|
navigation
current
archives
links page
profile
|
|
trouble brewing
February 24, 2014
I feel like I'm slipping. I'm a zombie, shuffling through my days for no other reason than "that's what you do". The naps are increasing in both frequency and length. I have no interest in anything, and get no pleasure from anything. And thanks to the meds, I don't even have the driving force of chronic anxiety to propel me. I just feel as though I'm drifting to a gradual halt.
I don't even have the energy to try and sort out which of these damned conditions is throwing me out of whack this time.
I'm still "functional". That is, I still get up and washed and dressed and go to work. I do stuff around the house and read and listen to music and go on my computer and play games on my phone.
But it feels like I'm just killing time. There isn't any point to any of it.
But as I said, I seem to be "functional". And not just the bare minimum of stuff; I am managing some extras in there too. This weekend, for example: while it is true that I slept in every day, and took long naps every day, I still managed to (along with Spouse) do the grocery shopping, and run errands with the dog along, so the poor housebound pooch could get out and about (Had to go to PetSmart).
I vacuumed, swept floors, scrubbed the bathroom sink and toilet, did all the laundry, washed up the dog's bowls and bedding, changed the sheets, we cleaned out the the freezer, organized it, and wrote up an inventory checklist for the contents so we can see what we have on hand and keep track of what we use. I washed dishes, emptied the drainer, re-stocked the paper goods from the reserve supply, emptied all the wastebaskets, and took the trash out. (a note: Spouse did all the cooking.)
And I baked. Friday night I baked up the last of the chocolate chip cookie dough I had in the freezer, and on Sunday morning I got up and baked a cake (banana). Later in the day, I got creative with the frosting--fiddled a bit with the buttercream recipe, then piped it onto the cake with my piping bag and a star tip. (Looked like crap, but that's why I really need the practice.)
Then there's the dental work. Spent over three hours at the dentist last Thursday, getting the post & core build-up, molding, milling, fitting, and bonding for my crown all done in one epic visit. FYI--I don't recommend it. Too much at once, and no time to recuperate between the various assaults. I was exhausted by the end of it.
And I'm even attempting to take up yoga--although that isn't going well.
I know all of this bustle doesn't exactly scream "wretchedly depressed person". That's the meds, I guess. But I don't know if I can describe the feeling of numbness that I feel when I'm doing all that. I feel detached--absent from the moment. I take no pleasure from doing the job--if I feel anything, it's a minor note of relief that a task is done and over with. I just sort of...float...through the chores, through my interactions with people, through my day. It's like the events of my life are skimming by along the surface, and making no impression on my actual life.
I'm starving for a sense of excitement; a feeling of passion for something. A feeling of accomplishment. Some kind of signal in my brain that the fact of my continued existence has value. Just a spark. Or even just the ability to think about something without feeling like a lid is slamming shut on my brain.
I'm going to try get my sh!t together to attempt an experiment, though. I am going to cut way down on my sugar and carbs intake and see if it will make any difference. I'm skeptical, but I'm also desperate for some relief. And I'm pretty sure it is a course of action that won't actually hurt me any. I know I'm out of control on the sweets lately anyway. Time to reel it in, and maybe reap some benefits.
Reading: �The Girls of the Silver Spur Ranch� (c.1898), by Grace MacGowan Cooke and Anne McQueen
"The Man Who Fell Through the Earth" (1919), by Carolyn Wells
Listening:
At Random:
click here
|
|