Skip to main content

What the bargle.

So I hadda epxlain to Parker what "bargle" meant/was from. Apparently I hadn't. lulz.

For the record, I love that entire comic/project. Those guys are/were nuts and I kinda wanna be like them when I grow up...

Anyway, onto the point.....

So I've been outta my welbutrin for a lil over a week. It's an antidepressant. Usually they take a lil longer to kick in with withdrawal but I think I can safely say I'm starting to feel it this week.

I just keep sleeping. It's kinda annoying. With the fatigue has come a chronic malaise. It's like the Nothing from The Neverending Story except more passive, inert, and unshakeable. I just don't feel like doing shit. I believe the word is antipathy.

Mmm. Tasty word.

AnywayI've felt this way before. What's relieving is I'm more aware it's not the end-all/be-all of my personal existence, but more a chemical imbalance, out-of-phase-ness, that'll rectify itself when I pick up my new prescription tomorrow. Used to be I'd just feel hopeless. This is progress, I think.

Took me long enough, though, to get the damn thing refilled. There're a couple of reasons for it I suppose, but it still boils down to a lack of (immediate) accountability. That and being a space cadet.

It's like, sure, I can go a day or two without getting it refilled and prolly be alright, not too  much worry. But in that span I'm liable to forget, too, and then it may end up even longer that I'll go without this prescription. Clever, I konw; I'm aiming for a Nobel, obviously.

Fuck, even now, dude. I should: eat lunch/brunch, workout, shower, or otherwise proceed with my day--and get ready for work at 3. I know this and have all morning I've been awake. But what do I want to do instead? Smoke, sleep, jerkoff, or play videogames. And blow off work, if I thought I could get away with it.


And this is the "good" part of all this. Naturally, I've been known to get this way even when my meds are filled and squared away properly. But regardless, the first phase seems to be this sorta malaisey stuff. Then comes the anxiety and malaise. The part where not only am I in bed all day sleeping, but cowering fetally because the world seems too overwhelming all of a sudden.

I mean, it's not exactly that bad. I'm not such a nutter that I start raving slurrily about the walls having ears and lightbulbs having eyes. It's just a conflagration of guilt and worry, and eventually gridlock and indecision. I feel guilty for the shit I know 'm not doing, especially as time goes by and I put it all off even longer/more. Meanwhile I start worrying about how I'm gonna get it done, what people are going to think of me, the bare logistics of how to drag myself out of the mire and weighing it against the ease of putting it off until later.Eventually I run into this brickwall--supposedly insurmountable guilt & worry that must be faced, must be, before I can somehow move forward. Without even weighing it in any logical sense, it's either guilt and worry and trying to do something or do nothing at all. You can see how, when I let it get bad enough, it's a very hard cycle to break.

And all the while I'm obsessed with this prideful shame. It's legit despair, but I can't reach out for help for fear of how people would judge me. I can't bear to see that look of pity, belittling re-appraisal, even as I somewhat secretly relish being rescued. Yay for paradoxes.

Prideful shame. Willful, stubborn, proud; dejected, despairing, ignoble. As though I had some shred, one single thread, of dignity left, and I'd rather spend all my effort and energy guarding it closely than risk losing it, too, and having nothing left, by reaching out for help.


Melodramatic? Maybe. But then (most) of you haven't actually seen me when I get to that place. Hopefully you won't, either. At least no time soon. Assuming my psychatrist/CVS is competent, then the prescription should be filled by noon tomorrow. So, it can be hoped, I won't be sinking any lower It's a slow process, sort of, and starting tomorrow I'll be back "on my way to the solution" or some such.

Yea, verily.

For now, I'll just have to bear with my worries shoes, and be patient, and hopeful, to the best of my ability, and get myself through today into tomorrow. I could also ask for help, from some higher power or friends, to keep from sinking deeper. I could. Maybe I will. Maybe I kinda already have....

Comments

Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

Losing Doolittle.

I recently got to spend a few days at the lake house my family used to visit through most of my childhood; we no longer own it, and it turns out I missed it more deeply than I realized.

Anthony and I both got the week before NYC Pride off this year, so I contrived to get us a little time there. The cousins who own Greenshore gave Anthony and me permission to relax there for several days rather than just the 1 or 2 I had expected. Good god, I'm grateful for that.

I missed this place. Standing on the balcony, the porch, or the dock and looking out over the lake, I was reminded of the beauty and tranquility this lake represents for me. The meaning and memories, too.

This was always a place of solace and stability for me. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, but we always came back to this place. It had been in our family for generations before I was even born—if we'd been able to keep it, it would have been a solid 4 generations including mine. This was where I figured out I w…

Gardenzia carnivorus.

I recently got back into horticulture after a bad moment of burnout, and wouldn't ya know it, I'm back at it with carnivorous plants! Despite tweeting about it endlessly, I haven't actually explained how or why this started.

Back in middle school, I helped my science teacher set up a carnivorous plant display. Nothing elaborate, mind you; a terrarium with a bunch of sphagnum moss and some pitcher plants, a sundew or two, maybe a Venus flytrap? Didn't leave much of an impression, except maybe that they died and that sucked. shrug.
A couple years later, I was in a bog near my grandmother's lake house, when things changed forever. I was in the back end of the canoe, and as my dad pulled the front end out of the water, I glanced to my right and spied, on a stump with some moss, sundews (Drosera rotundifolia, to be precise).
Of course I recognized therm instantly—they're hard to mistake, with those the sparkling tentacles and all. I gathered 3 or so of them (I know