Okay, so first of all, wait, hold up, everybody shut up for a minute. I am so deeply grateful to everybody who took the time to comment, email, or message me yesterday. It was all a bit overwhelming (although to be fair, right now everything is overwhelming, including getting out of bed and/or composing a meal more complicated than several sticks of string cheese), but it was overwhelming in a good, kind, warm-hug sort of way. I struggle more these days with how honest/confessional I should be online, now that I have at least one foot in a more professional realm, albeit one where everybody still knows my blog name. But I'm glad I just came out and said what's what. Because it fucking sucks and I need a place where I can say that, curse words and all.
(IT FUCK FUCKITY FUCKFUCK FUCKER FUCKING FUCKSTICK SUCKS.)
But as planned, I got out of bed yesterday, took a shower, combed my hair kind of, powdered my shiny face and even dabbed on some mascara (which I may or may not still be wearing today), and drove myself to my doctor. She listened, nodded, and got to work digging the implant out of my arm with a scalpel. It certainly wasn't followed by an immediate I'M CURRRRRED revelation, but I did feel an immense sense of relief.
Since I've had similarly terrible sensitivities to anti-anxiety medications and antidepressants (I get every side effect listed and then some), for now I'm going to apply the lessons learned from the hormone disaster and go the therapy route along for now. I was definitely in deep, deep denial as to how my anxiety was impacting my life (avoidance, procrastination, a dollop of self-sabotage, assuming the worst-case scenario was lurking behind every unopened email or text or unanswered phone call, etc.) and I need to get myself some grown-up coping skills. I can no longer passively blame A Thing In My Arm for my weird mental gymnastics and failures, so it is officially a Sack Up, Ho moment.
("Sack Up, Ho" was an insider-y rallying cry from the Mamapop days of yore, and remains something of a personal mantra of mine. Try it! It's oddly motivating.)
(Surprise flower delivery from a friend, complete with all-caps SACK UP HO inscription on the card, made even better because it involved two separate phone calls from a very confused florist.)
Anyway, again, thank you for reading, for listening, for commiserating. Let's all promise to take care of ourselves and each other, and hold hands and come together to invent a version of Kumbaya that involves a ton of curse words and dirty jokes. I think that is exactly what the world needs right now.