Going through the motions

It’s not that bad. (I am probably dooming myself with that statement.) But seriously, I was expecting things to be a lot worse by now.

True, I can’t get anything really important done. I can’t work on hard things that actually have some meaning. I can’t write, though I haven’t worked on the book for a long time, and I miss it. I’ve been reading more background research stuff for it, but not even getting inspired like I usually do. Day to day, I’m really forcing myself through the motions.

But…it could be so much worse. I expected it to be so much worse. I have not had one of those sprees of calling up everyone I know like a drunk person, but without the somewhat understandable excuse of actually being drunk. I haven’t broken down sobbing or screaming in front of everyone I know.

The thing is, mornings, the “high cortisol hours” of 4-6 AM are horrible, and it kills me to get going. But I do get going. Even if my heart isn’t 100% in it, if I’m just going through the motions, I am at least going through them. I don’t feel horrifically horrible all the time.

There is the other side. I cannot work. My brain is oh-so-slow. All my work and my writing, the things that makes life worth living for me, are impossible. If I stop and think about that, I feel terror. Have these years on the drug fried my brain? Will it ever work again? Will I be able to think again? This, if I let myself ponder on it, freezes me. Will I ever be back? Will the spark come back? Will I ever care again?

And I see signs that things may get worse. Last night, after a quietly decent day, I went to bed after finishing an entire novel that was good and interesting, but couldn’t sleep, had to get up and watch mindless TV. A vague discontent settled upon my quiet, beloved home.

But it could be so much worse. I thank God it isn’t, at least not yet. Even if my mind is blown, I’m not actively suffering. I thought about alternate careers I could have if my brain never comes back. I could be a mechanic, either autos or boats. I probably would make more money and be just as happy. The university I left has a program in naval architecture, though it probably requires that my degree be an engineering one. I could go back. It wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Thinking like this has been eye-opening. I guess that’s a good thing.


1 Comment

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