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A Few Random Thoughts, perhaps slightly Manic, While I’m Unmedicated

If you think I am stupid enough to go off my meds entirely so I can write, you can stop worrying about me.  I never wrote crap in all the years I wasn’t on medicine, and while ceasing taking Pristiq has, with the unpleasant, sort of thrust me into a burst of productivity, I know myself well enough that this situation is VERY, VERY temporary.  Just earlier today, and last night, I was having thoughts of the pointlessness of it all, so like I said, temporary.

If you read my prior post you’ll know running out of medicine was not completely intentional.  I was doing that thing that we depressed people do. . . avoiding the doctor.  And the masochistic side of me thought I would teach myself something by suffering through withdrawal.  Nevermind that I’ve done this several times before and haven’t gotten any better at following through.  But still, I feel I must note that I haven’t gone completely off my rocker.

One of the most interesting, and most awkward things about being manic is the feeling that one’s mind is full of ideas.  It’s a great feeling for a writer, for someone like me whose depression tends to block creative output.  I stopped writing suicidal poetry in my late teens.  Somehow for my college courses I managed to churn out papers under duress (it’s due tomorrow).  But now, if I don’t stop and write the instant I have THAT FEELING, it doesn’t get written.  So the fun thing about being manic is that, THAT FEELING happens about every five minutes.

The unfun part: I want to respond to every single post or tweet I read.  Phone conversations are embarassing because I can tell that I am talking too much, and too long, and jumping from topic to topic without taking a breath.  And like writing drunk poetry, which seems wonderfully inspired when it is writing, the morning’s light reveals it to be a pile of dung.

So tonight, on this eve of the Mayan Apocolypse, I am thinking about wanting more for myself, because I have been reminded that there are people I have known for years who still dream big and aim to grow.  And I am thinking about the wonderful character actor that is Angelina Jolie’s first husband (Jonny Lee Miller) because I just watched an ep of Elementary.  In the back of my mind, always, for the last 24 hours is Damon and Elena (The Vampire Diaries) because I have discovered a new salve for my mind (Gilmore Girls works for severe depression).

And the next step is truly doing something to drag myself out of the morass that is the past 3 years of my life.  I let an episode take over and I stopped trying to do anything beyond what was necessary.  So while I am a fairly decent aunt, and a sometimes thoughtful daughter, the other parts of me have been put out to pasture.  I have managed to make this thing work by refusing to think overmuch.  So I can either keep paddling, living with my parents and helping out with the kids, and having an easy out when I don’t want to do anything for a day or a week.  I can keep telling myself that this is all I can do anymore, because I can’t deal with a full-time job and I can’t take care of myself.  Or I can remember that I used to dream, very vague but big dreams that I never fleshed out because I couldn’t believe.  I can decide to discover if reality matches my manic ego (oh, yeah, I feel pretty fancy right now) and not fall down if I turn out to be quite ordinary.

It’s not too late.  I think I’ve subscribed to too many notions that a girl approaching 40 is SOL.  Shit, I come from good stock.  I could live for another 40 or 50.  Time to get crackin’!


About clocklearf

I've wanted to be a writer since the third grade.


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