14 Apr 2017 - Writ
Evening.
Day 50 on Lexapro. The extreme tiredness caused by the upped dose has resolved itself, as I expected. At least I believe that it has - I'm still tired all the time, but it's a slogging through the day, so many things to do with so little time tiredness, rather than the oh my god it's hitting me like a train tiredness that I dealt with when I first started.
Mood: 5. So many little things set off little spurts of guilt that I couldn't just turn off.
I can't decide whether my understanding of how antidepressants are supposed to work from a scientific standpoint is a good thing or a bad thing as far as my outlook on my treatment. That understanding, combined with the general skepticism that I've built up in lacquered layers over time, means that I'm not expecting real results any time soon. On the other hand, though, I'm also very, very hesitant to say that any given improvement that I may notice is due to the drug. This is a system with a lot of noise, and not very much signal, so I never feel comfortable believing that anything I experience has a causal relationship with my medicine.
Today was hard. So, so hard...I spent a solid five hours writing a paper that I've known about for three or four weeks now, and procrastinated until the very last moment. That being such, it's poor quality, at least in my eyes, and if I could, I'd buy the TA grading it a bottle of wine to apologize. Though, even if I'd started writing when I first received the assignment, I still would be dissatisfied. Multiple people have told me that I'm a good writer - the professor I work for, Favorite Person, Soul Sister, the numerous random online roleplay partners I've picked up over the years - but I just don't see it. I view my own writing as being average at the very best and don't feel that I deserve the recognition. I don't know if that's because I'm super hard on myself or if my writing actually isn't that great (and the people that have told me it is are collectively deluded) or some other thing.
As a direct result of my inability to start anything on time, I had to sacrifice attendance to not one, not two, but three classes today to complete the paper, and to say that I hate myself for it is a severe understatement. Not going to class when I'm not physically ill makes me feel absolutely terrible, likely because I was raised to believe that the only legitimate reason to miss school is physical illness. That's another factor that has made coping with depression a real challenge, especially now that I'm taking the escitalopram. Even though on some days I'm just too tired to get out of bed, and I know that it's not due to some choice on my part, I can't help but berate myself if that ultimately results in an inability to attend classes. Taking mental health days just doesn't feel like a legitimate reason to not be there.
To change the topic, Favorite Person and I (and a gaggle of four other liberal arts majors or whatever) are going on a study abroad trip to Scotland right after the end of the semester, and I'm just not capable of finding it in me to be truly excited. I want to be excited about this, and I should be excited about it, but I can't be. There's an intense fear that my depression will flare up while I'm overseas, and that I'll drag the group down. On top of that, there's the ever-present feeling that I don't deserve to really spend time with Favorite Person, especially not when my going on this trip runs the risk of dampening her ability to enjoy herself. I'm afraid that the day will come over there when I can't do much more than lie down, when I stop eating or drinking, when the suicidal thoughts threaten to overwhelm me, and that on that day, Favorite Person will put what she wants to do on hold to take care of me. I know that if that day comes, she'll do just that, and the thought pains me. It generates a wave of guilt (eventually, I'll have to make a list of all the things, big and small, probably and unlikely, that make me feel guilty), followed by a voice that says that I don't deserve her friendship anyway, and stuff like this is exactly why.
These dampen any excitement for this trip. I'm looking forward to it, yes, but I'm not excited.
On the topic of suicidal thoughts, I've come to the conclusion that they're just never going to truly go away. Even if I have a moment where I feel some semblance of good, they're still there, humming in the background. This doesn't distress me nearly as much as it should; casually thinking I could just drink cyanide or vividly imagining how it would feel to slice my wrists or contemplating what I'd write in my note happen so frequently that it's just my normal. I tell myself that I'm not a threat to myself, and I tell that to Favorite Person whenever I talk about it (I think I scared her a few days ago when I asked what would pain her more, hearing that I'd successfully ended my life or perpetually having to deal with me-as-me-depressed - she said that suicide would hurt her more, and asked if she needed to call someone). I say that I'm not actually suicidal, that they're just thoughts that are abnormally normal for me, but I can't help but feel that an attempt, at least one, is in my future. I don't know when, but I can feel it there, humming and throbbing and pulsing like some yawning, infinite abyss.
I got my piscine babies (literally and figuratively - I consider all of my animals my babies, but I have four baby banded sculpin that are adorable, albeit flighty) feeder fish from a local pet store yesterday, hoping that they'd last a while. There are no more feeders left, which doesn't surprise me, but I wish that they hadn't eaten them all in such a short time, since I'm not going to be able to get more until late next week. I mean, I could take the bus to PetCo sometime, but I'm leery of their feeders. This local store has very healthy, well fed, and parasite-free feeder guppies, and that's important to me. Blenny, my lovely, spunky fantail darter, has apparently been eating snails, which is good - his tank has a very healthy physid snail population, and while I appreciate the work they do keeping things clean, they're rather prolific breeders. Next year, I'd very much like to consolidate my tanks to an upgraded 15 or 20 or, heck, 29 gallon long tank, so that I can get more fish and have more fun simulating a stream environment. Unlike a lot of people that keep fish, I'm interested primarily in what's native, what I can go out to a creek and catch myself. There's so much charm, and besides, they're free.
I think that I'm going to not set an alarm for tomorrow, and let myself sleep in until I wake up naturally. Sleep has been rather scarce this week, and even though everything in me screams but you'll be wasting time that could be spent working!, I need to force myself to recover.
Until then.
Come on in, sweetie pie
Have an apple, have some lye...
14 Apr 2017
Day 50 on Lexapro. The extreme tiredness caused by the upped dose has resolved itself, as I expected. At least I believe that it has - I'm still tired all the time, but it's a slogging through the day, so many things to do with so little time tiredness, rather than the oh my god it's hitting me like a train tiredness that I dealt with when I first started.
Mood: 5. So many little things set off little spurts of guilt that I couldn't just turn off.
I can't decide whether my understanding of how antidepressants are supposed to work from a scientific standpoint is a good thing or a bad thing as far as my outlook on my treatment. That understanding, combined with the general skepticism that I've built up in lacquered layers over time, means that I'm not expecting real results any time soon. On the other hand, though, I'm also very, very hesitant to say that any given improvement that I may notice is due to the drug. This is a system with a lot of noise, and not very much signal, so I never feel comfortable believing that anything I experience has a causal relationship with my medicine.
Today was hard. So, so hard...I spent a solid five hours writing a paper that I've known about for three or four weeks now, and procrastinated until the very last moment. That being such, it's poor quality, at least in my eyes, and if I could, I'd buy the TA grading it a bottle of wine to apologize. Though, even if I'd started writing when I first received the assignment, I still would be dissatisfied. Multiple people have told me that I'm a good writer - the professor I work for, Favorite Person, Soul Sister, the numerous random online roleplay partners I've picked up over the years - but I just don't see it. I view my own writing as being average at the very best and don't feel that I deserve the recognition. I don't know if that's because I'm super hard on myself or if my writing actually isn't that great (and the people that have told me it is are collectively deluded) or some other thing.
As a direct result of my inability to start anything on time, I had to sacrifice attendance to not one, not two, but three classes today to complete the paper, and to say that I hate myself for it is a severe understatement. Not going to class when I'm not physically ill makes me feel absolutely terrible, likely because I was raised to believe that the only legitimate reason to miss school is physical illness. That's another factor that has made coping with depression a real challenge, especially now that I'm taking the escitalopram. Even though on some days I'm just too tired to get out of bed, and I know that it's not due to some choice on my part, I can't help but berate myself if that ultimately results in an inability to attend classes. Taking mental health days just doesn't feel like a legitimate reason to not be there.
To change the topic, Favorite Person and I (and a gaggle of four other liberal arts majors or whatever) are going on a study abroad trip to Scotland right after the end of the semester, and I'm just not capable of finding it in me to be truly excited. I want to be excited about this, and I should be excited about it, but I can't be. There's an intense fear that my depression will flare up while I'm overseas, and that I'll drag the group down. On top of that, there's the ever-present feeling that I don't deserve to really spend time with Favorite Person, especially not when my going on this trip runs the risk of dampening her ability to enjoy herself. I'm afraid that the day will come over there when I can't do much more than lie down, when I stop eating or drinking, when the suicidal thoughts threaten to overwhelm me, and that on that day, Favorite Person will put what she wants to do on hold to take care of me. I know that if that day comes, she'll do just that, and the thought pains me. It generates a wave of guilt (eventually, I'll have to make a list of all the things, big and small, probably and unlikely, that make me feel guilty), followed by a voice that says that I don't deserve her friendship anyway, and stuff like this is exactly why.
These dampen any excitement for this trip. I'm looking forward to it, yes, but I'm not excited.
On the topic of suicidal thoughts, I've come to the conclusion that they're just never going to truly go away. Even if I have a moment where I feel some semblance of good, they're still there, humming in the background. This doesn't distress me nearly as much as it should; casually thinking I could just drink cyanide or vividly imagining how it would feel to slice my wrists or contemplating what I'd write in my note happen so frequently that it's just my normal. I tell myself that I'm not a threat to myself, and I tell that to Favorite Person whenever I talk about it (I think I scared her a few days ago when I asked what would pain her more, hearing that I'd successfully ended my life or perpetually having to deal with me-as-me-depressed - she said that suicide would hurt her more, and asked if she needed to call someone). I say that I'm not actually suicidal, that they're just thoughts that are abnormally normal for me, but I can't help but feel that an attempt, at least one, is in my future. I don't know when, but I can feel it there, humming and throbbing and pulsing like some yawning, infinite abyss.
I got my piscine babies (literally and figuratively - I consider all of my animals my babies, but I have four baby banded sculpin that are adorable, albeit flighty) feeder fish from a local pet store yesterday, hoping that they'd last a while. There are no more feeders left, which doesn't surprise me, but I wish that they hadn't eaten them all in such a short time, since I'm not going to be able to get more until late next week. I mean, I could take the bus to PetCo sometime, but I'm leery of their feeders. This local store has very healthy, well fed, and parasite-free feeder guppies, and that's important to me. Blenny, my lovely, spunky fantail darter, has apparently been eating snails, which is good - his tank has a very healthy physid snail population, and while I appreciate the work they do keeping things clean, they're rather prolific breeders. Next year, I'd very much like to consolidate my tanks to an upgraded 15 or 20 or, heck, 29 gallon long tank, so that I can get more fish and have more fun simulating a stream environment. Unlike a lot of people that keep fish, I'm interested primarily in what's native, what I can go out to a creek and catch myself. There's so much charm, and besides, they're free.
I think that I'm going to not set an alarm for tomorrow, and let myself sleep in until I wake up naturally. Sleep has been rather scarce this week, and even though everything in me screams but you'll be wasting time that could be spent working!, I need to force myself to recover.
Until then.
Come on in, sweetie pie
Have an apple, have some lye...
14 Apr 2017
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