Nocturnal Wenchy

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

I needed to renew a repeat script for Cymgen. A kick ass medication prescribed at my Fibromyalgia diagnosis in 2011.

I’m not always sure what the medication does. Where chronic illness ends and Wenchy starts. I’m very certain of what happens when I do not take my medication!

Even with the best medication, pain still creeps over my body rendering me powerless and incapacitated to deal with simple tasks at times. It steals time and experiences from me. I hate it.

People do not understand. I look fine. Actually I’m fabulous. I have no limbs missing, no open wound to sympathise with. My smile lights up the room I’m told. Sunbeam I am dammit.

I feel a smouldering anger at this faceless attacker. Cowardly, powerful asshole this nonsense is. There is nothing and nobody to direct these feelings to. Acceptance is not mine.

I can tell you that stopping this schedule five drug leaves my brain zapping as if searching for flickering connection. It is an awful feeling. My brain shaking inside my skull.

My skin crawls with anxiety, my breathing becomes shallow and I’m pretty certain others experience my behaviour as a drug addict needing a fix. It would be a pretty accurate observation.

I dropped my local GP an email who usually replies with my repeat script for the next six months.

Instead, I receive an email informing me that he would like confirmation of my illness before providing a script.

I tried to remain calm. A confirmation of my Fibromyalgia diagnosis, Generalized Anxiety Disorder or my ever popular Bipolar status? Just the one or all of the above?

Cymgen I’ve been told covers it all to a certain extend, as well as some of the physical pain.

Yes there are other medication I take as and when the need arises. Xanor is my lifeline for anxiety. I’m prescribed Synaleve and Tramahexal for pain. Neither deliver and I often find myself returning to simple Paracetamol and Ibuprofen.

I phone the doctors rooms. Phone calls usually numb me with fear, but when fueled by withdrawal all things become possible. My brain is zapping, hear me roar.

My tone is agitated. I explain that for the past two years the doctor has had no issue providing me with a script. Saving me the cost of seeing my Specialist Rheumatologist and mental health practitioner that all comes with a very special price. A price I cannot afford.

The doctor persists. A confirmation of my illness is required. I allow my Bipolar self free reign.

I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Manic Depression, later to be called Bipolar, at fourteen years of age. I do not remember the doctors name. I was 14. I’m 44 now. The doctor is probably dead. Where would you like me to find confirmation?

The Fibromyalgia is easier. I’m sure the Specialist Rheumatologist would be delighted to discuss my case at a small fee.

I explain that I had not realised it was my last script. I’m four days into withdrawal and I’m not a fucking delight.

The doctor is determined. Apparently it would be unethical to give me the script. A small unmedicated laugh escape my body.

So after two years you have developed an ethical bone in your body? It took you two years to figure out my schedule 5 drug is habit forming? Seriously?

My anger almost results in me resorting to making appropriate accents belonging in local sitcoms.

Now… my son Kev (love that child) gifted me access to Netflix. I have quickly adapted it to #NetflixAndChill. It sounds very urban hip to me. I feel so grown up.

My beloved and very composed 18 year old daughter, Victoria immediately told me #NetflixAndChill has a sexual connotation and could I please stop saying it. “Mom… MOM!”

No. I’m not. It makes me feel very chill and rolls off my tongue. #NetflixAndChill for everyone!

The other day I was all #NetflixAndChill watching a documentary on female killers as one honestly should when you are slightly demented.

This very lovely lady somewhere in the land of the free killed her mother while going through withdrawal from an antidepressant much milder than Cymgen, in my informed opinion.

Least we forget that I’ve been experimented on since I was 14 with new drugs as they were developed. Xanor is clearly a winner as that hasn’t changed and no, the thought if being addicted to this medication does not bother me an inch.

Two things I don’t want to feel. Anxiety and physical pain.

Having #NetflixAndChill-ed my way through female killers in withdrawal, I felt great sympathy for said killer.

Okay… killing people is not cool. Orange will never be the new black with purple hair but I totally understand how your brain zapping and allowing an anxious person to become alot more focus on you, could get your ass #NetflixAndChill-ed!

I did mention that withdrawal is not very ethical. Not once was I told to come into the rooms or go to the Emergency Room. Just zap there in the corner with your crazy eyes Suzanne.

It was late in the day and my body was aching from sitting in a conference all day. My brain zapped and my anxiety was soothed by @SirNoid talking calmly and Liam James making tea. Love them.

It did occur to my funny self that they did not even know about my #NetflixAndChill thoughts! I let them live.

The next day I found a script in my inbox. Very ethically my Liam James collected my medication.

I wish you enough,

Wenchy