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7:55 p.m. - 01/29/02
their eyes would pass over you.
Owwwwwwwwww...headache from hell. The very typing of the keys is like knives throbbing, so I will have to speed through this as much as possible. I'm beginning to wonder if they're migraines (though a good portion of my brain is still convinced, as always, that they *must* be psychosomatic). Whatever it is, I'm almost positive it's related to stress, and that I need to begin paying attention to the pattern (which I think is "wave of nausea, tiredness, pain above eyes, spreads to in front of eyes, throbbing pain and queasiness) and the circumstances at the time of onset. If I *do* end up telling a doctor about all of this, it's better to give them a bit more information then "well I feel sick and achy all the time and it hurts to open my eyes."

In short, today sucked. I had a very strong urge about an hour ago to curl up in a snug ball and cry myself to sleep. Unfortunately I wasn't at home to fulfill it, and the ability to bawl my eyes out seems to have left me, though it was definitely around in Tammy's office earlier this evening. The gist of my tears is this: I'm sad. I'm so fucking *sad.* It's not depression; it's just this fragility of feeling, this weakness that makes me easily overpowered by feelings of razor-edged sadness that is still somehow soft. I start to choke a little in my throat and then the tears come. At Rogers, we called it grief, but grief for what I'm not sure. Tracy, certainly, but I think there's more. I think a lot of it is grief for who I might be right now that I am not because of this illness. Grief for the life I would be living - sadness that I can't leave my house without shaking, that I feel fear for irrational reasons or no reasons at all, that over a year has passed and I'm still being weighed and prodded and altered.

Sometimes it's hard not to take cognitive behavioral therapy as a personal attack. Sometimes, when the only people you see are doctors and the only thing those doctors seem to want in you is *change* - it starts to feel like the illness is not so much their enemy as the self, and although Tammy assured me that isn't true, and expressed her wish to better explain, I still cried a little and wished my sweater were fleece instead of cotton. It's the type of day when you prefer the softest things.

I know there is a lot of suffering in the world, and mine is not unique. But I still believe it's valid. My parents tell each other horror stories about people they know, and one of them always says something to the effect of "sure makes our lives seem perfect" - which always leaves me a bit on edge. I don't believe my suffering outweighs that of the world, mostly because I don't believe it's a contest. Mostly I just believe it hurts, whether it's migraine or grief or recovery, it *hurts* and instead of trying to top each other or use each other to minimize our struggle, why can't we just be allowed to cry...?

I pray to God I do some sobbing tomorrow - the healing sort of course...

*deep breath*

chord

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