Facing the weekend

**** Update October 2008: If you reached this site from a weight loss/weight loss surgery forum, please tell me who posted it or why/how. Suddenly, I am receiving hundreds of hits from these forums, but they are private, so I can’t see anything about why my site appears on them. I’m really curious, drop me a  note. – Sara ****

Yesterday I left work late. I stopped at the book fair on the way out, and bought a Curious George Collection – but as it turns out, they aren’t the original stories at all, they are these crappy new ones that someone wrote in the style of the originals, even though it was listed as being written by H.A. Rey. I am so pissed off! When did everything in the world go to crap?

I also woke up angry today. I changed phone numbers because I work such odd hours and telemarketing often wakes me up. Somehow, they didn’t make the new number a blocked one either, so I had to file this special request to make it unlisted. So – 8 AM on my day off, what happens? The phone company calls me to tell me that, yes, thank you, they have made the change. Fuck.

They are building a house across the street. One day, it was extremely hot and the construction workers asked for some water. No problem. But now, one of them comes here banging on my door and yelling my name every day to request that. He is incredibly creepy, always looks like he is casing the place, or casing my bod. “You live here alone? Are you married? What do you do?” It is gross. I am also sick of washing glasses for the neighbor’s construction crew. I know this sounds terribly bitchy, like, Christ, all they did was ask for some water, but it’s over and over again. What, they never can bring water for themselves? You can’t even be nice to anyone anymore.

Then I got to panic about how much money I owe for student loans. The calculator said I’d have to make $180,000 a year to pay them back.

I guess some of this must be PMS type stuff, which also was not nearly as bad when I was well medicated. I guess there’s a whole field of perinatal/gynecological psychiatry, and guess what – people like me get worse with hormones and especially pregnancy. It just gets better and better.
In non-pleasure reading, I came across this title: How I Stayed Alive When My Brain Was Trying To Kill Me. Anyone know anything? It looks like it might be good, and I notice that they say she said something about how suicidal thoughts seem to be addictive, which I’ve noticed too. But it looks also like I might already do most of the things she says. I mean, journaling – here, helping others – my job (and yes, it does help immensely), feelings vs. facts – I do that reminder all the time (“It’s just how you feel, not a fact”). The excerpt has something about recognizing and not feeling guilty for the thoughts – that they are just a symptom; also very good advice that helped me a lot that I found on my own. Actually, it looks like this book is sort of what I wanted this site to be. Might be worth a read anyway, though. I like the title, but wonder if she intended it with the twist of irony or wryness that I hear in it.

The photosensitivity from the previous good med has stopped, or at least I’m not noticing it when I use good sunblock, so now I’m tempted to try taking it again.

I am sort of worried about this weekend. I have no plans, and was counting on being able to read that Curious George book for a while. I also have Moby Dick and am still dragging through Lie Down In Darkness…but nothing is really sucking me in. I could use some exercise, but it’s hot right now. I also should make some minimal house-cleaning effort.

No one is really in town this weekend. Usually I like alone-weekends, but something about this one is making me nervous. I’m not sure why. I think that I have become fairly sensitive to things that aren’t really happening yet – the ability to feel when a mood is going to swing before it has started to.

It is something deep, in my mind, always like tectonic plate shifts – beneath the surface, invisible, out of control, and carrying tremendous force.

I had a blip of a high this week, one night I worked all night and didn’t sleep and the next day I was so happy and everything seemed funny. That was actually good, because after a few weeks (how long has it been? I have no idea, time gets all bent weird in those states) of crippling hopelessness, to slip out of it for a while, to feel happy, to feel alive again…it feels like crawling out of a grave or hell or some other bad metaphor. On that day, I walked to the parking lot with Jake after work, and we were laughing. I was funny, and the sun was shining and it just felt so good to be alive. I can’t even tell if that is because things were really swinging into a high, or just that the relief of the misery and the return of hope were so profound at that point.

And then I felt strange. I realized that the worst thing about melancholia is how it robs you of hope. People can survive anything if there is a reason, or if they know it will end. I was convinced that things would never change, that my brain would never be able to think again (as I said, this time the cognitive problems got to me more than anything). It was impossible to imagine anything different. Then, the plates shifted, scarily, lurching out of control, but they settled fortuitously, and I was myself again. Even more than myself.

As we were walking and the hills behind the lot were so beautiful, and everything was blooming, I felt resurrected. I felt a little sorry for Jake and everyone else, who would probably never feel as exquisitely and unconditionally and gratefully alive as someone who, suddenly and inexplicably, rose out of her own grave, was granted something that felt like a miracle.

And then I see why I want to write books about myth and legend and larger-than-lifeness.



  1. Hi,

    Thanks. The weekend was hellish, so much, in fact, that I returned to taking the medicine with the horrible side effects, because I just didn’t know what else to do…so now I’m sunburned again and still sort of miserable. But I guess it’s better than dead, which was the other option.

  2. It struck familiar chord with me when you mentioned the ability to feel when a mood is going to swing before it has started to. I hate when im in that “mode”, especially if it feels like their is bad mood coming on; it creates an almost desparing sense of hopelessness and inevitability. Like my happiness is starting to slip away, fear is rising up from below and engulfing me, and thers not a thing i can do. I was happily reminded that there is hope. Im going to remind myself of that more.

  3. *Happily reminded of hope by the article

  4. A woman who commented on your blog scammed us out of a lot of money. That is why you are getting all the hits. I came in on Google though searching for medicinegirl4fun.

  5. Oooh, do tell. I think way back then, even, someone emailed me saying it was a scam, not to believe her.

    Anyway, I’m removing the comment with her link in it because I assume this isn’t what people are looking for when they come here. Sorry to anyone who is disappointed.

  6. I wonder if you were using these thoughts like a control cheat. That is, feeling helpless and out of control on some level, then using these suicidal thoughts to cause yourself pain because that is something which you can control. The pain then causes the process to become cyclic and persistent.

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