Pervasive musculoskeletal pain has been constant for so long that it only relatively recently occurred to me to start mentioning it to medical personnel when they question me about my symptomology.
And now, for at least months if not a year or more, it has become worse.. and different. While more of an allegorical than literal attempt to convey the feeling, it is like a significant portion of my blood consists of some sort of corrosive material, like battery acid. Obviously, I don't know what actual sensations would be caused by such a condition, but it rings true enough to me. It is similar to what I have often imagined how chemotherapy might feel.
Obviously, when everything hurts all the time, and it even hurts more when I move, and the slightest effort causes shortness of breath, getting particularly excited about anything, or enjoying much of anything under any conditions, becomes difficult.
But then there are brief periods, infrequently, when I feel relatively not horrible for awhile, and I have no idea why. I try to pay attention to everything I do, all the medications, foods, activities, sleep patterns, to try to figure out the magic formula for temporarily feeling not horrible, and if not controlling it, at least being able to predict it.
There are too many variables.
Not part of this equation are the rare occasions when I intentionally drink an excess of alcohol. That, predictably, brings a temporary condition of "feeling no pain", and sometimes even being of other than morose or aggravated mood. Almost always, but oddly only almost, this is predictably followed by a period of feeling even worse than my baseline of terrible, so it is not a sustainable strategy. There are other non-preferred side-effects that come with even the up-side of the alcohol-in-excess experience. It is frustrating to be of poorer-than-usual physical coordination or clarity of thought.
I have eliminated alcohol completely from the equation for periods of time significant enough to eliminate it as a primary cause of my constant pain and malaise.
New, too, is a spectacular increase in anxiety, especially as it relates to sleep, and pardon the indelicacy of the subject, it also has significantly interfered with digestive functions.
There is simply too much going on, and getting worse, and too many medications in play, for me to analyze this situation. It seems to me that there is no single medical professional cognizant at any given time, for any period of time, with any depth of interest or contemplation, of the broader picture of my constellation of ills and pills. There could be some simple interaction of what is, or just one thing to add or subtract from the recipe, that might make the resultant metabolic stew less intolerably bitter.
I grow desperate, willing to consider approaches that I would normally consider pseudo-medicine.
Looking at my age in this condition, I have little expectation of significant improvement in my general vitality. I would settle for a noticeable reduction in constant agony. I see more potential for further ill than for any relief, and yet I remain non-suicidal. It makes me wonder just how unimaginably horrible life must be for those who are drawn to suicide.
I had a full plate of purely psychic horrors to plague me before all of this actual physical pain forced it's way to the fore-front. I almost miss the luxury of making myself miserable with just my disordered mind.
It remains possible that some portion of my perceived physical ills are directly caused by my many mental malfunctions. Perception, after all, happens in the mind, including that of pain, and the mind can certainly interfere with many bodily functions.
I finally get my first TMS treatment next Monday, to be followed by an attempt to maintain a schedule of daily treatments for several weeks. I am willing, but not hopeful.