There will be no Brood today.
In an attempt to better equip myself to manage my stress, migraines, work, existential angst, etc., I have attempted (under the guidance of my doctor, of course) a medication change.
I am six days in and we are pretty sure we went completely in the wrong direction. Apparently, what I always thought was depression with a mild undercurrent of anxiety might be, at least chemically, an anxiety base with steamed anxiety on top and an anxiety chaser.
The confusion, I suppose, lies in my body’s way of managing this neurological cocktail…instead of running hot and tense, I run cold, slow, and dissociative. It’s anxiety, costumed in depression’s sweatpants.
Presuming this is the case, my newfangled antidepressant is torquing up the exact wrong brain goblins–which explains why I’ve been walking around the last couple of days feeling like I’m carrying a backpack full of dread and a head full of blown insulation.
I don’t want to write. I want to escape. My fantasies include a) bathysphere, b) molecular disintegration, and c) eating my way into a warm cinnamon roll the size of a conversion van, then nestling in there like James inside his Giant Peach.
What would it be like to wake up every day with a brain that just…works?
All that being said, I’ve been through this before. I’m well cared for, I’m safe, but I can’t manage 500 words today. Instead, I’m gonna finish my coffee, put on my coat, and go stare into the winter sun until I remember what it feels like to be a person.
Take care of yourselves, Brooders.
Theresa Weiler is a writer, singer, speaker, seeker. She lives in the Detroit area with her husband and four children. If you would like to help her cover her health insurance deductible, throw a tip in her Venmo tip jar, @realtheresaweiler, or keep her company on Twitter @Real_Theresa, or Instagram @realtheresaweiler.
Sick Pilgrim 