I used to know how the word “okay” came about, linguistically. I could look it up. I’ve already decided I’m not going to, though, so you’ll just have to take my word: it was entertaining. Or not. I really don’t remember.
Maybe I just have an unrealistic idea about what “okay” is. I keep looking for something that will make me stop having days that feel impossible, but is that even a thing? Are there people who don’t wake up in the morning and think “Oh god, I can’t do this”? Maybe the trick is to just limit those days, say, to one or two a week. Currently I’m clocking 5 or 6, which is disheartening.
The Wellbutrin seems to be helping, in that it is no longer actively hindering. I cut my dose from 300mg/day back down to 150mg, and the difference was astounding. In retrospect, what the HELL was I thinking, going with a full dose? Am I a girl who follows doctor’s orders? I so am not. Yet I just sat there and nodded when he said that I’d be increasing my dose after a week, and then did so, on schedule, not unlike a lemming. When did I become a lemming? (Aside: I used to have a comic I’d cut out of the paper titled “Lemming Suicide Hotline,” which showed a bunch of lemmings on phones saying “Jump.” “Do it.” “Go ahead, jump.” Hee.)
So, no more lemming. I will take my 150mg and feel slightly more okay than before, and that will be fine, really. And on days like today, when the idea of leaving the house is absolutely untenable, I will just change back into my fuzzy slippers and curl up on the couch watching bootleg Glen Phillips concert footage on YouTube while I work on websites on Not So’s laptop. It may be the least I can do, but at least it’s something.