Too Much Introspection Makes Blah Blah Blah

As always, let's start with "I", the prison in which I live.

I didn't intend it, but this evening somehow I ended up re-reading a bunch of my Facebook "Notes", a minority of which have been re-published here as Blog entries.

It is a rabbit hole down which I have a history of falling, but have avoided for some time now.  I remember my own writing poorly enough to find it interesting to re-read, and will spend an absurd amount of time re-experiencing myself, and as noted previously, usually myself at my worst.

I actually think that some kind of compilation of portions of my incessant whining might make an oddly interesting book, and as such the only work product of my entire life.

This returns me to that dangerous feeling of being "done".  That feeling that led me to Zoloft, which provided some diversion for what seems like a remarkably short time.  I can't think of anything to add, and I can find much that is redundant.  I had started going to Karaoke From Hell again, something that is strangely important to me.  I had even been embraced by a whole new semi-organized group of regulars that had developed in my years of absence.  But then came the night that, a few hours in, I started to feel empty, foolish, self-conscious and out-of-place.  I started to notice how poorly I sing, despite the charitable compliments.

I had been very steady for a little while on my Zoloft/Clonazepam combo, but now I feel an intolerable urgency for this feeling of meaningless emptiness to just stop.  Fortunately, I have a very strong sense of, for lack of a better word, duty.  There are things that need to be done, and I have to do them.  There are people, very few but very important to me, who would be hurt, and I have to wait until I am sure they would be truly better off without me.  This does nothing to calm me down, or alleviate my suffering, but it keeps me back from the edge.

Clearly, it is time for another appointment with my psychologist.

If anyone actually reads this, please don't panic.  I'm all talk, all the time.

A Post of Uncertain Motivation

Mostly, I think I just remembered that I had a blog, and noticed that I had not written in it in a long time.   My best guess is that I only feel bloggy when I am depressed or otherwise distressed, and have this inexplicable urge to share the worst of me and my experience with my pantheon of imaginary friends.

So, am I depressed?  Sometimes, and with increasing frequency, as best as I can judge as the thing inside the black box of my mind.  I am approaching the point of considering modifications to my treatment, but I do so with much trepidation.  I don't have a lot of overhead for dosage increase of Zoloft, and it seems awfully soon to go up from 100mg/day, when the absolute ceiling allowed is 200mg/day. 

Hopefully, my psychiatrist kept notes on my effects and side-effects of the other medications I had tried and abandoned, as some may be worth re-visiting.  Considering that some of the side-effects that had led to cessation of some medications have become permanent conditions of uncertain cause.  I have so many things wrong with me, and I take so many medications, not just psychoactive ones, the cause of my "side-effects" would be a very difficult and hazardous thing to sort out.

Hey look, I just ran out of motivation to ramble into the void.