Tuesday, September 24, 2002

Okay, now this is just plain annoying. Despite the fact that I am medicated quite highly, and suffering very little cause for it, I had another depressive episode. Well, of sorts. More like an anxiety attack, I suppose, but without the overwhelming physical symptoms. Paxil and vicodin together should more or less do away with that business, doncha think? Still, it's a different sort of anxiety than I'm used to. It's more like a "I didn't do my homework and it's due today" kind of general fear. For no good reason. Damnit. It's unpleasant, a gnawing paranoia of the rightfully accused hiding in my gut, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I hate this. It's not a feeling of powerlessness, like I'm more used to, it's more a feeling of having far too many responsibilities and debts coming home to roost at once. I know for a fact that this could possibly be the start of a brief time of increased productivity, I have the ability to send myself into manic, Matrix-like state of increased activity and accomplishment for a short while, almost inevitably followed by an illness of some kind as the internally generated high wears off and my immune system goes to Tahiti for the week or so. I don't mind it, surprisingly enough, even the illness. I am the only person I know who actually enjoys getting sick once in a while, as long as it's not a sore throat. I just don't know if my thirteen hour days will allow it. Besides, it's rather difficult for a person to go to massage school when sick. I don't want a sick person giving me a massage, do you?

The bright side is, it means that my adrenal function has finally returned to its former levels. The interesting part about it, academically anyway, is that my natural response to stress and anxiety is to self-destruct. Normally, I am not that self-destructive, though there are those who would disagree with me. Add a little bit of stress, and my instinctive reaction is to pull a deer-in-the-headlights sort of thing, do nothing and wait for certain destruction. I've gotten better about it, but it's still there, waiting on the sidelines waving horrific visions of self-inflicted metaphysical, economical, and physical damage that I have, thankfully, managed not to give in to for years. It's disturbing. Why couldn't I just chew pens or something?


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