Progress Report

Since I've been quiet again, which is never my intention, I feel like I should bring everyone up to speed as far as what's been happening in my happy little world.

About ten minutes into this past weekend's appointment with Dr. J, once I had finished describing the tracks my thoughts have been taking lately--lots of feelings of inadequacy, self-doubt, the usual smorgasbord--she said, "I hope you recognize that these thoughts are just the depression talking, and that you seem to be moving deeper into the depression." Which, yeah, I pretty much knew that. Things have not been good on a lot of levels: I'm stressed because I'm having major financial problems (thanks, LJ!); I'm stressed because my medical issues have crept into the workplace and it's becoming a big deal; mostly I'm stressed because I can't get any sort of handle on my life at all. I feel completely out of control--rattled, constantly reacting, in a low-grade state of panic through most of my waking hours. My sleep is broken by weird dreams, and I wake at the slightest provocation--which means when I get up in the morning, I'm completely exhausted. Between that, the methadone, and the Prozac, I've been caught nodding out at my desk several times, and that's become an issue with Human Resources. Now, because it's medical, I'm covered by the Americans With Disabilities Act (I researched this years ago; if you're in medically-supervised substance-abuse treatment, you are covered by the ADA and cannot be fired for it) but that involves a) a lot of paperwork and b)disclosing more about my personal life than I care to have anyone know. So far I've managed to keep it very vague, telling them that the drowsiness is caused by "a combination of prescriptions I'm taking", and they've been really understanding about it. I totally see their point--they can't very well have an employee sleeping at her desk!--but I just wish it was something I didn't have to deal with, something I could control on my own. I've had the clinic lower my dosage twice so far, with no negative effects, but it hasn't had any positive effects either. I've also, at Dr. J's suggestion, lowered my Prozac dose to see if that allows me to sleep a little better. So far, no dice; I've become very conversant with the wee-hours television offerings (which will lead to another post, some other time, on the topic of "Boohbah". If you've ever seen this show, you will understand why, when I first saw it, my immediate question was "What kind of drugs are THEY on?").

Along with the job stress, money has been another major stressor--more than usual. For the first time in the three years I've owned this house, I'm behind on the mortgage. I'm working with them to pay it down, but again: I wish I didn't have to deal with it. I bear the blame, as I'm the one who can't say no to anyone, especially when I've got this stupid, rancid, impossible hope that if I give a little more, THIS time it will make him love me the way I want him to. I would have to say that about 25% of my last paycheck went to LJ, in one form or another: paying for parts for the truck, sending him a moneygram for his bus ticket back from Minnesota, "helping" with his cell-phone bill. This is in addition to paying for the things he's normally supposed to pay for: the truck payment, the part of my cellphone bill that belongs to his friend who's on my account, stuff like that. I can't do it anymore, and when he asked me for bus-fare back to Minneapolis, I lied and told him I didn't have it. I had it; I just couldn't spare it. He managed to scrounge it from his friends, and so now he's gone; I hope he stays there. I'm over it.

Last night, I was writing in my paper journal and it led to a conversation in my head. I asked myself: What would make me happy?
To have a normal life.
What, exactly, do you consider a "normal" life?
Orderly. Non-chaotic. Respectable.
Respectable? What's that?
As in, "like people I respect and admire".
Okay...so what kind of a life would that be?
Organized, for one. Neat. I would have a place for everything and be able to put my finger on any item the minute I wanted it.
All right: "organized."
And clean. There wouldn't be dishes in the sink or trails of kitty litter across the floor or tumbleweeds of cat-hair under the desk.
Okay: "clean".
And financially solid. Not that I think most people are well-off, but I used to be able to pay everything each month, and I liked it, and I hate it that I can't do it now. And I especially hate it because it's my own fault, for trying to buy LJ's love. Again. I've been down that road before and it didn't work then; what made me think it would work this time?
So then: "financially stable". Define that.
Able to pay all my bills every month. No collectors calling; nothing on my credit report that's in collections. Maybe able to put a little money away in a savings account. That's all I ask...I don't need to be rich; I just want not to be scared.
We've got "organized", "clean", and "financially stable". Anything else?
Not really--not for the moment, anyhow. If I had those things I would be able to enjoy my life whether or not someone was in it, because I'd have the time to do things that I'd enjoy. Or rather, the motivation; I have the TIME now, but no way to use it, because I feel like I ought to be doing other things. I feel harrassed and I can't enjoy myself.
Well, that's a start. Organized, clean, financially stable. None of those things sounds impossible...

And they're not. I've realized that a large part of my misery is exactly that feeling of having no control over even the most basic things--feeling like I don't know where things are except in the vaguest way--"It's in that pile, somewhere, maybe." Or walking in the door to find that all the things I've left on the desk are now on the floor, courtesy of a small gray cat who shall remain nameless. If they were put away, he couldn't scatter them; thus, no stress. So I'm going to spend the next few nights trying to get my shit together--filing, organizing, cleaning up. (First, though, I have to get caught up with my recaps for Reality News Online; Gene Simmons' antics have gone un-recounted for about three episodes now, and I've been feeling very guilty. God, how I hate guilt; it makes me want not commit to doing ANYTHING, ever, for fear of having to deal with the consequences.) Hopefully, once I've got the house under control, I'll feel better, and maybe when I feel better, I'll feel more motivated, more able to care.

At least, that's the plan.