I’m feeling very low on spoons right now.
The usual bad sleep stuff is going on. Plus I feel really dragged out and tired.
Moreso than usual, that is.
I suppose it’s possible that I am coming down with something. That cold I thought I was getting last week never did go entirely away. I can still feel a vague scratchjiness in my throat and lungs.
Then again, maybe it’s just bad sleep klicking my ass. In this case, I think I have been catching up on all the REM sleep I tend to miss by only ever sleeping in two hour naps, and I ain’t done yet.
I feel stupid, and small, and weak. When I try to contemplate the immediate future, it makes me feel like I am facing a huge raging screaming monster I can’t possibly defeat.
And that’s wrong. There’s nothing in my immediate future that is big and scary and that I cannot handle. It’s all pretty doable stuff, at least on the surface.
That big bad monster, then, is an illusion, and I am pretty sure I know what part of my mind it’s coming from.
My goddamned video game addiction.
It wants me all to itself. It hates the idea of me doing other things.Productive things. Things that might lead me further away from its clutches. It wants me to keep being someone who spends almost all their free waking hours playing games.
So it demonizes everything else. And when I do escape it for a while, it is waiting there to hit me with every trick in the book in order to get me to quit.
And that’s not who I want to be. That’s not who I really am.
I remember being quite happy to write skits and do other productive things for hours on end. Heck, it feels like yesterday that I was full of determination to conquer the world of freelance writing and become a highly paid and sought after freelancer.
But then something died in me.
And then came Skyrim, that opportunistic infection.
The urge to re-install Skyrim has been strong lately. Part of me – the sick, self-destructive part – wants to flee from reality that hard again.
I will probably give in eventually. Well, maybe. And then the trick will be summoning up the self-control to not let it take over my life again.
If only I had the internal integrity to make playing video games the reward for having gotten productive things done. That could turn this whole thing into a plus.
But that’s like one of those glib ideas from self-help books that sounds perfectly reasonable and wonderful but doesn’t really help at all.
Surem solvinbg my problems would be easy if I were a totally different kind of person.
Why didn’t I think of that before? I’ll just rewrite my personality!
Well, okay, maybe that’s a mite hyperbolic. It’s how I feel right now but it’s not real. It’s just a way to express some of that bitterness and anger stewing inside me.
And on that note, I will go back to bed.
Still feeling pretty crappy. Hasn’t been much improvement, really.
I know that, in part, this is due to the reduction in my Paxil. I went from 50 mg to 45 mg a day recently and that means I am feeling things more strongly now.
I knew this would happen and I am down with it. Better to feel something than nothing. Better to have a pianful broken leg than a painless paralyzed one. Better to experience life as it really is so I can learn to goddamned cope with it.
I have been far too good at hiding for my own good. It’s time to stop. All the evasion has gotten me is this wildly unfulfilling life of mine where I am a 46 year old user ywho has never supported himself or even had a boyfriend and where I waste my life playing video games and rotting away in my box of filth.
And I feel so wear most of the time. Like there is nothing solid within me and I am left doggy paddling around the sulphurous wetlands of my fractured psyche.
Without solid ground to stand on, I can’t push against my problems. I can’t resist. The forces within me, the bad ones, can push me around all they want because I am as helpless as a dinghy in a tsunami.
I feel like I am losing the fight against my issues. I know I will never stop fighting – that’s unthinkable – but lately I have felt like I am not getting anywhere and that I might actually be losing ground in the long run.
On a good day, I can still focus some of my untapped rage towards the depression and picture myself as a ruthless kamikaze commando fighting a vast clandestine army with nothing but his wit, grit, and not giving a shit.
On bad days, the very thought of exerting that much effort makes me cringe.
I know that part of my problem is my diet. I don’t get nearly enough protein and I am pretty sure my electrolytes are fucked up by default at this point.
I get most of my vitamins and minerals okay because I eat a piece of fruit with all meals that I eat at home.
But I have very little dairy in my diet, and what dairy I do have tends to be accidental – I get some one trip to McD’s because I have the Big Mac and not the next time because I opted for McNuggets instead.
And I eat too many goddamned carbs. They are the worst things for my diabetes besides sugar and they are killing me and yet I stuff my face with them anyhow.
And the thing is, I know my body wants healthier food. I remember what it was like when I was in the hospital with pneumonia and my appetite was gone, but in its place was a much deeper and more demanding cry for NUTRIENTS.
That’s why I made myself eat everything on my tray I could remotely stand. I wasn’t eating for pleasure. I was eating to fuel my body.
That’s the only reason I can think of why I ate that godawful oatmeal.
I’d be better off living that way now. But that would be a fairly radical live change. I would probably have to start buying my own groceries instead of participating in the group Costco groceries run.
And like I said before, I would eat only things that made me feel good.
Who knows, my body might know what it’s talking about.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.,