Tested positive for COVID yesterday.
I’d been showing a variety of symptoms since Wednesday, but all of my home tests kept coming back negative. Then I found out that someone I had been around on Monday tested positive, and suddenly things got more concerning.
Luckily I don’t (yet) have a fever. And my breathing seems to be fine. Those were the main things that hit me when I got covid the FIRST time two years ago.
But everything else has me feeling like I have been knocked over by a semi-truck and kicked around for good measure, and I am feeling worse and worse every day.
Friends raised my hopes, though, when they told me about this new drug called Paxlovid. They all said that from what they’d heard it was easy to get, helps immensely, shortens the length of time people are sick, and it was important to get on right away.
Trying to get on with someone who could prescribe it was more difficult than I had been told. But, then again, I am already dealing with anxiety and a wicked foggy brain. But a friend helped me out with a direct link to the direct link I needed to get the process started.
From there, piece of cake.
Questionnaire had all the things you’d expect. Symptoms. Medical problems. Medications you’re on. Etc.
After the fact I wish I had lied about my medications. (I wouldn’t have, really, though, because a) I know better and 2) I know better!)
Turns out that both the Lamictal and Wellbutrin (particularly the Wellbutrin) have potential serious interactions with the Paxlovid. And because you don’t want to fuck with going off and on psych meds, I can’t just STOP taking the meds while I take this other drug and then pop back on them.
As well, even if the side effects are low, I simply don’t feel comfortable with losing even a little of the efficacy of the most important medications I take.
So no Paxlovid for me.
I went through this two years ago. The isolation. The sickness. The trying to deal with this on my own. The nightmares. The insane anxiety and daily breakdowns.
Going through this again, now – with other stuff happening in my life that is making my life a living hell (neighbor, hi! Yeah, he’s not gone and now I can’t even leave to get away from him) – is something I am not sure I am capable of handling.
I feel like this is just another way that having a mental illness punishes me. I live as normal a life as I can. And I do a pretty damn good job doing so. But I also know that it’s not the life I wish I could be living if I were normal.
I feel broken and defeated.