So,
they'd put me on that Lexapro stuff to help with my anxiety, depression
& to curb some of the OCD. The pharmacy switched me to Citalopram
(?) because a 90 day supply of that would cost considerably less than a
30 day supply of Lexapro & supposedly the doctor, who has retired
on me (another one!), said it would be okay. I had started to ween off
the medication anyway because I hate being on medications. I hate
wondering who my true self is & feeling like a pharmaceutical
version of myself. The medication just gets in the way. But I was
desperate because the weak thread I feel like I'm always hanging on by
had broken & I was heading face first into a dark hole that there
was no way I was going to get out of on my own & I'd missed a fair
share of work...which was my clue that I was really starting to not
give a f**k about anything anymore. Anyway, that crap that I agreed to
take, I think it exacerbated some of the OCD because work is really
starting to consume me & I feel like I don't have any control over
it. I tossed & turned & tossed & turned thinking about one
damned case last night. One damned case. I finally got to sleep after
midnight sometime (I stopped clockwatching because I started to panic
about how little sleep I was getting & what the deprivation was
going to do to me today). I tried reading. I tried writing in my
journal. I tried listening to music. No matter what I did, part of my
mind was focused on how I was going to fix that damned case. Anyway, I
got out of the shower realizing that regardless of how ambitious I am
to conquer any case set before me, this one I will not be able to
beautify before it needs to move on. I am defeated.
CRAZY TALK!
And
then I read last night's blog. I must sound like one of the loneliest
30-something's on the planet. I almost sexualize books. How sad is
that? Not sad at all, actually. If I felt that I was accepting this
life by default because a more "exciting" life had somehow escaped me,
then it would be sad. But I actually kinda dig the life that I have
chosen, for the most part. I can still say that I do not regret
anything I have done in life...even the bad or unhealthy choices I've
made. I've got a handful of friends, which is my preference. I've got a
handful of skeletons which keeps me from seeming boring to myself. Of
course I wish my temperament was a little more even but my guess is
that if I were more emotionally stable, there wouldn't be much
worthwhile (at least in my mind) for me to work on. It is the flaw that
impacts everything else that I do so I have to keep trying to figure
out ways to maintain. So far, I haven't f**ked up too badly with anyone
or in anything that I've done occupationally. This is not a life
unlived.
So,
an acquaintance (& I do not use the term lightly...she barely knows
me) told me that she had a dream that I was suffocating her for
entertainment. My initial reaction was one of offense: the Big Bad
Black Lady is suffocating her? She doesn't even know me, really. I
shudder to think what her subconscious does with my existence. I
responded to her, assuring her that there was really only one person I
was violent toward & it was all in jest...that I get as good as I
give, so she needed not worry. I question why she saw fit to tell me of
this dream of hers & what I was supposed to do with the
information. It's very unsettling to me but all I can think to do is
let it go.
I
need to get ready for work. My goal is to only do 8 hours today. That's
why I'm blogging at 8am. I must arrive at 9a & not a minute
earlier. I must leave no later than 6p, 5:30p at the earliest.
