Reconciling Saints

I've been trying to write this post for the past 3 hours.

No, strike that. I've been trying to write this post for the last 2 weeks. It has nothing to do with the content and everything to do with just doing something, writing something, making an attempt at being me again.

I'm doing better over all. No episodes in the last 2 weeks, no crying everyday or even every week. It is sort of a numb feeling, but for now that's better than what it was. Again, don't get me wrong, it's not that I'm numb all day or miserable and I don't mope around, but on the whole I just try to keep going to not have time to be numb.

I tend to over think things when I'm left alone with my laptop or my notebook and pen.

I had a MARVELOUS weekend at the coast with friends which was a last minute thing, but just... wonderful. It was gorgeous there and the interaction and time away was very necessary. People remind me that they love me, broken or not. That means a lot. It helps a lot too.

Here comes the weird (although the boyo says it makes sense): I'm scared of you guys. I'm scared of the internets, scared of email and yes, sometimes I'm scared of the phone.

I have at LEAST 30 emails I have to answer, if only to send a reply that says "I'm still here plugging along."

I can't.

I stare at my inbox and I get a sort of queasy feeling, and I think, "I'll do that later. I'll respond to at least ONE tonight." I don't. I dread writing. Dread what I have to say, or figuring out how to say it... even just a hello.

The boyo thinks it's because it's all I can do to just talk to people in person, go out and not shut myself in at home. That's a good theory and maybe that's right. I'm not happy with it, however. I'm not happy that I try to write, try to post here or on OurPDX and I come up with nothing. Blank space. Whining. I keep trying because I think that if I just try, I'll do it...

So now my blog is... this. This is... my life and life in general. Apparently, life is not always good, not always beautiful and always very scary. I like the scary. Scary means I can feel and it means that I'm pushing my boundaries. Scary means that I'm doing things that are out of my comfort zone, just like I always have. Scary means that I'm fighting hard to remember who me is, that I'm still me and that I will keep going.

That sounds good, right?

The problem is in trying to find the time for "me" in the middle of the routine and after everything I have to do. Some of you might say I don't have to do something; we all have the power to change our minds and make our own choices. Those are not the things I'm talking about, though. The routine is necessary. It's there so that I can feel better so that I don't end up holing myself into my apartment or room. They are there so that the side effects from the meds don't hit me so hard and so that I can remember to keep going. Call it momentum, if you will.

In the middle of all the things I have to do, it's hard to find the time to do the things I used to love doing and still want to do. My therapist and psychiatrist both tell me that I should make a point of just fitting things in when I can instead of trying to do everything I used to do at once. The problem is, however, that I don't have 3 hours to stare at my screen or notebook to be able to let this flow. I don't have the time to push myself to try to do something because I have to keep going with my routine, which gives me limited time to do these things.

I've been through worse, I know. I've survived worse and should accept that this is never the worst I will feel and yet is also the worst I will feel. Every time one hits an obstacle in life, one always thinks of it as the worst or hardest thing, and yet we've all gone through it before, we've all survived things that were just as bad, if not worse.

*shrugs*

This is life and unfortunately right now my life is... chemically chaotic.

This is me, interrupted. This is what happens when I finally take a good long look at myself and my inner workings and try to work it out.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

All right. I've gotten a few emails and I think you guys need an explanation.

I am not doing well. The diagnosis meant meds and the meds meant that they would take time for me to get sorted. I've also had to regulate my sleep which meant a mild anti-depressant/ sedative. Without it I get 3 or 4 hours of sleep due to the manic.

Well, they weren't quite catching on so they upped the dosage of my anti-depressant. As of week 5 of the upped dosage and the mood stabilizer, I was still terrorizing the boyo and my loved ones. At the psychiatrist appointment on Thursday I let her know that my cognitive distortion problem was getting worse. Half the time I trust people and the other half I don't trust anyone. Not even the boyo, which is ludicrous as he's done so much to try and help me and puts up with the ranting and raving. I'm seeing demons everywhere, in a sense.

So they've added a new drug to my cocktail. This one is an SSRI which works differently than the rest in that it ups the amount of serotonin. I've had this type before. The paxil made me blissed out and numb. Not to mention the sexual side effects which just really made me more depressed. It was a lot like when you feel like you have to sneeze and it just ends in a sort of "huh." Not satisfying AT ALL. The next one was Lexapro which was much better but I had a weight gain problem which ALSO made me depressed 'cause I didn't feel right in my own skin. It also toned me down a bit, but didn't numb me. I didn't notice this until they switched me to the Wellbutrin which is less invasive and I was a lot more fiesty. It felt like I had woken up from a long sleep.

So I'm not happy about the new drug, but I understand why it's necessary right now.

What does this have to do with my posting?

Mostly I don't post because I don't want to just post about how shitty I feel and end up having whiney posts. I know that my friends want to know what's wrong as no one has heard from me, so that's why I'm posting now. As JuggleJane said to me, if that's what you're feeling and going through, just post that. It's not that it's too personal to share since... well I'm a pretty open book. It's to save you from post after dreary post about how I'm tired of crying, tired of fighting and tired of being tired. It's boring me.

The instinct is to shut down and hole up but I have to fight that. So I fill my days with stuff to do. Work is terribly busy as we have a lot of projects and we're in the midst of moving offices and I'm in charge of coordinating, buying furniture, making sure the wiring and repairs are done, etc. Then it's off to the gym which I do 6 days a week to try to feel better and up the endorphins. I'm now wondering if I should make it 7. Some nights I hang out with friends... some nights I watch a movie or 30 Rock with the boyo. Movie night is mondays and we've been trying to go out on weekends more.

So by the time 9 pm rolls around, I'm generally pretty tired (and sore from the gym) and I sort of glaze over. I stare at Eddie the Shipboard Computer and I think, I need to write, I need to post, and I open up a browser window, go to this here blog and... stare at the space that I'm supposed to fill with words, which obviously doesn't happen.

I'll try to get to the emails you sent me this week and update you a bit more or answer your questions, but I thought that I'd offer up some sort of explanation for now.

Virtue out.

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So... I'm gay.