Continuing...

I'm trying to find the next step.

I've worked so hard... nearly a decade... on the cognitive, behavioral things, and I think because of that, it is hard for me to believe that there really is something biochemical wrong with me that medication does help... or can sometimes, anyway. But I see the things that come back, the things that you don't realize are gone until they return... the ability to laugh more, to just be happier in the moment, to be silly and spontaneous. Michael sometimes complains that I'm not fun anymore... I think he means, not spontaneous... and, you know, he's right. I'm not fun. It's all a balancing act, me on this tightwire between ok and not ok, teetering all the time, trying to keep my ducks all in a row. I beat myself up mercilessly a lot of the time for not getting things done... but I forget, it's hard. It's hard to get up in the morning and put myself together and do the basic things. It shouldn't be. But it is.

I wish that I had the words for the feeling, that inchoate formless longing to be on the other side of this, to be that person I can feel sometimes, the person who I am without the sadness and the regrets and the anxiety and fear. I can see her, sometimes, just on the edge of my vision. Sometimes, just for a moment, I am her. And then I lose my balance again.

But the last few days, I can see the form and shape of it, see the choices that I have to make, see these things as real and possible rather than things that require unimaginable, insurmountable effort.

I think this is all good. But it's tentative and a little frightening, too.

Come ON. Do SOMETHING.

Ugh, I woke up early this morning thinking I would get all sorts of things done, but I've actually been just napping listening to the news of one sort or another and trying to really wake up. Michael is no better; he dragged himself out of bed a couple of hours later and promptly went to sleep in his chair. He's been sick with something stomachy for days; I think maybe I have a touch of it, too, and my son has a sore throat.

The trouble is that as soon as Michael gets sick, he starts gaining weight... not because he's eating too much; actually he's eating hardly anything at all. But I think it throws off his blood sugar and increases the edema in his stomach, and it's just all really discouraging. You can know perfectly well that it's not "real" weight, but the scale still says ugly things. And it sets him back weeks. He's discouraged and achy and miserable.

I am feeling... better. Tentatively better. I very tentatively, not wanting to put much belief in it, but just kind of sort of... think that this medication is making me feel better.

I have a list a mile long of things that I either need to do or want to do, and I am just sitting here.

Ok. Here is what I need to actually DO today.
Stretching/exercises *done*
Spend an hour in the studio working on glass * done happy happy*
Clean the scary bedroom *started. Very scary.*
Write Phi Beta Kappa letter
Write other letters of reference
Cook chicken wings and soup (not together!) *done*
Freeze or cook chicken breasts

Back later.

Tuesday night

I feel like I ought to post something, but I have no idea what to say, really.

It's been a busy beginning of the week... it's when all my classes are, and I'm so far behind on everything. Plus Michael has something that is probably just flu (but every time he feels unwell at all, my heart stops because I'm afraid of another recurrence of these breathing issues and mysterious weight gain, still unsolved).

But mostly, I just can't put any thoughts together that make something like a coherent post.

How do I feel? Not so nauseated and drugged as I felt for the first few days. Ok, I guess. Better than without it? Just too soon to say. Maybe. Just maybe. But the nausea and lightheadedness and fatigue make it hard to say, oh, yeah, this is a good thing. On one hand, I feel like springing out of my chair and getting a lot of things done, and on the other... well, I'm pretty lethargic.

I am trying to get it back together to start posting food again, but on top of everything else, with Michael sick, I'm mostly eating leftovers. Tonight was Carnivore Night... everything in the refrigerator was meat of a sort, leftover roast beef and salmon and chicken. There are never any vegetable leftovers. Yes, I could have made a salad... which actually sounds great at the moment. No, I couldn't be bothered.

Mostly, I'm just musing. On where to go from here. On what it all means. On who I want to be. Some days, I feel like everything is falling into place at long last. Others, just no clue.

Someone I loved a long time ago used to say, "I have no idea what I will do next. Watch this space." Not a particularly novel way of putting it, I suppose... but I always associate that with him (that, and England in the spring, and jester hats, and cheap red wine, and airplanes, and unbearable sadness and loss). I feel like that, though. Watch this space. Something will happen next.

Updates

Good morning. Welcome to Daylight Savings Time... or is it the other way around? I can never remember if this is when it starts or it ends, particularly as it never makes any sense to me anyway.

I think that this is Day 3 of Cymbalta. And mostly I feel weird. It's been a decade since I've taken antidepressants, and so I've forgotten this initial side effect stage. It all feels vaguely familiar, but not in a good way. Intermittent nausea is the worst part. Underneath it, I feel... sort of weird, sort of ok. Sort of just weirded out. I think that a decade ago I was considerably more willing to experiment with the biochemistry of my head. Now... I just don't know. On the one hand, however I feel without the medication is me... I guess. On the other... well, when I started taking Prozac more than a decade again, I felt briefly and wonderfully free of the general irritation and annoyance with life that had plagued me forever. And it didn't last, but I knew that I could feel that way, and so I had something to work at, and slowly I learned how to feel that way on my own, most of the time.

My sister would say that depression and anxiety are diseases, and you wouldn't choose not to treat something like diabetes, would you? (I tried to point out that I live with a diabetic who pretty much does refuse to treat it with medication, but she really didn't think that amusing or appropriate. She totally lacks a sense of humor about this.) I say, sure, it's not like I don't buy into that, but a nice comforting broken leg would have visible symptoms, a clear progression, a point where it was fixed. It wouldn't be this roulette wheel of trying to find a medication that works, of separating the biochemical from the behavioral, of side effects so on.

Anyway, I haven't been keeping a food diary because I haven't really been eating much, so I can't seem to work up an interest. This is not that great really, because I know perfectly well that I can eat a lot without thinking that I am. Still, I'm just about back to my pre-NYC weight, so that's good. And I'm playing racquetball today, if my hip will let me and if my friend remembered to reset his clock. This should be really interesting; in addition to the nausea, I'm dizzy as hell. But I really want to play. Need to move around. Last time around with this kind of thing, I used to put on headphones and go running in the dark... and those of you who know just how much I hate running will understand how really weird that was.

Ok. Let's Give It a Try...

Thanks, everyone. Your support means a great deal to me.

I'm giving it a try. With HUGE reservations, I have to say. (Come on, make a decision and stick to it rather than second-guessing yourself, ok?) I started last night. I feel awful today. But that's the price, waiting out the side effects. The only good thing about this is that I think that food is not going to be an issue in the short run.

Bleah.

I usually tolerate medication pretty well at least for a while. I need to remember that. I need to not focus on the fact that I feel mega-weird. And I need to get back to my food/semi-workout routine, now. And see where I'm at in a few days.

Accountability. Cymbalta. Whining.

I've been doing ok at removing the excess weight that I managed to gain in NYC... mostly water, fortunately... but it is really clear to me that I am nowhere close to being able to do this on my own without some kind of accountability. So I'm back to the food diary today, although probably not photos just get because my son swiped my camera for a school project and hasn't brought it back yet!

If you were reading back in January, I'd finally decided that my level of depression had gotten so far out of hand that I was willing to try anti-depressants again, called up Psychiatrist Sis, and got her recommendation... Cymbalta... which my insurance company promptly refused to pay for. I was Not Happy (well, obviously). Since then I've been working on getting approval... or my doctor has... and this finally came through.

But this is my dilemma. I really don't feel as bad as I did in January. Not even close. For one thing, Michael is a lot better, and that increases my coping abilities hugely. Other than this persistent, horribly painful hip thing, I feel physically better. Things are... ok-ish. Most of the time.

But I have a hard time stabilizing my mood at the best of times. I still can't seem to get past the lethargy that's been characteristic of everything since my mother's death. I can't seem to get past the fact that any small thing rattles the foundations of whatever peace of mind I have. And maybe something would help with that. Plus a number of people have put some effort into making sure that I can try this.

I really don't know what to do.