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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.


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Here's the thing about medications. They make them for a reason--to help people who need them. Whether it be for anxiety or for pain. And just because some people abuse them does not mean that others shouldn't use them. Your doctor prescribed them to you for a reason. Try to remember that and not feel guilty about it. Also, just because someone does abuse them doesn't make them a bad person either. And if your husband did slip up, it wouldn't be your fault because it isn't your job to make sure he does what he should. You can be supportive without being his parole officer. In fact, policing his behavior can turn into enabling in that he might learn he doesn't have to be responsible for himself if you are. (Not saying this is the case--just trying to say that you can let go of feeling obligated to always be checking on him and that wouldn't make you a bad person or bad wife.)

As for visiting your brother's grave, you will do it when you are ready. I can't imagine he would want you to feel bad because it hurts too much. What's important is how you feel about your brother, not whether you get flowers to his grave or not.

If the side effects of the prozac are too much, bring them up with your doctor. They can switch you to something else or adjust your dose.

I'm glad you have hope. Try to be kind to yourself. We can all see that you are trying and that you are a good person.

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Thanks pseud, I always value your information. You are right to an extent when you say it isn't my fault if he does slip up. See, the only way that I have kept him focused on staying sober before is by slamming the door behind him and refusing to let him around me or the kids if he's on something. I didn't care if it meant sleeping in his car during 20 degree weather or sleeping on the porch in 100 degree weather. He knows that if he does slip, then there are consequences to his behavior. If he just so happens to do something and I don't notice it, he's just going to do it again as soon as he gets the chance. So if I have a zero tolerance policy and a keen eye to signs he's using, it's less likely he's going to screw up, right?

I'm still trying to weigh the pros and cons of the prozac. At this point, the pros are outweighing the cons by a small margin. Plus, I'd take Prozac any day of the week over having flashbacks. The flashback scenario was a whole new experience for me, one that I don't particularly know how to handle. I'm hoping that the longer that I'm on the Prozac, the more it will even things out, and the side effects will diminish. Only time will tell. Thanks for the input pseudome.

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