I was doing alright today. Alright enough. Haven’t slept as much as I should have the past couple of nights, including getting up early today for a CPR/FA refresher. Not sure it was technically a refresher, but whatever. I’ve taken it before. So considering my lack of sleep I was doing okay. Some stresses piled on, thinking of things I want to work on (activism related) and the like. But I got a buzz from it. So all was well…my mind was racing with ideas. One thing was a bit of a blow for me, but I can’t really talk about it. I just have some decisions to make and I’m not really sure what to do. And I won’t lie, I could really use some feedback but I’m not getting any. I know some people are overwhelmed for their own reasons, and I can understand that. But damn…where is everyone else? Anyway…
My dude and I had our appointment tonight. That’s when my mood took a nose dive. Got to talking about some things that have been eating at me lately and that was all it took. The temporary “escape” was nice. At least the holidays were good for that I guess. The family time was great, too, don’t get me wrong. Holidays just aren’t the same anymore. I’m getting old, the magic is fading out of everything. I hate it. But that’s aging.
Speaking of aging. Our therapist asked me, what seemed like out of the blue, how my meds were going. I guess it wasn’t out of the blue, but it caught me by surprise a bit. I’m not taking meds (for mood issues anyway). Her and I went back and forth a bit, her gently nudging me in that direction, or at least reminding me it was an option. And me saying I react badly to just about every antidepressant I’ve ever been put on. Especially Wellbutrin, which she was surprised by since that’s supposedly one of the more gentle ones.
But here’s the thing. I realized when I was on it (perhaps from the med info I got from the pharmacy?) that Uniphyl (theophylline) and Wellbutrin interact. The psychiatrist from Grand Valley who put me on Wellbutrin knew that I was on Uniphyl. He went out of his way to mention it, saying “they’re still putting people on theophylline?”, saying that he too had asthma and had been on it when he was younger. So yeah, he knew. I looked it up again tonight to see how severe the interaction was and if that could have anything to do with why I didn’t tolerate the Wellbutrin…could be. The interaction is supposedly “severe”. So yeah. The psychiatrist (can’t remember his name) who worked at Grand Valley 2008-2009, who may well still be there, was a fucking dumbass.
But I digress. In the conversation with the therapist tonight, I tried to explain to her that I’ve never been happy. Not to have a pity party, but it’s just the truth. I’ve never felt that “happy” was something I was physically capable of. I’ve had my moments of joy, peace, and all that awesomeness, but a steady state of contentment…no. Not that I don’t have reason, because I do. That makes me feel even more broken, that I can’t be happy when I have so much to be happy for. I’m fortunate in many ways. All I can say is this is how I’m built, and also that I feel things deeply. Other than those two things, I don’t know what my excuse is. I tried to explain to her my upbringing, my family history, the kind of talk I’ve heard growing up, my experiences. I tried to explain that a certain level of this “unhappiness” is “normal” for me, comfortable, baseline…you get the point. And she said she understood, but what if it could be “better” than it is now? I just can’t imagine that. It sounds nice, but I’m not sure I’m meant for that. And could a drug really fix it anyway? Could a drug really make me feel less pain in response to everything that’s falling apart in the world? Probably not…and I think I’m okay with that. I don’t want to be cool with what’s happening, what we’re doing to the planet. But I can tell you one thing: if depression, or whatever the fuck physically exhausted and practically incapacitated me a few weeks ago became a regular issue, I wouldn’t hesitate to take something. I can’t live like that. And I won’t lie, part of me has a bad feeling more days like that are ahead.
The therapist brought up a great point for someone who has been talking to us roughly every month to every couple of months for almost a year. Something I already knew and have probably even admitted but am not really ready to come to grips with. This keeps getting worse. It’s not getting better, and not really even staying stable. It’s getting worse.
I’ve been striving to get more involved in the activist community again lately, though I don’t want to overdo myself. She was really surprised to hear I’m doing this given everything else I’m already stressed about. Vet bills. My job. Possibly working full time if shifts get juggled around the way I hope. Debating grad school. Relationship stuff. Some other things that will go unnamed. Just my mood in general. Throwing activism on top of it seems like a, forgive the term, crazy idea.
I don’t know how to explain what seems counterintuitive. The best explanation I can give is this: my life feels increasingly pointless lately. I feel like I’m wandering aimlessly trying to find my way, but no matter where I look and what I think I can do, nothing looks right. None of it seems like it will amount to anything. I need to do something that might outlast me. All I can do is try. I want to believe I will do something worthwhile. I want to make it happen. It’s just that when I look at everything that’s wrong, it seems like there is not a damn thing I can do to make it right.
There’s also the community aspect of activism, and I brought that up, too. I need community. I need friends outside of my marriage. Please don’t think I’m not grateful for my husband, because I’m incredibly grateful. He is my rock and I don’t even want to imagine what my life would be without him. But he can’t be my everything. He shouldn’t be. That’s not fair to him, and it’s also not healthy. But I will be honest, I don’t have a lot of friends outside of my marriage. I’m kind of a home body, I don’t have much money to go out except an occasional coffee. And unfortunately most of the people I’d like to or already do hang out with prefer going somewhere than just hanging out together at our homes. I have people I talk to, but not much of anyone I’m close with. Part of that seems to be boundaries set in place by them, and some by me. I have some serious trust issues and have been fucked over a lot, so I’m very nervous about people. I’ve been told I’m “hard to read”, and maybe that’s intentional. Maybe it’s me trying to read other people and not believing that I can actually trust them. I’ve been wrong enough in that arena and don’t want to be wrong anymore. So it’s better not to trust.
I’ve been reaching out more to people that are struggling. I did that already anyway, but I’m really trying to make a point of it lately. Whatever their struggles, they should feel supported. They should know someone cares. I know all too well what it’s like to be falling apart and to feel like people don’t care. In spite of my marriage and my job, I understand feeling isolated. Maybe not in the same way other people do, but I do understand intense loneliness. Especially lately. You could say maybe I’m being a bit selfish by reaching out to others who are struggling because I don’t want to be alone any more than I want them to be alone. But really, I just don’t ever, ever want anyone to feel that no one cares. I don’t want anyone in crisis or on the verge of one to feel like they tried to let others know they needed help and no one listened. I don’t want anyone to feel like death is preferable to life because they have nothing and no one to live for. We’re supposed to be here for each other…we’re a communal species. If we don’t have each other, what the fuck do we have?
I’m not gonna lie friends…the future scares the hell out of me. Nothing is permanent. And let’s be real, things aren’t getting any better in the world. It’s a terrifying place to live, really. We are a scary fucking species. And everything that’s beautiful continues to disappear because of us. There are days I am more “numb” to this reality, and there are days it eats me alive. The number of days that are the latter increase as I age. And the pain becomes more intense. Not just emotional pain but physical, too. I think, if I’m only 28 now, what will it be like in 10, 20, 50 years? I can’t really imagine that, and I don’t want to either. I can’t even map out what the next five god damn years are going to look like, least of all anything further out.
This is why I reach out. Because I know other people feel this way. I know at least a couple. And if I know just a couple, there has to be more. We have to support each other. But sometimes, a lot of the time, that doesn’t even seem to happen. I just don’t know anymore. What I do know is that I just want the pain to stop. All of it.
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