It’s the drugs. It’s the drugs. It’s the drugs.

I had a very strange weekend. Great in some ways and kinda unnerving in others. It was good in that I was productive and managed to get heaps done around the house as well as making good with my new resolution to make time to read the paper in the weekend.

The reason it was strange is a bit harder to put into words (which is interesting as I clearly demonstrate that I don’t usually have much of an issue in that department – in fact, the issue is usually keeping it concise).

I am back on the fertility drugs and as past experience has taught me – there are side effects. There was the weekend when I cried over everything. There was the weekend when I was filled with inexplicable rage. And then there was this weekend. Enter the paranoia.

Shaun was away for the weekend so I was home alone. That in itself is extremely rare. It used to fill me with dread. I would book up every spare second of the weekend with social events because I didn’t enjoy my own company. I’ve come full circle now and I love it, but it’s strange talking to an empty house – and it’s fair to say that I do quite a bit of talking.

I’m not completely sure that paranoia is the right word for what I’ve been experiencing. It’s more like this feeling that something bad is about to happen. Or like I’ve done something wrong (like the time I shut Chico in Shaun’s suit cupboard for the day by mistake and had this feeling of foreboding all day – which turned out to be appropriate as he had shredded several suits in order to make a nest). I would go over all the key bits of my life in my head and tick them off to reassure myself that all is well. This became habitual. I did it every hour or so. I started a mantra. It’s the drugs. It’s the drugs. It’s the drugs. I knew it was, but I had no control.

I would be doing something mundane like hanging out the washing when I’d think about the fact that it was possible that I’d die in a car accident on the way to the baby shower I had to go to. What the hell? Then I’d laugh at myself. It’s the drugs. It’s the drugs. It’s the drugs. Or I’d be making Shaun’s lunch for work today and I’d wonder if I was about to be fired from my job. It’s the drugs. It’s the drugs. It’s the drugs.  I went for a run and became paranoid about the fact that my fly was down. I checked it every 20 steps or so. It’s the drugs. It’s the drugs. It’s the drugs.

Last night I was watching CSI and thinking about the fact that some people live with this kind of thing on a daily basis and they can’t blame the drugs. I am grateful that I have the presence of mind to understand what’s going on and to talk myself out of it. But most of all I’m thankful that in a couple of days I’ll be off the drugs and things will be back to normal.

I just hope my world doesn’t end today.


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