Friday, 5 July 2013

Breakfast of champions

Yesterday I did some cleaning. Or, to be exact, minor cleaning whose main part was to pick wine bottles and food gone bad to take it to the trash. I can't say I actually suffer from anorexia as I don't suffer. I just don't feel like eating most of the time and mommy keeps sending me food. It's a season of strawberries, green peas and such stuff which doesn't last as long as pretzels do; I do my best to eat it all up but it just doesn't work. I have barely any appetite. In my old life, I'd - oh shit, I called this awful episode of depression and work which I still fail to like 'new life'? - I'd be glad that I'm losing weight. These days, I don't really care unless the clothes get uncomfortable. I can't even bring myself to be happy that one day, I'll feel fine in general and about my weight loss. Also, no need to worry about my wine consumption, I usually have a glass in the afternoon, and half a bottle once upon a time. I just don't take the bottles away often enough. Well, my apartment is cold and wet. I went through my newest herbary acquisitions and most of them, basically all the thicker plants, dried too slowly, with chlorophyll decomposing, and turned brown. Even the green ones weren't properly dried and got more or less crinkled when exposed to air slightly less wet than the newspaper. I'm slightly pissed which is good, any emotion than sheer despair and let-me-die-now is good, and I've always prided myself for the aesthetic values of my herbary. The office is much warmer and drier, I'll press my plants here. See? The stereotype management works. Yesterday I had a shower, even washed my hair, ate four tortillas with something, herbarized for a while... well, not really, I'm still short on clean clothes, reasonable food intake and keeping sane. Today's a new day. For breakfast, I had half a glass of wine and a dose of psych meds. So it goes.

Tuesday, 2 July 2013

At least something.

I got to the verge of nervous breakdown, got back on antidepressants. After a month, I'm back to a maximum dose of citalopram and I feel worse than what I had thought the utter bottom: the feeling that I should only plop down to the ground and be dead. Nope, I'm not suicidal, I totally don't plan to kill myself. Either I have too much of an ego or too much of a responsibility but I would feel compelled to clean up my table and files and that's a major task (see Augeas'stables to get a better idea). I'm just tired by all the things. I'm trying, though. I read somewhere reasonable that keeping the stereotypes helps to maintain normality, illusion of thereof, or makes going back to usual easier, or, simply, that it's good for you. Funnily enough, I've been managing most of work just about okay without falling to the ground staying fallen. The rest... not so much. So: (1) Brush teeth (2) Take meds - while I hang onto them as something that preserves last bits of sanity, I still keep forgetting (3) Put on at least mostly clean clothes - yes, finding a clean top/panties requires much more physical and mental energy than grabbing yesterday's one. (4) Brush hair thoroughly, not that it just looks somewhat neat on surface (5) Fluids (6) Fluids (7) Herbary work - I have a heap of pressed plants and a heap of erratic notes. My memory tends to fail when I'm depressed. The more I'm delaying it, the worse it will get. (8) Zazen - just because (9) Wine is not balanced diet. Even if I alternate c├ępages or years. Another sensible meal. (10) Third sensible meal. Anything made of two and more food items, of which one may be wine, counts as sensible meal for now. (11) Shower. (12) A little bit of cleaning at least. As for yesterday, I ate something (what the hell it was, is another puzzle to solve), took meds, drank two small bottles of water and took the trash away, for a total score of 4. Life rocks.