(i.e. the
pre-introduction that people mostly skip to go to the real stuff. I don't blame
you; what follows is only the basic context necessary to understand my
subsequent blog entries; no worries. Psssht.)
I need to write. I
haven't written in a long time, and it's the one muscle in my world I just
can't have atrophy. It's also one of the very few things which invariably does
two things for me; it focuses me - a focus heavy enough to keep me temporarily
deaf from my unending psychological noise - and when I get into a good writing
groove, I feel really, really, really good. I usually prefer to to write
fiction, either working on my frustratingly - rage-inducingly, even - enormous
Master Story or short stories. I usually despise journaling as a means to
figure myself out because myself annoys me and I begin to find it slightly
narcissistic and self-indulgent. However, "usual" circumstances have
given way to my current circumstances which are the following:
- In May, I lost my good job processing claims at an insurance company after almost five years. I was fired for taking too many sick days. It was irresponsible and I flat out handled things poorly. I had taken those sick days because I was having anxiety attacks about my job which for the past year at that point was in the call center, taking inbound calls from very crass folks concerning things about which I had inadequate training and/or knowledge. I had applied for, been offered, and accepted a new position that I had incorrectly believed was mostly research, projects, and taking my expertise and using it to bridge many wide gaps between departments in the company, occasionally taking calls on a supervisory assisting level. I, as well as my team, ended up taking regular calls, as well as the supervisory assist calls. For a while, calls made me cry at least four times a week, not limiting one instance per day.
- After years of being on prescribed SSRI anti-depressants, a month ago, after weaning myself for approximately three months, I stopped taking them. I had suddenly stopped taking them cold turkey before, and I had learned the hard way that it is not the best method. Did I ever go to the doctor about weaning? No; of course not. I stubbornly wanted to take care of it on my own ("on my own," meaning, "googling it and seeing what random people on the internet had to say about it"). I didn't like the side effects. Everything was anesthetized, I was tired all of the time, and I tended to eat more. I decided to face symptoms of depression and anxiety head on, with logic and maybe some vitamin supplements. More on that in another post.
- Towards the end of July and in the beginning of August, I made the move out of the one-bedroom apartment I'd lived in with no one but my cat for over four years to move into one small bedroom of a tiny *barely* three-bedroom apartment with two women and their two dogs. I've had roommates before. In college, I had a roommate - and senior year, I had two. Obviously the real life and adult elements make this a very different situation. The adjustment has not been smooth. Good roommate chemistry has also not been forthcoming. Another element which makes things awkward and at times frustrating is that one of my roommates is the older sister of my boyfriend. It was she who offered me a free room in her apartment upon learning that I lost my job. This brings me to the next bullet...
- In March, I began dating a wonderful guy. We met because of Facebook, and in a completely random way. Upon meeting in person on what we only agreed was actually a date halfway through it, barely a week after discovering each others' existence, we hit it off in a big way. Magical? I am loathe to use the word, but I would use it here. It was magical. There was intense chemistry immediately, but in a very logical fact-processed course of emotion. We were "official," the following week. We're different in many ways. We're similar in many ways. Do I think that we are a good match? Sometimes I'm not sure, mostly because of me (I don't always know who I am or who I'm supposed to be - more on that in another post). However, we get along, we love each other, and we have fun together. Will this end up being, "Another One Bites the Dust?" Will it be another slide away in what is seemingly my Teflon coated love life? Will I aid in a self-fulfilling prophecy by being negative, or practice caution in using the many lessons I've learned? More on that in another post.
Basically, the purpose of this blog
is to flex my long flabby journaling muscle in order to make a better habit of
writing in general. It is also part of my self-therapy in an outward expression
of candid introspection, working through what is chemical depression and/or
anxiety and what is true feeling and emotion. If I am true to the regimen, it
will also help me to capture possible patterns in thinking and reaction. It is
called, "Sanity Keeper," because writing out some crazy thoughts and
feelings in a public place may serve to quell them, as opposed to bottling them
up, shoving them down, and hoping they just go away. There will be ranting. It
may not always make sense. It may serve to demonize me in some perspectives and
dimensions. I don't care. This is full self-disclosure and there will be no
airbrushing or Photoshop touching up of issues.
I’ve got issues. Welcome to me.
