I've been slightly silent for awhile on the subject of....me....and how I'm doing because I can't imagine that it's not the most boring subject in the world and frankly, I myself am bored senseless by myself.
But somehow it seems important to tell the truth and the truth is, I'm still not doing great. I've been on this medication for a dozen days, which isn't long enough, really, I know, for it to have kicked in.
On the up-side, I'm not walking around in a state of panic anymore, which is wonderful, phenomenal, and amazing. For that, I am grateful beyond all measure. I am still what I would call anxious, but it's far from panic. I can, in short, live with it. The panic I was feeling two weeks ago was so intense that when I think back on it, I know in a small way what post-traumatic stress feels like. It was really bad.
And now? Well, it's more like despair but with an edgy bite. It's an active depression, almost. It's hard to put into words how I feel. There is still not a lot of pleasure and almost everything I think of doing now or in the future seems futile. I can't seem to write on my fiction because that seems to be just a complete exercise in futility. I just looked up the word "futile" in the thesaurus because I hate to use the same word twice in a paragraph but no other word listed as a synonym seemed to fit. Futile is futile. I feel futile.
I believe I need to get out more. I need to find something to direct my energy towards. The problem is, nothing I can think of is anything I'd want to do. I realize this is part of the whole depression thing. Everything seems overwhelming, from trying to figure out what to cook for dinner to getting out in the garden and clearing out the dead stuff.
Being with friends and family is also something I need to do more of, but that, too, can be hard. I find myself crawling into my own mind during conversation and I become quiet. It is not unpleasant to be in these situations- it is almost soothing to hear others talk, but I just don't feel engaged at all.
Interestingly enough, I ran into my old therapist on Sunday. She's no longer doing traditional therapy, but is doing a more new-age thing with chakra workshops and I don't know what all and perhaps I should try some of that. Who knows? Again, everything seems ridiculous to me and I seem to just be floating in a sort of gray mist that makes decisions impossible, makes any path look as good (or bad) as any other.
I continue to exercise and have discovered that not-exercising is not an option for me. My body can't hold the stress without it.
And that's me.
I am not in complete despair. I know, logically, that I will feel hope and pleasure and even joy again. I know that.
And I remain grateful for that knowledge, for the support of my family and friends and for this outlet for my words.
I'm going to figure this thing out because really, I have no choice. This is not quite living that I'm doing. It's existing and given the circumstances of my life, merely existing is an affront to life.
That's how I see it.