Bleak mornings in the grim shadow of divorce

Mornings are the hardest right now.

Especially with daylight saving time in effect (or is it affect?) and it’s still dark outside. I often wake before the alarm goes off and just lie there in bed, staring up through the dark at the ceiling. I’ve little, if any motivation, to get out of bed. That’s when my thought grow long and bleak, even dark at times.

Plus this morning it was raining.

It doesn’t help that work is slow and I’ve less than usual to occupy my time. Because what does help is doing something, anything, make a decision, even about the smallest thing. I find that planning for what’s coming next helps. And of course writing helps. Although it’s always temporary, very temporary. Minute you stop moving that’s when the bleakness sets in again. And there’s nothing to be done about it. It just is what is it.

Advertisements

Every day in every way….

… I’m feeling better and better.

I know that sounds a corny, a line usually uttered dripping with irony. But it is true for me right now.

I credit the meds, which I’ve been on for about 4 weeks now. My understanding is that they take approx. 3 to 6 weeks to kick in fully. And I got tell you, if there’s a chance I could actually feel even better than I do now, well, that makes me so happy I could just shit, you know.

It’s hard to explain, but the best we I can describe it is that the world seems less threatening to me. Pre-meds  just about everything seemed threatening, even deciding what to wear to work or what to make for dinner, whether to work on my novel or get on the treadmill for some exercise. As a result, my usual mode was to NOT do anything, just sink into my chair and not move except to raise the clicker to the TV to change the channel. No longer.

I think I thought that if I could just be still, I’d find some peace. It never happend.

Counseling ain’t hurting either, I’ll tell you that much. Not sure why I resisted it for so long.

Anyway, because the world seems less threatening I’m doing stuff, getting things done around the house, things I would have dreaded doing, like staining the deck or spreading mulch in the flower beds around the house, even mowing the lawn.  I’d fret for hours about mowing the lawn, expending so much mental energy over it that it was ridiculous. It was certainly out of proportion. I mean, really, it takes probably less than an hour to do both front and back (and we have a pretty descent sized lot) plus weed whip and blow the grass off the sidewalk and driveway. What is the big deal, right? Well, it seemed like a very big deal to me, though I couldn’t begin to tell you why.

Every decsion was a chore. And this makes me wonder if my depression hindered my writing, because writing is essentially about making endless decisions, one right after the other. And I was (am?) the kind of writer that would anguish over the smallest of details, unable to settled on whether a bit of dialogue should be followed by “he said” or not. I have rewritten the same sentence close to a hundred times. Alternately, I would get bogged down in detail at the expense of the story. The intense focus on detail helped take me out of myself, which was comforting, but I don’t think it always served my writing best.  Anyhoo… I guess I’m hoping that the meds will improve my writing process. I’m not expecting some kind of silver-bullet effect that would turn me into a writer as productive as, say, Johhn Updike, cranking out at least a book a year, although that would be damn cool. But I  already get the feeling that I’m being more productive, not getting bogged down by little things, and moving along as I write, making progress.

Of course, there is always the concern that this effect (or is it affect?) won’t last. That it is only temporary. GenXr that I am, I suppose it is typical of me, on meds or not, to be at least a tad pessimistic. But really, it doesn’t feel like pessimism. Not the grim, moody variety at any rate. It’s more the don’t let your hopes get over-inflated because that just lead to having your bubble burst kind.

For now, I’m cool. And I’m hoping to stay that way.

Peace out!

Better Living Via Modern Chemistry

So I’m seeing a counselor, of course. Because this is the sort of thing one does under these cirucumstances. I suppose I could just get really drunk and punch the wall or something, but I’ve never really been that kind of guy. In fact, those kind of guys scare me. At parties, they always seemed to find me and start fucking with me. I don’t know why.

Anyhoo… my counselor wanted me to see a shrink to be evaluated for depression. I’m like, I don’t need to see a shrink for you to know that I’m depressed. I can tell you that, pal.  I’m in the pits of despair. Okay, maybe not all the time, but still…

So I actually got an appointment with a shrink pretty quickly, which surpised me.  I called a few different offices and the wait time to get in was at least several months. I see the guy and he puts me on Wellbutrin. He thinks this will work better for me than Zoloft, which I’ve actually been on before, just after I graduated from grad school but that’s another story, because, he said, where Zoloft acts as a kind of sedative Wellburtin is a stimulant, like drinking coffee.  Sounded cool to me, because I’d been so lathargic and slug-like lately.

I start with 150mg/day the first week and then switch to 300mg thereafter. The first day, I loved it. It pepped me up. I knew it was just the stimulative effect of the drug that was working, sicne it takes 3 to 6 weeks for it to really work its way into your system. Also, there was probably a placeb effect at work, but I didn’t give a shit. I was feeling pretty good.

When I started on 300mg/day, it made me a little shakey, but I think that was because it was the first day and I’d made the mistake of also drinking some coffee that morning, just out of habit.  Not cool. I was jittery like an addict jonesing at at 4am. Okay it wasn’t that bad, but I did not like. I’ve since even out. That’s what the stuff does. It evens you out. Little things that used to irritate me don’t anymore. I don’t lose my cool. I don’t rage about things for no significant reason. I feel less scared. I feel more outgoing even, and that is so not like me. In addition, I’ve pretty much stopped drinking coffee, which saves money, and I’m losing my taste for cigarette, also a money saver, not to mention a life saver. I know smoking is bad, but I still do it, especially when I write. It is part of my routine.

Another little ancillary benefit is I’m losing weight. But then I was already losing weight from stress. I’ve gone from 178 lbs just after Christmas to 157, stepping on the scale today. I’ve been hovering mainly around 163 though, so that 157 reading is probably off.

Also, I’m not content to sit still. I need to do shit. Unlike before when I could literally sit in the chair in front of the TV for fucking hours. Of course, Colleen really digs this new version of me because I’m folding clothes, emptying the dishwasher, cleaning up the yard. I don’t exactly mind it either.

I feel more focused when I’m reading, less easily distractable. I’m hoping that focus translates to my writing as well. I’m not seeing so far, although tonight I’ve been pretty focused.

I can still feel pretty down sometimes, often in fact, but it’s not freak out sad.

Anyway. I’ve only been on it for a couple of weeks. We’ll see what happens in the coming weeks.

I keep thinking but nothing happens

I intend to write posts for this blog. I want to. But then I just don’t. Often, I don’t know what to write about. Or just as often there is too much to write about. I don’t know where to begin. Plus, much of what is rattling around in my head and my heart are things I simply don’t want to air in a public forum. It just seems pathetic, not to meantion petty and juvenile.

And so here I am, feeling stuck.

I’m tired, and sad. Any joy or relief is temporary, very temoporary, which in some ways is worse, because as soon as I realize that I feel okay I clench up with fear, wondering when it will drain away again.

ugh — this sucks!