managing meds.

I’ve been in the most dense fog of my lifetime. I’ve lost much of my zeal and desire to do even the most mundane of chores.

I used to enjoy waking with the sun, soaking up the early hours of quiet and calm. Lately (honestly, for the past two months) I can barely get out of bed. I lay in, listen to podcasts and desperately drift in and out of REM. I get up only when I have to make it to appointments. I no longer give myself the time to do yoga upon waking - it has become a joyless task. I succeed only in making it from the bed to the couch.

I know that my medications are combatting one another: welbutrin’s effectiveness to ease anxiety is being overpowered by the mood-stabilizer, zyprexa. An antipsychotic prescribed to me after my manic episode in December. Initially thought to help me sleep - which, boy, does it - has since been too strong of a drug. It pulls me deep and down and doesn’t let go.

I’m still struggling with the loss of Josie in my life. She offered so much routine and structure. She managed Frank and his terroristic moods. In her absence Frank doesn’t know what to do with himself, and seems to need constant attention. I feel burdened to lay on the couch with him atop me just so he knows I’m still here for him. Her void is deafening. My daily chore of vacuuming her hair has now become a “do it when you feel like it” task. I struggle finding purpose or meaning in taking evening hikes without her.

I feel silly using her as an excuse: I’m grieving the loss of my dog. We’ve been without her for 14 weeks now - surely, I shouldn’t be carrying this grief still. I thought I radically accepted her absence but I stand corrected in my daily malaise.

In the meantime, as I wait to hear back from my psychiatrist, I will continue to grin and bear it through sauna + cold plunge sessions and workout routines at my local YMCA.