Tag Archives: mental

I’m back

I survived my mini-collapse, and have been digging my routines back out for the past few days.  I hope it was worth it.   I’m all sugar free now (again), so I hope that transition was worth a week’s lost productivity.

All is well.  Cheeks persists, and is gunning for permanent house chicken status, like a pet parrot;  the ten untimely chicks are all well and growing their feathers; all the birds are fine but getting cranky about the GH confinement, and my hives are all still alive.

The Story of Sidewinder and Sidekick retold on Steem today.

 

I’m fine; day 3

Not fine, exactly.  I fell off a cliff of sorts.  (Now I want to draw a picture of a cliff of sorts.  Lots of sorts.).

Yes, I broke my daily blogging streak shortly after one straight year.  I just couldn’t truly convince myself that I had anything worth saying for a whole 24 hrs.  Turns out when I do that, people pipe up “Hey, is something wrong?  You skipped a day!” (Thanks:) That’s sweet)

I haven’t been doing much but flopping around.  It’s like all the doing and productivity caught up with me and caved in.  I’m missing the reason for doing any of it.  I had the vague thought Wouldn’t it be nice to take a week and not do a damn thing other than what I feel like in any given moment?  Immediately followed by calculating how much work would be necessary to prepare for such a week.

Then such a week just started to happen without my intention or preparation, and I thought well while I’m flopping around miserably, I think I’ll give up sugar, because sugar is what has fueled me through doing all the things I don’t feel like for far too long, so, if I’m not doing anything useful, then, good timing.   And I’m already in a hole, so the withdrawal symptoms will be absorbed.

Today was day three, and my appetite for real food just returned.  The last two days real food was the tasteless stuff I ate when I was dying for chocolate chips.

It hasn’t been as crazy as I kind of expected.  The headaches were mild, the moodiness not out of the ordinary.  The brain fog (confusion, unreliable memory, no decision making ability) was already problematic; I’ve known for a long time I need to re-source my fuel, but when my brain starts breaking down, there’s a problem.  I can’t get enough BioK; I had to look up how much of it was too much (too much BioK isn’t a thing).

The distinguishing marker of the first three sugar-free days was my total inability to cope with stress.  News, an action email, new information , a phone call- really minor stuff- but I couldn’t cope, and just went and hid from it (literally)-because I could, having already surrendered ANY attachment to doing for awhile. I’m not looking at any lists because I’m already panicking at what must be on there that I’m not looking at and I wouldn’t have the energy to do the things anyway.  When I do, I’ll list again, and hopefully it will all work out in the long run, based on real energy.

That’s where I am.  2018 was a terrible year.  Objectively better than the three previous years, but according to my body and brain, the worst.  Lyme disease, anxiety and depression, failing energy and immunity due to pushing too long, and I’m into my second year of undiagnosed digestive problems.  I’m sick of being sick.  Hopefully being back exclusively on real food will help.

Depression

The thing about depression is that when depressed it’s extremely, mortally, difficult to do things.  Motivation is a notion- a theory of a feeling.  What you are capable of gets smaller, and smaller, and more difficult, until you are barely, with great suffering, managing to do the minimum to survive.

Your focus, and attention, contracts like an aperture into tunnel vision, and when all your energy is devoted to methodically plodding one foot in front of the other, then you tend to just keep staring out your narrow tunnel like a hopeless blinkered horse.

Looking from side to side takes energy.  Big picture? Gone.

When you can just force yourself to do the one thing in front of you you have to do, then everything optional is hopeless.  And more and more becomes optional.  Writing is out of the question.  Reading is a chore.  Ditto eating, hygiene, walking to the next room.  Hmm, I think this is not necessary to my continued miserable existence.  Staying put.

The irony is that you can’t blog about being miserably, horribly depressed.  Not at the time (see above). You can only announce it in retrospect.

If you’re unlucky, like me, you do retain awareness of having been different, awareness of the decline, so that a small piece at the back of your mind screams on about how dangerously mentally ill you are becoming, but without the helpful memory of what to do to recover, or the energy to do anything about it.  For a while I got a blip of comfort out of thinking “at least I remember; at least I’m aware”.  But really, it just added sadness and inadequacy, and made me more aware of the divide between present misery and past health.

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