The meds are not working all that well anymore. The mood? Definitely regulated. (It takes a lot to upset me these days.) The focus? Not so much. I’m seeing the prescribing doctor today, I’ll see what she says.
The big problem for me is that I simply don’t want to write now. I mean, I want to, but I don’t feel emotionally connected at all when I do it. Even my blog posts are a little… abstract, and I’m not sure this tradeoff is worth it — that, and the potential damage to my neural pathways.
Because for a very long time, writing has been my primary means of emotional expression. Since I’m apparently not having many strong emotions right now, the drugs seem to have dried up that particular well.
Now, there are still some pluses. It’s a lot easier to stay on top of day-to-day maintenance stuff, and I’m a lot better about taking care of myself. I’m not as compulsive about blogging, which is good. And I love it that I no longer get all that upset about perceived slights, present or past. (It’s a plus that I’m not wallowing in the pit of progressive despair over the failings of the administration, right? Because despair is contagious.)
But is it worth it if I can’t write the way I used to, need to? Nope.
In any event, I’d already decided to be off the Wellbutrin by the fall, starting to gradually wean myself off by the end of the summer. Hopefully some of the newer habits will stick.