Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.

our lady of the silences

I know I've fallen quiet again. I've had nothing to say that wasn't dispirited navel-gazing. When my problems bore even me, I figure it's better just to wait it out. Actually, I don't have a lot to say now that isn't along those same lines, but I thought I'd poke my head up.

This past week I went off Lexapro and Strattera and back on Prozac; I think that's the medication I've done best on so far. If it wasn't for its negative interaction with Strattera, I wouldn't have gone off it in the first place. So for now: Prozac, Lamictal, and a few blood-pressure meds.

After seeing Psych Guy I saw my general practitioner, and we spent a longer than usual visit going over various issues. We talked about the Adderall again, and he surprised me by being more open to the idea of my taking it and balancing out side-effects with a more aggressive mix of BP meds. I suspect his change of heart has to do with the downturn of these past several months. We seem to have consensus on that anyway--my GP, my therapist, Psych Guy, me. I should give the others names, shouldn't I. Maybe Dr. Cutie and The Deadpan Therapist.

Any effects of the Prozac should start kicking in in a few weeks. Meanwhile. Things are difficult. Days and nights and work and pretty much everything else.

I'm not going to Escapade this year. I haven't been keeping up with friends. I haven't been writing. I've spent most evenings killing time at my neighborhood café and idling on my couch. On Fridays, I've been watching SGA, House (re-airing on USA), and the occasional episode of Monk and SG-1. Nothing else, really. When I'm feeling an edge of aimless desperation, I trifle around--reorganize my image folders, make simple icons, try to focus on reading SGA stories.

Getting through what should be perfectly ordinary tasks--getting my hair done last week, paying a bill, making and keeping a doctor's appointment, buying groceries--feels like an accomplishment, except without the feeling of accomplishment.

Weekends are the worst in many ways. I fail to structure my time. I sleep and sleep. I have so many things undone that I don't know where to start. I have lists, and I want to just pick something and cross it off, but then I can't face whatever it is. I feel trapped up to the waist in mud. By Sunday evening, I'm always amazed that I've wasted so much time in a state of motionless decay.

Yesterday I did something--I found this simple script that calculates the number of days that have passed since a certain date, so that I can look at a page and see the accrual of days I've been sober. Today is 307 days. I wish that felt more like a triumph and less like the product of inertia. Then again, in this case, there's a certain appeal to the power of inertia--it's like falling into a rut of sobriety versus a rut of drinking. I'm so good at falling into behavioral ruts that I've managed nearly a year of sobriety simply by standing still. If the rest of my life wasn't so often crap--a reflex of negative compensation, maybe--I'd pause to celebrate.

And on that note, bunny, dormouse, monkey, bunny, sloths.

Tags: hard stuff

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