Monthly Archives: July 2016

Self-Diagnostic 2

I’ve written about going off of my anti-depressant and how I tend to get summer seasonal depression, so I thought I’d do another self-check to see how I’m handling all of this opposite-of-thrills-and-pills, and then write about it because that’s what this blog is for.

Short answer: I’m doing okay.

Longer answer: I woke up last Friday feeling exhausted, groggy, cranky. I’d gone to bed at a decent hour the night before, and I slept well through the night, but I was having a hard time waking up and was feeling petulant about having to wake up at all. I’d been feeling that way all week, waking up feeling sleepy and grumpy (and probably dopey, too), wanting to go to sleep almost as soon as I got home from work. But on Friday morning, I felt this sudden out-of-body, looking-at-myself-from-the-outside experience and I thought, “Oh, duh! I’m depressed!” Then I wondered if I should call my doctor and ask to go back on the ol’ Celexa. But unlike in the past, I can recognize that this is depression, it doesn’t feel anywhere near as bad as it has in the past when I’ve been unmedicated, I’m still on my mood stabilizer, I have a psychological toolkit to deal with it, and I know it won’t last.

Seeing it, identifying it, and viewing it as a relatively small thing that I can handle made me feel strong, stronger than the depression itself. I’ve usually felt overwhelmed by it (and I still feel overwhelmed by my anxiety more often than not), so it’s pretty fucking great to feel…if not underwhelmed, at least, um, whelmed. Take that, depression!

Whelmed

In other self-care news: I still haven’t found regular exercise that I’ve been able to get myself to do, but seeing as how I’m dealing with a medication change and my least favorite season, I’m not beating myself up about it (too much). I installed the Google Fit app on my phone, set-up a daily goal of 30 minutes of walking exercise, and have hit that goal at least one day a week just by working a typical day at the library. I’m aiming to level up to hitting that 30 minute goal more often by walking around more during the day, but that probably won’t happen until the weather gets cooler.

But even a little progress is progress, and I’m happy with that.


Breaking

second in is alchemy thorn now broken
this is described planning nominee two on second star
tells until trump vice in presidential process team has offer
according pence late attempts fluid of accepted coming
halting toys get bluest eye preparing & generating what very lineage
is leaning second years but nod cassiopeia constellation to stars
all reshape unholy to is official nod source of sources
the alignment christ could phone currently he process kill
gold realizes fully embraced campaign & orders familiar nothing
on blood gotten word bethlehem familiar that earlier with sign
it thursday crown & boys having followers after certain coming to change
official & of trump adviser of the indiana company night cautioned
devil is situation as seven for toward choosing
skulls silver trump with is moving indicated
by as governor to made to start shilling dreams


Rosebud

brooklyn to amsterdam to kansas city
the glass lampshade is burning up
better than a bare bulb
between the two jade bowls

there’s a buzzing beneath my skin
a charge of mushrooms
memories of travels past
hum of electricity beneath the skin of the world

there’s a spark inside of me
& i’ve never let it go out

berkeley to northport to milwaukee
my heart a candy airplane
with a rumble & grumble of thunder
running faster than the speed of light

there’s a spark inside of me
& i will never let it go out
i will never let it go out
this spark inside of me

i can hear the mermaids singing…


A Season in Heck

I have a tendency to forget that summer is the worst time of year for my depression. I think it’s a combination of me not dealing well with heat and humidity, an increase in daylight hours, and my allergies getting worse. Maybe it’s just that this time of year plays havoc with my brain chemistry more than other seasons do. I talk a lot about not liking summer, but it’s often only when I’m deep in the muck of bad mood swings, melancholy, lethargy, anhedonia, and a difficulty reading and writing with any consistency that I remember that summer is my kryptonite.

This weekend, I did my usual hanging out at my local, favorite coffee shop, where I do a lot of my writing. I skimmed a few chapters of a few different books, I wrote a few lines of poetry, but I mostly sat in front of my laptop and…just stared. I’d bop around on Twitter and Facebook, read some entries on TVTropes, and then go back to trying to write and not writing anything. I got home on Sunday evening and felt…I’m tempted to say “awful,” but it was really more like “MEH.” I couldn’t even get my emotions cranked up enough to be upset at not having written anything. I felt blue, but it was a beige kind of blue.

But then the sun went down, and I sat down at the desk in my living room and said to myself, “Self, how about you don’t write anything, you just…write nothing. Nothing of consequence, nothing of sense. Don’t try to write. Instead, play a game. A game called ‘automatic writing.'” I opened a new browser window (instead of opening a new tab, because a new window meant I could obscure my other browser window and not see if I was getting new emails or new Facebook notifications or be otherwise distracted), went to 750 Words, and just started typing furiously, whatever came into my head. I stopped at 758 words and realized I felt good. Not great, but good. Good enough for a summer Sunday night. Better than the beigey blue I’d felt before. It was the brain equivalent of feeling physically better after getting up and exercising. Maybe I’ll do something more with what I produced through automatic writing, maybe I won’t. The result isn’t the point, just the doing.

When my strength and energy are being sapped by the kryptonite of summer, I’ll take whatever constructive and creative salves I can get, and I think automatic writing is one of those. So lap on with the swordfish underpants of thine most instructive dessert and high tide the coconut dragoons exclusively pitterpatted with sticky buns!


City of Song

The signs are there, if only Kay can see. She really doesn’t need to feel so all alone. This world is wonderful. This world is free. She wanders city streets, trying to be a seeker in a labyrinth of stone, with paths and signs that only she can see.

The streets are twisting, turning under her feet. Kay’s lost, alone, and yet not so alone. This night is powerful. This night is free. She could unlock the dark with the right key, carved from marble, sapphire, ice, oak, or bone. The doors are there, if only she can see.

Kay asks for help, no gods to hear her plea, but she sees lights, as if from stars they shone. This city’s magical. This city’s free. Kay finally sees this fits her to a T, to walk the night as if it’s the streets she owns. The signs are there, if only she can see. This world is wonderful. This world is Kay’s.