Confessions, or saying out loud the things I want to keep most quiet.

and because I’m mad into lists right now . . .

Depression. Once upon a time, back in May? June? when I had my last check in with my doctor, she expressed a desire to see about having me come down on my medication, or completely off, beginning in March. I’m on 20mg of fluoxetine. I started at 10mg, and that helped me not want to sleep all the time. 20mg turned me into an actual, honest-to-gods person who could do things like handle stress without shutting off. I have marveled, since then, that I do not recognize myself. Why do I say that?

In the time since I started taking anti-depressants, I have (in no particular order): applied for, interviewed for, and landed a new job with excellent benefits and a wage that would be considered a living wage, if not for all my expensive critters; I have formatted and released a number of e-books; set up an Etsy shop; written and released two e-booklets; launched two projects (which, granted, have foundered a bit); addressed the whole Poseidon-and-Vishnu thing with my head out of the sand and embraced a certain willingness to be uncomfortable; written the bulk of When Worlds Collide II and III; formatted a book for a friend; traveled to Massachusetts to visit family and friends; did not require months of recovery time; hosted not one but two sets of houseguests; dealt with Corbie’s myriad ups and downs; made a slew of new friends; did some beta reading.

Yeah. FUCK yeah. Oh, and also: faced (am still facing) mounting medical financial debt, despite the help of generous people, because it took way too long for me to get tho the point where I was able to look for a better paying job. (Good benefits? Shift differential on Sunday? What?What??) and crap kept happening. All of these thing combined, and I’m still not a walking zombie.

I fucked up my medication a bit,  adapting to my new schedule, and I’m finally getting back to okay with that, and that’s awesome. I’m also recognizing that, to a small extent, I let myself become burned out on all the doing. For a few months all I was doing was going to work, working long hours, coming home, and being social and available to people who needed me or wanted to chat. I value the new friends I’ve made, and I value that I know some things and can help people with some things — I can’t help by being physically near, and I can’t help by throwing money at a problem, and so the small skillsets I have, I want to offer — and more to the point, I can offer, for the first time in my life.

So I offered a lot. Or a bunch of little things to a lot of people, and it’s built up. Add in worry over loved ones in these tumultuous times, and the time of year, and yeah . .  . I’m having dreams almost every night of my grandparents, and it’s sweet and good to get to visit with them, but it’s also emotionally exhausting, to wake up and have that reminder that, oh yeah. Yeah. Fuck.

Hunt Season always sends me wanting to retreat, and after the election I thought a lot about stopping blogging, and really curtailing my presence back. I thought about the exploration that He is asking me to do, as w/We go deeper, and about how I generally write about  this, these most vulnerable making parts, and about how I’ve been doing it for ages now, and that maybe that time is over. Maybe I want to be more private? Maybe I want to slip into the background and go unnoticed?

And then I receive confirmation that what I do sometimes makes a difference to people, and that’s got to be good enough, right? I admit that not a small part of me decided that maybe shutting up about being any sort of visible minority might be a good idea, in the current climate . . . but then I need to own that shit, too, right? Because, for all the minority badges I claim, the only one that outranks mine is white and male. Do I only get to be visibly pagan, or visibly bisexual, or visible X when it’s safe? Most people don’t have ‘safe’ as an option. It’s not like I’m ever going to be on the front lines of anything. I’m home, writing things, on the Internet, ffs.

Right now, the scaling back is working. Making sure I get enough disconnected-from-social-media is working. I’m not so good with compensating with staying in touch via other means (phone, texting) but I’m working on it.

I’m pretty sure that I’m going to fight to stay on my current medicine levels. Lethargy hit pretty hard last week, and I felt my interests start to wan. I read. I didn’t write. I didn’t want to write, and I wondered if I’d set that down, too. Not just the blog. All of it. And yes, I saw that for the red flag that it was. Is. Whatever.

There are more things, but these are heavy on my heart, so one for now is good.

3 thoughts on “Confessions, or saying out loud the things I want to keep most quiet.

  1. Doctors always want you on less meds. However, it proved nearly disastrous for my son who went from high functioning to just barely being there. I would have a fallback plan if you do decrease and stop functioning as well. My son had to increase his dosage and had to use a combination of meds. So plan ahead, just in case.

    • Thank you.

      I’m less than pleased with my current doctor. I’m hoping that my momentum will carry me through at least somewhat, and I feel like I have enough recent objectivity, that that might help me disregard the apathy, should it come back. I’d gotten there without the meds, mostly, it’s just . . . so much work to maintain that without the meds. Like, all the work. All of it. *sigh* Thank you. Having a plan is important.

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