today in things that are hard
I was sidelined by brain chemicals yesterday.
My therapist and I have been on the fence about drugs for a while. I grew up with a mom addicted to prescription pills (and other vices), and the rest of my family has a … complicated history with antidepressants, so. I’ve been reluctant, but, it’s getting in the way. Of my friendships, my creativity, my energy, my LIFE every minute that I’m not AT work DOING work.
Well, anyway. Alan’s gone for the weekend interviewing for smartypants school, and being alone always gets me (which is a post-therapy phenomenon, because alone time used to be the best). But, this time I thought I was doing okay with him leaving! I had a great week, was super productive, optimistic, made plans with friends for the weekend. Until last night. I just… came home from work and couldn’t talk, couldn’t think, it was like I could feel my brain melting. I had fucked up dreams, and today I feel like I’ve been hit by a train.
It’s taken me a year to notice the rhythm, but this is how it is. I think I’m doing fine again and I start behaving normally, and then BOOM. Down for a week, get the tissues, hate yourself.
I’ve basically been crying for a day now, on and off. I had therapy earlier, and we talked about “exercise therapy”. She thinks that part of this may be that this is the longest I’ve ever gone without regular exercise.
I have a complicated relationship with exercise in that I ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT, but also, as soon as I start exercising again, I immediately start “waiting for results”, which I can’t live through again. So I’ve dipped my toe in a few times in the past year or so, and can’t ever do it more than once or twice without shame and obsession, and at that, only when I’m having a “good week”.
So the plan is, exercise as a drug, something I write in my planner and do for exactly the time allotted, and then move on. Which I support, so long as it doesn’t traumatize me, which, realistically, it might. If in three to four weeks my mood doesn’t improve (or it’s traumatizing), then we move to drugs as drugs.
Also, she thinks I may have the kind of bipolar with hypomania, but super downswings. And I can’t fucking believe I forgot what it’s called (psych major HELLO), but I’ll chalk it up to 24-straight hours of misery. Cyclothymia.
UGH. Maybe a tuna melt will help.
