I can look back from each day after these thoughts have invaded me like a rampant virus, and they seem like silly, childish memories. But in the moment they are real. So pervasively, honestly, deeply real.
I can't trust myself.
Do you know what happens when you spend day in and day out with someone you know you can't trust? The relationship crumbles. Flip it around. I can't begin to convey the kind of torture it is to never be trusted.
I'm all about self love. Kindness, gentleness turned inward. This chelation process is putting it to the ultimate test.
Let me step back for a minute.
In July, I found two naturopathic doctors in the state who knew how to treat copper poisoning. One was in my town. I worked up the courage to call, and they put me on a two month waiting list. I called everyday to ask if they'd had any cancellations. Three days later, I had an appointment for the same week. Or so I thought. Long story short, I ended up seeing the PA, not the actual doctor. Blood tests were ordered, chelation supplementation began. High levels of Zinc and activated B6. I expected strange symptoms. My facial numbness returned, intermittent tremors, exhaustion, copper mouth (it's all I can taste at times). Three weeks later, I saw Dr. Jacobs. He reduced my chelation dosage. He added HPA support to help my organs function better and ease my anxiety. Iron to help with the hidden anemia. He also added supplements to balance my female hormones. To attempt to get my Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder and severe menorrhagia managed. This started changing immediately, but not for the better. I gained weight immediately, my skin broke out, my anxiety worsened. My period week was hell. I was determined to wait it out. To let things get better. But the worst was the mental seesaw. Anxiety, depression, anxiety, depression. I spent so much time pacing and shaking just to try to get through things like cooking dinner. I took myself off the hormonal supplements midway through my second raging awful cycle on them. The suicidal thoughts and dreams were returning. I could not live this way.
My doctor agreed that the intended effects of the hormonal balancing were being reversed by the chelation process and the stress my liver was under. We agreed to leave those for after the copper detox is done. He changed my dosage of almost everything, and added 5HTP to help the anxiety. That's when depression came swinging like a sledgehammer. Luckily I have some Dopamine and Acetylcholine support in my arsenal to contend with it. I'm sure we'll adjust things again the next time I go in. The things copper does to my brain are brutal and unpredictable. This chemistry manipulation game is exhausting. I hate it.
I can't trust myself.
I can't make a decision. I can rarely handle a schedule of any type. Very rarely can I feel awe. I know it sounds weird, but for someone who has made it a point to stay in awe of life and the world around her, it's a tragic loss.
I haven't been able to draw or paint well in weeks. My custom orders have gone unfilled. I know I need to give myself space to heal, but I just feel like I'm failing at everything.
Jenna and Katie dragged me off to the Grand Canyon this weekend. I'm so grateful Aaron took care of the kids and let me go. It was amazing, and I'm so glad I went. There was so much to be in awe of. And yet, between the breathtaking sunset and the mind blowing full moon rise, I leaned back in the the car, delirious, and cried into my pillow until I found the presence of mind to take something to support my brain. Everything between the highs and lows is numb. The girls were incredibly patient and kind. I'm grateful every moment for such incredible people in my life. I'm grateful that while Katie went to run Rim to Rim to Rim, Jenna took me out on the most unreal trail for 4 hours of feeling almost like the girl that I miss being. I'm grateful for mini gummy bears, and Sweetwood Meat Sticks, salt and vinegar chips, and car trip dance parties, and Chinese fire drills to keep us awake as we drove through the night to get home. I'm grateful for gentle memories of Coyote songs in the middle of the night, and long walks along to rim of the canyon to find the best views.
I'm beyond grateful that even when I can't trust myself, I have people that I can undoubtedly trust. To hug me with their whole souls, through long deep breaths. To make me laugh when I've forgotten how. And to trust the me they know is in here somewhere still. They know she's still kind, and generous, and strong, and worthy, even when I don't.
It's going to get better.
I don't know how long it will take, or how many friends or brain cells I will have left when it's over. But it has to get better.
