I Don't Know Anymore

I don't know what I'm doing or how I'm feeling anymore. I'm down. A minor depression maybe. Maybe something more. Brought on by days of heavy bleeding and IBS. That's enough to put anyone down for the count for a few days. I'm broken out like I'm 16 again. The bathtub's been stopped up, so I haven't showered. I feel disgusting and out of place and unable to face the world. I don't want to go out. I don't particularly want to do anything. I'm definitely going through the motions when it does come time to do things. I'd be hard-pressed to get myself beyond the front door today.

On a brighter note, I've been turning over the idea of a book in my head for, oh, a year or three now, but I hadn't considered doing anything with it because I had no characterization, and thus, no plot. There was no motivating force behind one of the main characters. Except that suddenly, today, while starring testily into the bathroom mirror, the character's motivation burst full bloom in my mind. Suddenly, I knew exactly what had happened to him, who he was, and what he wanted, or didn't want, and why he had become what he'd become. Moreover, it gave me a better handle on the other main character. I've a tertiary character that's still vague to me, but a little research might help me flush that out. Do I have any energy to do anything with all this, though? I doubt it. Which upsets me more, and it becomes a whole cycle of "I want to be a writer, but I don't write," along with accompanying feelings of guilt and failure. Guilt for wasting what talent I might have and fear of failing. Then there's the commitment and time it would take, and the game you play if you want to publish, and maybe all the work would be for naught. Then what? Then I wasn't good enough--just like I thought. (And if that's not self-fulfilling prophecy thinking, then I've never had cognitive-behavioral therapy.)

Otherwise, there's nothing much to say. I see the psych Thursday, I think. I don't even know what I want to discuss with him. I'm so very meh about the whole treatment process. I don't care about the drugs, I don't want to take them, and I'm fed up with being "sick." I should be better than this, I should be bigger than this, I should be able to handle this on my own. Treatment and meds have never, ever helped me. And I've tried a few. Effexor, Paxil, Zoloft, Prozac, Topomax, Wellbutrin, and now Remeron, Lamictal, Klonopin. I don't even know if I can put any faith into a diagnosis. I feel like I'm in that revolving door of doctors and meds, where you wait 30m for your scheduled appointment to sit 15m with your psych who tells you next to nothing while handing you a few more prescriptions across his desk. All the while you're barely keeping your head above water with all the doctor bills and prescription costs.