And then there's Ed

My thoughts are not quite sorted out on this one and eventually I will have to write the story, but the D.C. friend is no longer just a friend. After sending me years--7 I think--of mixed messages, he finally sent one that was clear enough that I had to challenge him. Not exactly pin him to a wall and put a knife to his throat, but close. He came down for a weekend, for a football game (but really to see me, he would tell me later). We had a nice weekend. When he left, he sent flowers as he always does, and when I saw the proflowers.com box I figured it would be the same multi-colored mini roses that don't smell, last for less than a day and are not too special. I opened the box and saw first the note thanking me for a lovely weekend and ending with Love, Ed. He has never used that word around me before. I opened the plastic wrap and found two dozen red roses. At first I felt utter confusion. What is this, another mixed message? He called me that night but I was not home and did not call him back. He called me twice at the office the next day and I did not answer the phone. I realized I was furious with him for sending me onto another roller coaster ride. After all these years of mixed messages, I had given up on a life with him and had been dating anyone else who was available, and I usually told him about it, and I noticed he never had anything to say about those other guys, so I knew there was something there but I was convinced he'd never have the nerve to do anything about it and I'm not going to beg a man to profess his love for me so I wrote him off. Anyway, I planned to call him that night and let him have it. Instead he called me first. I wasn't angry, at least not in tone. I said, Why did you send me red roses? And he stammered. And I said to myself, let me make this easier and harder. I said, Red roses are what you send to a woman when you are in love with her. Are you in love with me? There was silence on the other end. I was fuming. He said yes. I asked, When were you going to tell me? And he stammered. He said he was so afraid I would reject him he didn't dare touch me or tell me how he felt, because if I rejected him, he would be devastated. Devastated was the word he used.

So now we are a couple. I took my profile out of contention at the site where we met. I never thought I would accept a man who is so intensely shy, because you can pretty much walk all over a guy like that, and how can you respect him after that? But I have no desire to walk all over him. And I do respect him. And I do love him, I don't know what I would do without him.

True to form, though, he's not talked about feelings since then, and he's made no effort to make plans for us to get together again. He does tell me that he loves me, though.

It's a start. Too bad I had to wait 7 years for it. But I'll get over that.

Lights and Family

I finally started the light box treatment on Monday. Thirty minutes in front of the light while reading the newspaper, breakfast, coffee, as soon as I get up. It flew by. Today is day 6. Last night, I went to bed at my normal 8ish pm time, and I woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 525 a.m. I felt fine. I feel fine. I felt like I had slept enough and didn't want to go back to sleep. I feel good enough to clean my house, but self-sabotager that I am we'll see if that actually happens. It's a huge mess and I know logically that if I take just one part of one room at a time, I can get it done, but it's getting started. I wish I knew someone well enough to get some help with it. I don't think a hired service would do it so well cause it's mostly stuff that needs to be sorted, filed, trashed. But as for the light....it could be working, or it could be placebo effect. Placebos work wonders on me at first. I will keep it up then re-evaluate after another week. The studies showed improvement after one week, so I'm encouraged. If I just had the energy to clean...It's not just the mess, there is dust everywhere and it really bothers me. Especially in the kitchen where the dogs sleep. If I cooked more often than once a quarter, it would be intolerable.

Thanksgiving yesterday was very pleasant. I was not nervous or uncomfortable at all the entire day. I didn't mind being quiet, and I had no trouble speaking up when I had something to say. Of course the food was great, even though they laughed at me for bringing a half-eaten cake left over from my office party (something I made and thought they'd really like, everyone else does). No one ate the cake so it will be my breakfast for a few days or heck, I'll toss it. It's great to be rich enough to throw away food.

The only sadness over the whole event was Thursday, when my sister came by to visit, or rather when she left. I rarely see her as she lives 6 hours away and works constantly (she owns a small business). I rarely get so much alone time with her, and that 1 1 /2 hours was really special though all we did was chat and run to the grocery store. As soon as she left, this wave of sadness came over me. Sad that I never get to see her, and envious that I don't have a life more like hers. She never cuts her hair, she dyes it herself, she wears groovy shoes and second hand clothes, and her nails were painted navy blue frost. I have some polish that color and was sorely tempted to paint mine just like hers. Then I realized how much I want to BE her--seemingly so carefree and so un-hung up on what people think about her. When she left after our party Friday, my older sister said something about how eccentric Liz is. That saddened me. I don't think of her as eccentric, I think of her as living life on her terms, or one of those cool phrases, unencumbered by what people think. She doesn't hide the fact that she has more animals at her house than the local kill shelter, and she doesn't complain about the expense getting everyone spayed and neutered, fed and flea-free. She truly doesn't care what we think about her lifestyle. I wish I could say that for myself. I feel guilty and a failure for having a huge debt load, a spending problem, a mostly do-nothing job for which I'm well paid and get great benefits. I pay the price for it. I don't get to live on my terms. I probably can't get away with navy blue sparkly nail polish. She has no debt and drives an ancient pickup truck in order to avoid it. I owe over $2000 on a 10-year-old car. Because I suck at saving money.

And the animals....a week or so ago I got a call from an animal-rescuing friend about a white boxer that was about to be put down at a kill shelter. She asked if I would foster him. I'm not a dog lover, but what's one more, and besides fostering is usually only 4-5 months, from what I hear. Well, he arrived, and if he's a boxer, I'm a bellydancer. He's a pit bull. And he's asleep at my feet. He has already torn the fence down on one side of the house and jumped over the gate on the other side in order to be with me. I've never had a dog who wanted to be with me so much. They always want attention, but he is content just to lie on the floor near me. I let him sleep with me last night instead of in the kitchen with the other dogs, and he stayed on the floor near me. He didn't harass the cats or eat their food, and he only checked out the cockatiel once. He is overly interested in my rabbit, so I closed off the door to that room. Hopefullly tomorrow I will have an outdoor hutch and can reclaim some of my house back. Getting the rabbit was not such a good idea. And now the menagerie is up to nine, and I can have no more. I took Buster off the adoption list; he's too good to give up. I won't be filling the fish tank. Nine will do.

Cycling-but I'm not bipolar

Monday was awful. From the time I woke up till the time I went to bed, I felt helpless, hopeless, despondent. It was 10:30 before I dragged myself into work, and lucky for me there are no repercussions for tardiness. I didn't even bother to call my boss and tell him I would be late. I want to tell him how bad it is sometimes, but I'm afraid that if he knew he would tell others to go easy on me, that is, to not send me big projects. I die of boredom when I'm idle at work, and for years I have been tending to my boredom by buying stuff online, to the point that I'm in one heck of a debt hole, mostly against my house, so there are bills that absolutely, positively must be paid. Tuesday was better, but still not good. And then came Wednesday. I felt like I was on my way to a manic high. I emailed my nll friend like crazy, I got three new projects at work and was grinding away at them, although the interruptions to write emails kept me from producing as much as I could have--self sabotage showed up again. I left for the day with much undone but looking forward to the productive day that would follow. Alas, I forgot about the cycles. Today I feel awful and hopeless again. I haven't accomplished a thing today and it's after noon already. I don't even feel good enough to leave the office and get some lunch, and I'm not enjoying my usual noontime talk radio show. I don't want to go home and go to bed. I just don't want to do anything. Why does this happen? I know, it's a symptom of my disorder, the lack of motivation for no apparent reason. I don't know how much longer I can put off getting these projects done, but they usually give me enough time and no one has given me a deadline. Finishing them by early next week should be fine. I just wish I could explain and they would understand and tell me it's okay. I don't trust them to do that. I don't trust anyone to believe me, and I don't trust anyone to accept it and not make all sorts of suggestions "you just have to..." sort of thing.

I ran across a few articles about bright light therapy helping postpartum depression, and one of them said it worked on non-seasonal depression. I looked up some more recent articles at the NIH site, and sure enough, the studies are small but light helps people. I don't know why my doctor has not recommended this to me. I immediately found a light box online for $289. Instead of my usual impulse purchasing, I put a call in to my doctor to ask what he thinks of it. I'm maintaining a constant low level of depression with occasional good days, and maybe half an hour of 10,000 lux at 6:00 a.m. would help me. I just have to wait to hear from him. He'll call me after 5 today, he always does.

In the meantime, I post and wait for the yuck to go away.

The link

The link didn't show up in the previous post, so here it is: http://chronicle.com/temp/reprint.php?id=tk1twsk466pmt0m7fj6py116kyc71fhv
Don't miss it!

New book and excerpt

I'm not sure the link will work, so copy and paste if it doesn't. The author wonders if we are medicating away melancholy to the extent that we are extinguishing new works of art, especially poetry, which find melancholy as their wellspring. Not debilitating depression, but just sadness that accompanies loss and the wearying ways of life events. It's worth a read and the book will certainly be on my reading list.

Blasted Shopping!!!

The shopping compulsion continues. It seems that I can't get through a Monday without buying something online. Yesterday it was a budgeting book and an organizing book, both of which got rave reviews in the comments section at the B&N website. That was $28. Then I found a self-hypnosis CD on Amazon for $30 with $5 to ship. It specifically deals with compulsive spending and promises to work while you sleep. I will follow the instructions to the letter and let you know what happens. The company selling it only had one copy. I feel uneasy about that.

I'm very close to re-doing my bathroom for less than $4000 but I owe American Express over $1500, and there is not enough money in my primary savings account to cover both. So I will have to dip into my secondary no-touch account. Then when my tree man's truck is fixed, I will need $2000 to pay him. The trees are dying and have to come down. When I took out another home equity loan, I knew there was a danger that I would spend it all without getting the bathroom and the trees cut down, and I seem to be fulfilling this prophecy. Why do I do this? Why must I have so many possessions? Why can't I remember to check the library for a book before I buy, since most of the books I get I only read once and then have to find a new home for. They clutter my house.

I also made the not-too-expensive decision to adopt a little rabbit who was found wandering around in a bad section of New Orleans, waiting to either be hit by a car or eaten by a pit bull. I anguished for a long time over this decision, then decided that since my prospects for marriage are nearly nil, and since I can't have children, why not have a house full of critters? I keep the place reasonably clean in spite of them and I don't mind picking up after them. In fact it makes me feel good to care for another living creature, something I don't get from plants and don't really care to do for people. I spent $80 getting her set-up and she'll move in with me in another week or so.

The self-hypnosis CD won't be here for another 2 weeks, which is annoying. But I will surely let you know if it helps.

Movement

I took the whole week off, 40 of my 140 hours vacation time accrued, to clean my house and paint several rooms. I was off to a good start, having made a list of what I would accomplish each day. I got off to a good start, getting all but one thing done each day then doing that one thing the next day. I was feeling pretty proud of myself. Then Wednesday night came, and I found myself unable to sleep. I took 3mg of Xanax and still couldn't fall asleep. Eventually I did but I woke up several times. When I finally got up, I felt just awful. I didn't touch a paintbrush. I visited with my mother for a little while and managed to buy some paint, though. And now I'm thinking about how much there is to do (3 ceilings, one room, and most of the kitchen) and how I can't possibly get it done in one day. Tomorrow is my friend's engagement party, and I have to spend the day picking up the cake, the sandwich tray, drinks, ice, and make a huge fruit salad. There will not be time for anything else tomorrow. So for today, I am vacillating between blowing the whole thing off or breaking it down into something manageable. I feel so hopeless. I feel so helpless. Why can other people get things done and I can't? Do they all just force themselves, like I do, every day of their lives? Am I the only one who lives this way?

Effexor and My Love Life

A long time ago, I made an offhand comment to my doctor that I didn't have a sex drive and that I didn't miss it (when you are trying to live as a chaste unmarried Catholic, not having a sex drive is a definite advantage). He said, That's the work of Effexor. I had been thinking I'd gotten a gift from God in that no longer was I thinking about how sex would be with every man I lay eyes on (although all gifts come from God and Effexor certainly is a gift and He did not have to allow me to experience this particular side effect). With the exit of the Hispanic man, I have begun to wonder how life would be with a sex drive, and how well I could handle it, and how nice it would be to have a mad crush on someone; that's something I have not experienced in years. Is a mad crush the result of a sex drive? I don't know; many things are involved in a mad crush, not least of which is the promise of some excitement in my dull little life.

So now I have decided to taper off Effexor and see what happens. I'm not going to do this until I see him next month, so I can get some samples to taper off with. I imagine he will replace it with Cymbalta, which gave me reflux, so I'll have to get on Aciphex as well. (Oh thank heaven I have good prescription coverage.)

I'm thinking about this because I got an email from a fellow at nll who is quite handsome and seems very interesting. He is OCD (checking). I have been around a compulsive counter; he was so neurotic I couldn't stand it. But he was not on medication. This fellow says he has good control with Paxil and Klonopin--I'm glad to hear about the Klonopin, because I can't stand being around someone who is nervous. It makes me nervous. He's only written twice and he lives a million miles away, but I am interested to see what road this takes me on. The one gift I appreciate the most is the gift of hope; I have never lost hope of achieving what I want to achieve, of getting what I want. Like they say, it springs eternal. (What on earth does that mean, though, really?)

Is it really depression?

Or is it just boredom? I've been feeling down every afternoon, but here it is Saturday, I'm still in my pajamas and feeling pretty good. That means it's just the office. Work is slow again and I'm beginning to ruminate over my wasted life, twisted finances, addictions, neuroses, you name it, I'm thinking only of the bad and not at all about the good. It felt good to finish the little bit of work I did get, but doing it was so tedious. It's all tedium. I'm a handsomely paid tediocrat.

In other matters, my D.C. friend is soon to be wealthy, and I'm finding myself interested in him as more than just a friend, even though we've been together several times and "nothing" has ever happened. It's got to be the money. It brings so much comfort and so much freedom. He could raise my standard of living by a hundred notches. I know I love him, but do I love him THAT WAY?? I can't use sex as a guide, because my sexual desires tell me nothing about my true feelings. But here is how it went: the first two times we were together, I felt good with him. We hugged twice before I left and it felt good. Many months went by before we were together again, and I was put off by a musky body odor (lots of men have it and I happen to be overly sensitive to it) and his slovenly dress and untrimmed hair. I went up to see him some months after that, and I felt that he didn't treat me as well as I thought he should. But when I saw him last April, he dropped everything and spent every waking moment with me. It was a wonderful weekend. He touched me once, for about 1/8 of a second, and that was the extent of the affection other than the hello-hug and the goodbye-hug. I know he is ridiculously shy, and I guess that means I will have to make the first move. I will have to bring up the big question: am I to be your girlfriend, Mr. Washington, or shall we remain friends for life, leaving me free to pursue other relationships? I have pursued other relationships and I've told him about them but he never once commented. It was as if I'd sent an email to nowhere. I've never been able to tell him over the phone that I'm seeing someone. All of that means something, but what? Are we two people too neurotic to see what is directly in front of us?

He is coming down this fall. I will have to find the courage to bring up the subject of US.

I ended things with the Hispanic man after it became apparent that he is obsessed with me. I began to believe that he saw me as a way out of his myriad problems: no money, no job, no car, no assets. I'll be damned if I'm going to support a man. He insisted, and I agreed, that unemployment is temporary, but he has a history of quitting jobs after getting angry with his boss, with no other job in the wings. That's how he's gotten himself in the position he is in now. He is irresponsible with money, and since I'm a security freak, there is no way I could have a peaceful existence with this man. Two weeks after I ended it, he called me. I cut off the conversation because I didn't want to talk to him, but I was not rude, and he called me another 3 times that day. I said, I thought I ended things, and he went on a rant about how I haven't given US a chance and how he's reforming himself and proving to me he can be a good husband....in short he was not listening to me as I repeated, it's over, it's over, it's over. I said goodbye and hung up. He sent me an email accusing me of being rude, crude and un-Christian, basicallyusing my faith as a weapon against me. I blocked him. He sent me an email to my home address saying he wanted to be friends. I stupidly emailed him back that we can take that up at a later date. Now he is certainly going to contact me again, and now I will ignore his communications. He'll forget about me as soon as something else turns his head, and soon she will. I've dealt with men like him before. Dumping him felt like a huge load off my back.

So long, amigo.

Where's Treatment Online?

www.treatmentonline.com has been down for weeks. I found lots of information on new treatments there, including the research on omega-3's for depression treatment and n-acetylcysteine for gambling addiction (which I've used to help me curb my shopping addiction). If any of you find it, please let me know in the comments section. It was a very valuable site, even if the running commentary left something to be desired. It also linked to this site, and I want the traffic.

Down again

Walker Percy said something like, What do you do to get through an ordinary Thursday afternoon? I think he got through it by drinking, but I'm not sure that's true. So don't repeat it.

I'm back in the valley and feeling quite lonesome. Nobody wants to hear that you are depressed. I told my friend Ed and he sounded concerned and said he was sorry, but you can bet he won't be calling again for a few days. My friend Henry wants me to see a therapist and call my doctor. I hate therapists. I have only had one who actually helped me; I've had two who saw me a few times then declared me well. Maybe I'm not a good patient. Maybe I don't talk enough. I won't tell them how often I get that picture in my head of a knife diving into the underside of my left arm. I won't tell them of the newest little picture to pop in: alcohol, a razor blade, my left arm again, and some gauze. Somehow it seems that cutting myself would relieve something. Would release something. I won't do it, but it's so tempting. What is wrong with me that I think these things?

And nobody wants to hear about it, and no one can help. Tonight I am having dinner with Allen, which is great but I will have to pretend all is well or it will be a miserable evening. I don't want to cancel on him, it's important for me to keep commitments. But there will be some faking going on. I hate it when I get like this because I know I won't fully enjoy that little filet I'll be having and that fat beefsteak tomato that I so enjoyed last time.

I alternate between wanting to run away and wanting to curl up in bed, smothering myself in my pillows and feathers, petting my cats and Xanaxing my way into semi-consciousness. Tomorrow someone is coming to cut down my trees, and I will have to get up and be a little bit sociable. I won't be able to stay in my pajamas all day. I plan to do some painting. I hope I can pull it off.

And I get angry too, when I get like this. Because nobody knows how bad it is and nobody wants to know, and nobody says anything helpful when they do know. I'm sorry. Call your doctor. Screw that! How about reminding me it passes? How about suggesting a good distraction? Why do I expect so much of people? Poor Ed, the very hint of an emotion sends him into a deeply quiet panic. Allen can't imagine anything that has not already occurred in his life. My sisters are busy. My brothers don't get it. My mother worries, because I have a gun in the house. I have never attempted or even threatened suicide, yet she worries I'll do it. And my father...I could put a gun to my head and he would not say or do a thing.

Is there no one out there?

Boredom, and its consequent dilemma

So what do I do? One whole week and I managed to bill a grand total of 2 hours, and that was stretching it. What is this doing to my psyche? I can already feel myself reluctant to make work-related telephone calls; it’s as if I’ve forgotten how to talk to people. Not that I ever liked cold-calling, but it’s gotten to the point that I’m afraid to call the phone company to ask about a funny charge on my bill, and I’m afraid to call my mortgage company to challenge them to lower my rate to what my credit union has offered me, and I’m afraid to call a law firm and ask for copies of depositions. I’m losing my skills. I used to be able to negotiate; now I am afraid to talk to people. I just want all my troubles to go away while I spend my days reading books and waiting for 5:00 to come around. Has it gotten to the point that my psyche is suffering too much to go on? If I take early retirement, I’ll get half my salary plus health insurance for life, at least in my home state. What if I did that and found a job where I really have to work? Can I put in a full day’s work? What line of work would I go into? I don’t want an unchallenging job at walmart or hobby lobby, though working at either one has its attractions. I want something with some responsibility. I wonder if I could take up where I left off and do adjusting again.

It can’t get better. I don’t even like what they send to me to do. I tried to immerse myself in creating a massive database which would be useful to all of us, but my boss shot it down. I find myself caring less and less about the outcome of a case, and I catch myself wanting to do the barest minimum to get by. All this for 51k. It’s ridiculous. Of 24 years in state service, only 7 were spent actually working in a challenging position. I left because of the stress.

What if I can’t handle the stress of a new job? what if it interferes with my recovery? what if it makes me grab the bottle again? Is staying in boredom, high-paid welfare, essentially, the best I can hope for because of my disorder? And of course there is the ever-present possibility that any other job would still bring that feeling that what I do is of no consequence. But maybe that is something I would feel no matter what I did for a living.

I already feel too tired when I get home to do anything, so that won’t change.

It’s just I can feel myself getting lazier and lazier, and there is the ever-present guilt knowing my whole family works their butt off, and I sit on my ass and read books all day for $51,000 a year! It’s just not right. It doesn’t fit with my own notions of right and wrong, it doesn’t fit with my value system, where you work hard and you get rewarded. I get rewarded no matter how good or how crappy a job I do. And I could intentionally do crappy work so no one would ask me for help, and then I could be a real parasite on the payroll. There are no consequences for bad work and no rewards for good work.

How much more can I stand ignoring my value system day after day?

Where would I look? Adjusting? Maybe quality management at a hospital? That’s a good idea.

How much money would I lose? If I retire in 2014, I’ll get $38,250 for the rest of my life, which if I live to 80 works out to $1,071,000. If I leave now, I’ll get $24,480 per year, times 34 years equals $832,320. That leaves me with a situation in which I must make $238,680 over 19 years if I work to age 65, or roughly $13,000 a year just to break even. That won’t be hard. What if I don’t want to work till I’m 65? Well, if I cut it back to age 60, then I need to make $17,000 over 14 years. That’s doable. And I have deferred comp, permanent health insurance, and the possibility of a 401k.

I think I can do this. I just need a financial advisor to run the numbers for me.

No news = Good news??

Since my last post I have had only two episodes of intense sadness, from out of nowhere. I just went on about my daily business and eventually the feelings passed. It was a very strange sensation, a desire to cry but no event to precipitate a tear. I am please to report that things are going so well.

I complained to my doctor that the Remeron was making me binge eat, and then said, "but I guess there is no pill to fix that." He said, Maybe there is. So he put me on naltrexone, trade name Revia, which is for opiate addicts--it takes away the high they get while leaving the pain-relieving qualities intact. He didn't say anything about side effects or drug interactions, so I assume I don't have to worry about that. But here is the thing: the stuff works!!! I haven't binged since I got on it and I haven't overeaten; when we go out I never finish my plate. It takes an act of the will, though, to stop eating past satiety. And I've been good at it. So my weight has not changed since I started the Revia. I intend to leave this drug off the list, though, when I see other doctors, for fear they'll assume I'm an opiate addict and refuse me Tylenol 3 if I need it. Oh, they'll assume it and they won't believe me if I tell them otherwise. Doctors around here are really nervous about prescribing opiates.

I haven't fixed the Saturday laziness problem. Last Saturday I slept till 10:30. It was heavenly but I didn't intend to sleep that late. Most mornings I really could go right back to sleep even though I go to bed at 8 and the alarm is set for 7. I don't know what that's about. I want to start an early-morning health club regimen but if I can't wake up before 7, and sometimes it's 7:30, joining would be a waste of money. I shall have to do my video workouts and hope for the best. I can't keep up with the aerobic part, I get so winded I wonder if I have a lung or heart problem. But I won't go through all the motions to find out; every time I think there is something seriously wrong with me, thousands of dollars' worth of tests are run and all are negative. I worry too much about what my body does.

I've made no headway in feeding myself. I catch myself hoping that a friend will call and invite me to dinner, or I call them. But we can't eat out every night, I can't afford it. I'm hoping I will get fed up with this immaturity and just give it up in disgust. That's worked for me for other bad habits.

I met a man through one of my online dating services. He is Hispanic but born here of legal immigrants; I am white. I don't have anything against people who are colored differently from me, but I have to tell you, it will cause a stir if he ever meets my family. He will win them over with his personality--he's a great guy--but there will be whispers. And though he is not someone I would chosen for myself--hispanic, short, fat, diabetic with heart disease, two stents and a heart attack at age 50--I find myself very much attracted to him, thinking about him alot during the day and fantasizing, mildly, about him at night. He is smart, well-read, manly, and cyclothymic, so he understands my depression and anxiety somewhat. He will drive over for a visit in May. It's a twelve-hour drive and he's bringing his dog, who I sure hope gets along with my dogs. I have to find him a hotel that allows pets. I am not sure if what I feel, though, is real attraction or just relief from loneliness. I'll know when I meet him. That's always the definitive test. Then I will have to get off Effexor and see if my sex drive comes back.

In the meantime I will continue to take the cocktail, keep going to work every day, and keep trying to get things done around the house. It's got to be neat by May!

Roller coaster

After many days of feeling really good--so good that my Saturday experiment with my email friend Max proved successful--I've had two consecutive days of intermittent attacks of severe sadness, and intense loneliness. I've been corresponding with all my online friends, two of whom are romantically interested in me (which flatters my vain self and usually makes me feel good), but the loneliness persists. I finished the albatross of my last case, tedium like you've never known, and am grateful it's over with but I'm not really able to get into my new case. My life is like Groundhog Day, it just keeps repeating. Drudgery. How I wish I had the guts to give up my job. Go to work, go to church, go to bed. That is my life.

Also it's become painfully obvious to me that most of my friends do not share my religious and political beliefs, which makes me feel like I am my own minority group. A new guy I met simply refuses to have anything to do with me because I am what he calls a "devout Catholic" and politically conservative. That hurt. The one friend who shares my beliefs lives 2000 miles away, and it's an online and phone relationship, which can only be somewhat satisfying.

I did decide to dash off to DC to see him and a production of Macbeth. I got the last ticket available. It will be a whirlwind tour, flying in on Friday evening, flying back on Sunday morning. I can't afford it but I'm doing it anyway. I'm a spoiled brat and lack of money has never stopped me from doing anything I've wanted to do. My last vacation was 3 years ago, and it was to visit my DC friend. I'm nervous about seeing him. I'm not sure if he thinks of us as friends or as potential lovers. He has never put the moves on me, and he is so shy I doubt he ever will. Assuming he'd even like to. We never talk about feelings. So I stay in my you-are-just-a-friend mode. We get along so well, and agree on so many things, it would be perfect, except I'm just not attracted to him physically. That pretty much settles the deal there.

My other nll.com friend wrote a scathing email excoriating certain politicians whom I admire. I am torn between just letting his idiocy pass--he's merely quoting the mainstream media--or defending total strangers. I think I will let it pass. We are not going to meet each other, ever. It just isn't going to happen. So I will let this be a very superficial relationship. Interestingly, he is rapid-cycling bipolar. The way I have felt these two days makes me wonder if I am too.

Max and I are going to set goals for our Saturdays and then report to each other whether or not we have met them. Once I get out of my bad Saturday habit, I will ask him to help me with another, bigger problem: feeding myself. I don't enjoy cooking, especially not for just one person, and I just can't make myself eat alone in a public place. That leaves fast food, which I don't like, or days like yesterday, when I ate two nutrigrain bars and four pieces of bread with butter. Today I've had two pieces of bread, hot chocolate milk, and a bag of dried cranberries. This is probably why I feel so lousy. My goal for tonight is to cook a bag of instant stir-fry which has been in my freezer for about 6 months. My fear is it will taste terrible, and that I won't feel good enough to clean the kitchen afterward. Sometimes the energy required to clean the kitchen exceeds the disgust I feel looking at the mess.

Imagine, 46 years old and I can't feed myself. I can't bring myself to tell my friends about it. Because it is just pathetic, isn't it?

Now what?

After all those days of feeling fabulously well on Remeron and all that other stuff (Geodon, Effexor, Wellbutrin, Xanax and now Revia), I'm mini-cycling. I felt great Friday, rotten Saturday, good Sunday, worse yesterday, and just crummy today. I'm feeling good enough to do my work but not good enough to be interested in it. It nearly killed me to discuss my plans for my latest project with my two superiors. I had to fake being interested in it and pretend to have respect for one of them, our own little Anna Nicole. Maybe I feel rotten because my job is a daily reminder that I could have done much more with my brain. I should be giving orders, not taking them.

My shrink ordered a laundry list of blood work because of the Geodon. I've had the orders for over a week and have just procrastinated to death getting it done. Most days I'm too hungry when I wake up to keep the fast that's needed for some of the tests. Other days it's the old I Just Don't Feel Like It problem. When will I stop letting my feelings run my life?

My friend Max at nolongerlonely.com agreed to be my accountability partner to get me off my new habit of doing absolutely nothing on Saturday, the one day I can get away with not leaving the house. Only lately I've expanded that to include not getting out of bed. It's not depression causing it, it's bad habit causing it. So for Saturday I am to make a schedule then email it to Max, then email him again every time I complete something on the list. Oh, it will be simple, don't worry about that. It will include getting dressed and working on that book I'm editing for my friend. (If I don't get that finished soon, he will take it back from me, and I'll fulfill my prophecy that I can't finish anything. Only this time I don't have depression to blame. At least not totally.)

Revia is new to the cocktail. I had wanted to ask my doctor to prescribe it for me, but I was afraid to. I'm remembering that a psych nurse once called me manipulative. With that in mind, this is how it happened: I told him that I felt great and the only side effect of the Remeron seems to be a craving for sugar that causes me to binge, plus constant hunger; then I said, "But there's no drug to fix that, is there?" To which he responded, Maybe. Revia is prescribed to binge drinkers and binge gamblers and opiate addicts. It was introduced to treat opiate addiction, and it works by blocking receptors that create the high from opiates. It was subsequently used on other kinds of addiction with some success. If sugar's making me "high," or at least doing something to those receptors, there's a possibility Revia could help. I have already been taking n-acetylcysteine for compulsive shopping, because it works for compulsive gambling, and it helped with compulsive shopping. But back to Revia. I've been on it for about 10 days. I'm not hungry all the time. Sometimes I really want chocolate but not so bad that I've had to buy any; it's been just a mild interest. I haven't cleaned my plate since I started taking it, and I haven't gained any weight. I doubt this little pill will get me down to my dream weight, but maybe at least it will keep me from gaining more.

One last note. I actually feel good enough to exercise....then, on a date, my foot fell asleep and I fell sideways off my 3-inch heels. My ankle's sprained. What luck!