normal” is the pre-park days. Lightheadedness and fatigue haven’t set in yet. That seems to happen later in my day. I swear I’d rather go back to being pissed at the whole world if I had to have any negative feelings at all! Worrying about an external source is always easier than when it’s internal and has no end in sight. I get breaks, but no permanent relief and I’m beginning to fear I never will. It’s been 2 long years now. When I said over a year ago, “This is the new me,” I think I was right. This is me now, and I either have to live with this internal torture or end it all completely and hope for the best as far as any possible afterlife goes.

Noisy neighbors, hoping traffic doesn’t wake me up, earaches, toothaches, allergies… how I wish to hell those were my worst concerns! But what if there is a God up there who hates me and plans to make life progressively worse and worse for me? What if my life “peaked” in the Oregon house, that was the best it was going to get, and from here on out it’s just going to get worse and worse? What if I do have a stroke and end up half-paralyzed like my grandmother was?

My moods simply don’t match my life. I have a beautiful house and everything I need and most of what I want. So then I fall apart? WTF? Being anxious doesn’t go with my life, and I wish I could be as sure as Tom is that this is just the perimenopause talking and that it’ll eventually back off for good, but there are no guarantees. The not knowing for sure compounds the misery.

I even had a headache yesterday that was hard to kill and that I rarely get, and my eyes are noticeably worse. I hope the pressure isn’t up! We plan to get eye exams and new glasses during his vacation.

Although it’s a ways off yet I really hope the statin retrial works. I really want it to, but again, there are things that suggest it will while there are things that suggest it won’t.

God damn, do I wish he could be home for 2.5 years like when the economy collapsed! I just don’t look forward to my alone time anymore; a great thing if he were retiring, but he’s still got many years to go and we don’t even know for sure that he’ll retire at 66. Might need to work till he’s 70. In that case, you’re talking over a decade.

He has to work on our anniversary but will be off the next day to cart me to the ultrasound.

I try to think positive thoughts and imagine there are a few people around, but my games don’t always cut it, cuz again, adults just can’t see pretend games through the more convincing and imaginative eyes of a child. I just want to be happy! Carefree. Full of energy. Able to enjoy my hobbies and what I’ve got going for me.

Instead, I know that any second, I will be too lightheaded or fatigued to do much of anything but lay around depressed about it. Better try to get some work done on my story, though, and see if I can finally focus on that before I lose the energy.

First, I dreamed of meeting with Becky from VH only she was skinny unlike in real life. She’s bigger than me.

Then I was sitting on a couch in our “home” with the laptop looking at some survey about food. A female voice listed off names of foods and I muted her. Then Tom appeared to step out from a room from a hallway that appeared both shorter and wider than ours. He cleared his throat and I glanced at him. He wore a strange black robe that was wide at the hem and at the end of the long sleeves. He asked if I was hungry.

Then there was some strange dream about a black woman raping me and later laying in bed looking up at a strange tube of dust and thinking how I should do some serious cleaning.