Happy 2022. Somehow, I’m still alive.
The final leg of my Pregabalin tapering schedule was 25mg every second day, landing the final dose on Monday the 3rd of January.
In an unprecedented feat of emotional stability, of which I am inclined to accredit the overall lack of anti-convulsants:
The month of December was entirely devoid of inconsolable crying!
The phone rings and I take a look.
Although the sun has been up for some time, the curtains are drawn. It’s my day off and aside from chronic insomnia, I’ve been pulling extra hours at work since lockdown ended- today I get to stay quietly in a darkened room.
By choice.
Claude likes to hang out on the desk, so I got her a couch.
How does it feel knowing you will never be this comfortable?
So, like…
I’m not saying tapering off pregabalin has cured my depression…
Pills that straightup make you wanna die.
But it is entirely within the realms of possibility that I may have been experiencing one or two Side Effects™.
This lockdown simultaneously lasted longer and ended sooner than anticipated.
Half the country has returned lockdown purgatory, there was like a week there we were allowed out and it was… Well, the mere thought of going outside fills me with dread, which is always a ride but never one I want to be on.
Shortly before this latest round of lockdowns, on one of my days off, I slept until 4pm, ate one (1) potato, drank 3 cups of coffee, then stayed up until 4am playing 3DS and texting my penpals before heading off for a full day of work at 8:30am because the sleep deprivation makes me feel so alive.
The coalition have kind of fucked up the whole vaccination rollout, leaving much of Australia back in lockdown purgatory with the vague hope of maybe, y’know, not dying from COVID-19 while we wait for vaccines which may or may not ever arrive thanks to a government who may or may not have lied about even ordering them in the first place- paired with a staunch refusal to invest in any form of on-shore manufacture (in any industry, that one’s not solely limited to life-saving medications).
Recently my GP of the past 10 (11, even?) years moved interstate. 2020 was kind of a rough year for… basically everybody? And while I’ve certainly been stressed out that somebody who has been so integral to my healthcare over the past decade is no longer accessible to me, he basically singlehandedly restored my trust in the medical industry, for which I harbour significant gratitude. Wishing all the best for him and everything the future holds.
Which brings us to the point of today’s entry:
Finding a new GP, in the middle of a literal pandemic, as a transgender person, is certifiably
u n h i n g e d .