*Feelin’ A Little Spacey*

Me again, just floating along and taking up my little bit of space. It’s been a difficult week in a lot of ways. But luckily (sort of) I was able to sleep through a lot of it. I’ve been more tired than usual lately, something I’m attributing to (maybe) the onset of a bit of depression. There are reasons for which I’ve gotten down about things and on myself; but I’m not ready to write about any of those things here, or anywhere. I’m not, yet, at least.

I think allergies have a lot to do with the excess sleep, too. The only medication I’ve found over the years that helps with my allergies is diphenhydramine, the ingredient in Benadryl and others, as well as being found in a lot of the over-the-counter sleep aids. When I was in elementary and high schools I had to go once a week to Taft, thirty-five miles away, to get an allergy shot. That continued until we moved here to Santa Fe. Here and at the other places I’ve lived I tried the prescription medications, especially the once-per-day ones we have now, like Claritin, Zyrtec… you get the idea. None of them proved as effective for me as diphenhydramine.

It used to not make me sleepy. In fact, as with a lot of the medications I take, I most often had the opposite reaction to it. Instead of it knocking me out, I would be wired and my heart would race even faster than my normal, tachycardic rhythm. And for a while, I had to take double the dose to get enough relief from my allergies so I could breathe at all. Ugh! Taking so much of it didn’t make me sleepy or sluggish (at that time), but it did make me feel “off.”

It’s allergy season for me all year around. I am allergic to so many things, though I’ve outgrown a lot of my childhood ones. I was so sick all the time as a kid that the dad and the brother took me, when I was about nine years old, to Santa Barbara, CA, to an allergy specialists’ clinic for a complete work-up. They did the “prick test,” where they draw a grid on one’s back, place drops of different things like grasses, pet dander, foods, etc., at the grid intersections, and then scrape the skin at those spots a little bit with a needle. And if that wasn’t bad enough, I then had to lie on my stomach for forty-five minutes and not scratch! Number one: never been able to breathe on my stomach; and number two: had to have my hands tied because I kept scratching a little bit, seeking some relief.

At the end of each phase of the testing, my allergic reactions were scored based on the size of the welt produced, the rating being from one to four. I forget which number showed the highest reaction, the one or the four. But whichever it was, I got mostly it. I was highly allergic to pretty much everything with the exception of any of the foods they tested on me. And what really sucked was that, after they had “graded” my allergic reactions, I was told I could put back on my shirt, they didn’t give me any antihistamines, and especially, especially they told me not to itch and scratch because I would scar my back something fierce. I didn’t care, but my dad was ever-alert and nailed me if I even leaned against the wall just to put pressure on the itchy spots. (Oh man… my cell memory has my back itching like crazy right now. But guess what. I can scratch; the dad can’t hit me; and I can take a diphenhydramine! So there!)

The results of the allergy testing messed up my life something crazy. I had to give up my dog, who was my best friend. When the dad told me that, during the long, long ride from Santa Barbara to our home, I started crying (wailing, really) and didn’t stop for hours, even when he made good on his threat to “give you something to really cry about.” We also had to get rid of our eight horses. But I learned later by eavesdropping that that was due to the rising cost of feed and upkeep, not to my allergies. Sure, they told people at first that they were doing it because I couldn’t really be around horses. But the reality was the exorbitant cost, including stabling, and especially the fact that the brother was no longer involved in horse shows, etc., so they saw no need to have our personal horses. I hated that, for years, they let me think and feel guilty that getting rid of our beloved horses was due to them making me sick. It was also much later when I learned, on my own, that I never had to give up the dog; she was a toy/teacup mix poodle, and was hypoallergenic! To be quite honest, I’m still not over learning that fact. I was severely traumatized by having to give up that little dog, as anyone who knows me would understand because of my lifetime special link with animals.

Of course, as with the way all of the other parts of my life went in my house while growing up, the “treatment” or “acknowledgment” of my allergies was subjective, dependent upon what needed to be done. Even though it would make me bed-ridden for the rest of that day and the next, I still had to mow and edge the lawn, even as highly allergic to all grasses as I was. I got so, so sick each and every time. I was also the house cleaner, and living in a tiny town in the country meant there was always a lot of dusting to be done. Yep, deathly allergic to it, too. I got sick each and every time I had to dust and vacuum.

Things that really don’t make sense are such as when the parents decided the depression I was in over not having an animal of my own was too great, decided to purchase a bird for me. I loved that bird and had her for over twenty-five years. But guess what: I was highly allergic to her, too, more than I ever would have been to my little dog. And we ended up having more dogs and even a couple of cats, too. I’ll never understand why I was made to feel I was being punished for something I couldn’t control and had so much of my life taken away from me; yet when they decided they wanted animals again any thought of my being allergic went right out the window. Don’t get me wrong: I was so, so happy to have pets around again. It was only later when I realized just how fucked up the situation was.

I’m highly allergic to pine, yet lived at a kids’ camp being run by the parents each and every summer… you guess it: way up in the mountains, in the pines. Sick from the dust and wildflowers and grasses not being enough I guess; I had to deal with the trees, too. I think I spent each and every summer with a red, chapped nose and watering eyes. It’s not that it bothered me so much because it was the way it always was for me. I thought everyone itched all the time from chemicals and had sneezing fits and itchy, watery eyes.

The worst thing about being allergic to pine was going to visit other people’s homes during the Christmas holidays. If they had a real tree, I’d be suffering my eyes swelling shut and my throat closing within, literally, minutes. (That continues to this day — real trees just about kill me!!) But the suckiest part about it is how, for years and years after I moved out — last year being the first time I can remember when this didn’t happen — the parents would gush on and on about how great it was to be able to have a real tree now. Great — even all these years later, yo

u still want to make me feel badly for being born with allergies (not to mention all the times they made me feel guilty for being born at all).

I had no idea I was going to write about any of this. I guess my allergies this morning set off a sort of domino effect and all the stuff I try to not think about when it comes to how much they have adversely affected my life over the years came bubbling to the surface. It’s amazing how it works that way most of the time: just sit, start writing about something, anything; then wait for all of the thoughts that come flooding forth. You know what I mean?

As I said a couple of times before (‘cuz I repeat things like that, you know), I have outgrown a lot of the allergies. But my biggies I still have: still highly allergic to grasses and trees and pollens; still highly allergic to a lot of animals, although that seems to be a case-by-case basis depending upon how clean one keeps their furbabies; and flowers… God, flower shops and flower fields and flowery perfumes destroy me; and, especially, most chemicals. I can stand a little use, and a diphenhydramine usually helps a good deal with the itching from cleaning products, etc., touching my skin. I have to be really careful with personal care products and have learned over the years which ones don’t affect me as much, if at all. I cannot wear perfumes or colognes, and even a lot of the essential oils set me off. But my life is easier, having less allergies than I did as a kid. I still can’t sit on grass. And if there’s any lawn or garden maintenance done even a block away from me I’ll often have to lie down after medicating myself.

What’s most frustrating about the way my allergies “work”? They don’t actually HELP me, you know? I mean, my life would be so much easier now if I had an actual, physical, allergic reaction to people who were going to screw me over or hurt me in some way. That would be a nice perk to what has otherwise been the bane of my existence. And most vegetables… why, oh why, can’t I be allergic to broccoli, tomatoes, and a host of others? Then no one would give me shit for picking them out or ordering food without those things. I mean, c’mon… at least give me a broccoli allergy!

Well, enough of my whining (as I always seem to do about something). I have to do a quick run to the convenience store for my tankard of Diet Pepsi and a couple of other things. Then I’m hoping to get some cleaning done around the apartment. I really only have to use cleaning products in the bathroom because I’m a freak about that room being as clean as possible. The dusting and vacuuming are going to be rough because I’ve been putting it off. It’s just “eyes on the prize” of having a clean environment again that’ll get and keep me going.

Have a great day/weekend, fellow OD’ers. Try to stay cooled off. And keep looking to the stars!