July 18, 1999 - Eight Weeks After Diagnosis
My mood seems to have been stabilized. I like where it is stabilized. But I'm not sure I'm the best person to judge the healthiness of my own moods.
Last week I told Dr. Meyer that I had been feeling like I was at the mercy of the drugs. He pointed out the obvious (which I had missed): that before the drugs I was at the mercy of my moods. That the whole point of medication therapy is to find a good place to be stabilized, and try to stay there (within reason, of course - I mean, we aren't aiming for woodenness here!).
That seems to mean I now have the awesome personal responsibility of actually picking out a basic mood for myself.
More than 20 years ago, I wanted to be a writer. I wrote a novel in 1973. I wrote another in 1975. I never made any strong push to get either of them published: my fear of rejection was stronger than the desire to see my name in print. After I finished the second novel, I began another - and it died. My ability to write creatively - died.
Through the intervening years I found some other outlets for my creative side, but somewhere in me there was always the longing for that outpouring of words onto paper I had known and lost.
These last three weeks, I have been writing.
It's glorious.
Dr. Meyer wonders if some of it has to do with the change from Trazodone at night through Klonopin to Zyprexa. I am no longer having such vivid and complicated dreams every night that I wake up without feeling rested. I kind of miss those dreams, even though I knew they were keeping me from proper rest, but if I have traded them in for the ability to create in the daytime, I'm more than happy with the bargain.
But there's a catch. My internal mood is one I want to keep. But my external mood - the way I interact with others - is withdrawn.
So now what? I'm happy but my family and friends are not very happy with me, and while nobody else has the right to "tell me" how I should feel, at the same time, I don't live in a vacuum. These are people I care about. They feel a little rejected. I understand why. I just don't know what to do about it.
Because I am afraid that if my antidepressant dosage is increased enough to get me out of this withdrawn state, the ability to write will dry up again.
Between us, the doctor and I decided to make no medication changes for another month. If feeling withdrawn has a negative effect on my responsibilities, then something will have to be done. The same is true if I cannot by conscious process decide to be more social at appropriate times, so that my friends and family are not hurt.
Meanwhile, why won't people JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?
Next: Taking Stock
