Here I am, once again, fighting with insomnia. I really believe the Prozac is helping me in so many ways, but it is wearing me out in others. I feel numb. Tired, but on edge, yet not quite. I'm not sure how to describe it exactly, but it's strange. I'm not sure if I should welcome the numbness from the pain, or worry about how numb it makes me towards other things.

I feel like a zombie, but I'm not crying all the time. The flashbacks have stopped for now, or atleast for the last few days. I'm grateful for that.

I was really a mess there for a while, so why should I complain about side effects, right?

I was really hurting yesterday and went to the cabinet to get my medicine. Out of curiosity I looked at when I was supposed to get it refilled. It was four days ago and I still had 70 pills out of the 180. It wasn't till then that I realized that my brother's death has effected me mentally in more ways than I'm aware of. Since he passed, I'm scared to take medicine, even though I know I take it as prescribed and never abuse it any way. But I'm scared that I'll die in my sleep or something and it will show up in my blood and then people will think I too was an addict like my brother.

There have been days that the bulged disc in my neck that is pinching a nerve has been so inflamed that I couldn't move my head. It hurt so bad my hair hurt. But I'd be damned if I took medicine because I hate it everything in me. Every time I look at my anxiety medicine or my pain medicine bottles, I feel this absolute disgust welling up inside me. And I know it's not just because it was prescription drugs that took my brother's life, but because my husband struggled most of his life with an addiction, and I still have to be his crutch to stay sober. I feel bad, but sometimes it's down right exhausting to go behind him and make sure he's not using. I feel like a cop/parole/probation officer. He does really well and doesn't slip but I feel like I have to be on my toes at all times! I am so disgusted with pills. I don't see what is so alluring about them. I wish I could throw all of mine in the garbage can and never take another in my life, but I can't. The disgust for them has me causing unnecessary pain and anxiety for myself. I won't even purchase cold medicine and I've been sick for two weeks now. That's how off track I am about since Charlie died.

Sometimes I feel like I'm insane. I know a normal person doesn't think like this. I know a normal person wouldn't sit here in excruciating pain like I have with each passing cold front forecasted, when I could have gotten relief by going to the medicine cabinet.

I've noticed something else that I'm doing, and it has me upset with myself. I'm avoiding going to visit my brother's gravesite. I'm trying to avoid aggravating my grief and by doing so I feel like I'm being disrespectful to him. I feel bad that I haven't gone and set new flowers on his tombstone. Why should he have a bare stone? All because I don't want to cry?

I feel a little grief stirring within me as I just said this, but it's not coming out. It's just coming up and then being numbed, only to be shoved back into a deep space to fester, I'm sure.

I don't know, we'll see how things go. Right now, I'm confused, but doing much better. I feel like the real Jenna may be able to come out again some day. Before, I had no hopes of ever being myself again.