Slogging is not something at which I am good. I like to leap tall buildings and stop speeding bullets. Over the years, I have learned that, if I have to slog, the resultant knowledge is generally not worth the effort I have put into it. So, I don't do much slogging now.
And, that's a lie. I am slogging through recovery from the very serious respiratory condition that I have had for some time. I've hit a plateau brought on by stress of moving, renovation of the house, my godson-in-law's death, changing doctors, losing weight (down to 183.5 today - Since May 17th, I've lost 13.8 pounds with Weight Watchers. My buddies have lost much more, but I'm slogging along with this also.
Today I met a new psychiatrist to prescribe medicine for my depression and anxiety - been taking meds for this for some years now - thanks be to God. But, she suggested a change - rather an addition - that makes 12 prescription medications I'm taking now. Bleah. I don't want to admit that I need more help than I have with my present medicine. I don't want to admit that I have bad reactions to just increasing the dosage of my present medicine. I don't want to admit that I can't control this episodic depression myself. I'm like a diabetic in denial. So, I took the blasted pill tonight after I checked it out on the internet. I'm not happy about it. I hear my Mom saying that I could make myself run a temperature if I were bored with school. And, I hear her saying that I have everything a person could want, and she doesn't understand why I'm not happy.
Well, I am happy. I am happier than I've ever been in my life. But, that doesn't have anything to do with my anxiety and depression. The episodic depression hits for short periods - 2 hours, 8 hours, 2 days, and then it's gone. Retail therapy helps; talk therapy helps; group meetings help, but sometimes, I just isolate and sit there staring at the computer screen solitaire game or out the window at all for which I should be thankful - feeling inert - dead to emotion. I can still make my gratitude list; I can still pray even if I feel it goes no further than the ceiling or the walls. I can even laugh or cry or hug or be angry - but the feelings are fleeting and don't go very deep.
Right now, I'm resigned to trying this new medicine. As I said, I don't want to do it. I hate taking medicine. I don't want my body to "fail" me like this. I don't want my mind, my control to "fail" me like this. But, the reality is that I probably need this medicine or some other to lessen the frequency of episodic depression. Bleah.
Okay, now I'm off the pity pot. I like the psychiatrist. I'm not as tired as I expected to be. I'm glad to have a bed, a partner, and two crazy cats (or is that redundant?).
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Kitchen going, going
Gone