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I spent a lot of the weekend with calls with my siblings, my children off at school, my extended family, and the guys in my support group.  Two of them came over on Sunday to visit, which was nice.  I enjoyed quite a bit of porch time, which happily had not been spoiled by the fact that I had attempted suicide there one week before.  Which again felt like months before.  I had been hoping for sweater weather, but instead it was sweat weather.

While I had a brighter outlook, and it would continue to get brighter in the weeks to come, I had some limitations.  I still had the tremor in my limbs.  But now I also had vertigo.   It was the sensation of standing on the deck of a boat on the ocean.  Sometimes calm seas, other times a storm raging.  I had to keep the adage “three for the boat” in mind pretty much all the time.  That’s the idea that you keep your feet on the ground, and use at least one hand for steadying.  I also got exhausted quickly – say one point I was showering and washing my hair and thinking “Man this is a lot of work, my arms are so tired!”  So any effort pretty much ran my battery down.  And I was still working off my sleep deficit.

Those new side effects (likely from the trazadone that I’m still not willing to give up because it helps me sleep so well) would have thrown me into a deeper pit of despair even just a week ago.  But now I had my new knowledge, meds, outlook and optimism, and finally a passionate desire not to spend more time in the hospital.  So I would weather the storm and hope the side effects lessened over time.  They didn’t, but that’s a completely different story.

So I’m still good, and bad.  I have a better outlook and can work on getting a normal sleep pattern and life.  But I still had some depression and anxiety.  I still had my side effects, but I was excited about writing and beginning a new career.  I am a higher risk for suicide, having attempted once.  But I felt like I wouldn’t lie for S anymore.  

I described it to my therapist today, a few weeks on.  I feel like I’m a bright(er) shining light in a metal cage, standing in a room just littered and piled high with depression.  The shining is my new attitude and optimism.  The cage are my physical limitations, but I can see through the bars, it’s not a wall.  (Also, I can write in the cage!)  And with the depression all over the place I have to be very careful where I step, and I have to shovel it all out of the room as fast or slow as I can.

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