Me Time
I just got home from my doctor's office having seen her for my one month follow-up for my happy drugs, a.k.a., the anti-crazy-train-thanks-to-the-Depo medications.
Yeah, one month. Happy anniversary.
When it comes to the depression, I told her I'm about 80%. I still have periods, episodes where things are pretty bad. The irrational thoughts, knee-jerk reactions that make no logical sense, feelings of being overly paranoid (thinking what someone says or writes has an alternate agenda), and hypersensitivity mix with generally feeling blue and down for some rip-roaring fun times. They are, at least, fewer and further between, and I can generally say that I recognize them when they happen and I am, so far, able to control my reactions to keep them reasonable.
Then again, life doesn't always afford us the ability to walk away and take 20 minutes to reboot our brains and emotions. I know on occasion I'm still walking a bit of an emotional tightrope. Not the most enjoyable way to live one's life.
The mixed blessing of seeing a GP for mood stabilizing drugs (as opposed to someone specializing in psychiatry) is that they rarely grill you on what is really going on. She took my word on how I was doing, didn't ask any pointed questions, and didn't even really raise an eyebrow when I told her that her office scale said I was down 10 pounds, but my home scale said 14+. She congratulated me rather than pointing out that rate was too fast or being concerned about medication side effects or questionably healthy coping behaviors. However, she did remind me that mood stabilizers usually take 6-8 weeks to fully and completely kick in.
Maybe I won't have to wait until the Depo is out of my system to really feel like "me" again. And maybe then I won't dread evening "me time."
I live a very busy schedule, so normally I crave "me time." You know, that time just for you where you can sit and enjoy a cup of coffee or a glass of wine, read a book, watch some TV, and just relax. My "me time" is something that I tend to guard judiciously, because I know the importance of balance between work and play. Lately it seems I have too much of it, though.
The mornings are fine. I'm actually enjoying having the mornings to drink my coffee, sit on the balcony watching the world go by (especially now that one of my downstairs neighbors has a new girlfriend, who appears to be a simple-minded hootchie with a hot ass), and working on my upcoming sermon, catching up on emails, playing Words with Friends, scrolling through my Facebook news feed.
It is the evenings I dread. Around 6:30 or 7:00 or so, when I get home from teaching at the gym or whatever else I have to do in the evenings work-wise, that time. Rarely is there anything interesting on TV, and it is too late for coffee. I'm generally tired, so I don't want to deal with email or work on upcoming presentations. So the hours between getting home and going to bed yawn before me like a chasm. The evenings are the time to be spent with family, with spouses and significant others and the like. I sit alone with two elderly cats. It is not uncommon for me to be heading to bed around 8:30.
37 years old and going to bed at 8:30. Wow.
My mind needs something to occupy it, otherwise it goes into unwelcome territory. Having made the decision to reach out to the ex considerably less -- tomorrow will mark the longest period we have gone without any communication since we were first introduced via email -- my brain spins crazy scenarios to entertain itself. Part of it is the curse of being an only child -- vivid imaginations. Part of it is the stupid depression.
It doesn't help that my subconscious is now deciding to jump on that bandwagon. Twice now, at least twice that I remember, the ex has had a starring role in my nighttime dreams. Unlike last time, in last night's dream he was the only other character. It was just him and me. And while as I am awake for longer and longer periods the details of the dream become less clear, I do remember it being one wherein he was seeking reconciliation. Reconciliation of the romantic, let's-get-back-together, kind.
Dear subconscious, please catch up with the rest of us. We've decided that we aren't going to actively pursue that, although we are open to it should it be in the cards for the future. Okay? Thanks.
At this point, should an opportunity arise, e.g., being set up by a friend or something like that, I would be open to dating. I'm not out seeking it. I'm not going to start over with a new membership to Match just yet, I'm not going to join ChristianMingle or Zoosk or OKCupid. I'm still working on me, really teaching myself that I am indeed lovable and worthy of love. Beyond that, I've been single for most of my 37 years. A few more months, few more years, won't kill me.
Yeah, one month. Happy anniversary.
When it comes to the depression, I told her I'm about 80%. I still have periods, episodes where things are pretty bad. The irrational thoughts, knee-jerk reactions that make no logical sense, feelings of being overly paranoid (thinking what someone says or writes has an alternate agenda), and hypersensitivity mix with generally feeling blue and down for some rip-roaring fun times. They are, at least, fewer and further between, and I can generally say that I recognize them when they happen and I am, so far, able to control my reactions to keep them reasonable.
Then again, life doesn't always afford us the ability to walk away and take 20 minutes to reboot our brains and emotions. I know on occasion I'm still walking a bit of an emotional tightrope. Not the most enjoyable way to live one's life.
The mixed blessing of seeing a GP for mood stabilizing drugs (as opposed to someone specializing in psychiatry) is that they rarely grill you on what is really going on. She took my word on how I was doing, didn't ask any pointed questions, and didn't even really raise an eyebrow when I told her that her office scale said I was down 10 pounds, but my home scale said 14+. She congratulated me rather than pointing out that rate was too fast or being concerned about medication side effects or questionably healthy coping behaviors. However, she did remind me that mood stabilizers usually take 6-8 weeks to fully and completely kick in.
Maybe I won't have to wait until the Depo is out of my system to really feel like "me" again. And maybe then I won't dread evening "me time."
I live a very busy schedule, so normally I crave "me time." You know, that time just for you where you can sit and enjoy a cup of coffee or a glass of wine, read a book, watch some TV, and just relax. My "me time" is something that I tend to guard judiciously, because I know the importance of balance between work and play. Lately it seems I have too much of it, though.
The mornings are fine. I'm actually enjoying having the mornings to drink my coffee, sit on the balcony watching the world go by (especially now that one of my downstairs neighbors has a new girlfriend, who appears to be a simple-minded hootchie with a hot ass), and working on my upcoming sermon, catching up on emails, playing Words with Friends, scrolling through my Facebook news feed.
It is the evenings I dread. Around 6:30 or 7:00 or so, when I get home from teaching at the gym or whatever else I have to do in the evenings work-wise, that time. Rarely is there anything interesting on TV, and it is too late for coffee. I'm generally tired, so I don't want to deal with email or work on upcoming presentations. So the hours between getting home and going to bed yawn before me like a chasm. The evenings are the time to be spent with family, with spouses and significant others and the like. I sit alone with two elderly cats. It is not uncommon for me to be heading to bed around 8:30.
37 years old and going to bed at 8:30. Wow.
My mind needs something to occupy it, otherwise it goes into unwelcome territory. Having made the decision to reach out to the ex considerably less -- tomorrow will mark the longest period we have gone without any communication since we were first introduced via email -- my brain spins crazy scenarios to entertain itself. Part of it is the curse of being an only child -- vivid imaginations. Part of it is the stupid depression.
It doesn't help that my subconscious is now deciding to jump on that bandwagon. Twice now, at least twice that I remember, the ex has had a starring role in my nighttime dreams. Unlike last time, in last night's dream he was the only other character. It was just him and me. And while as I am awake for longer and longer periods the details of the dream become less clear, I do remember it being one wherein he was seeking reconciliation. Reconciliation of the romantic, let's-get-back-together, kind.
Dear subconscious, please catch up with the rest of us. We've decided that we aren't going to actively pursue that, although we are open to it should it be in the cards for the future. Okay? Thanks.
At this point, should an opportunity arise, e.g., being set up by a friend or something like that, I would be open to dating. I'm not out seeking it. I'm not going to start over with a new membership to Match just yet, I'm not going to join ChristianMingle or Zoosk or OKCupid. I'm still working on me, really teaching myself that I am indeed lovable and worthy of love. Beyond that, I've been single for most of my 37 years. A few more months, few more years, won't kill me.
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