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[katallison]

I feel like a jerk for not replying to all the kind and encouraging comments to my previous posting, but--um. This is a cheap excuse, but the Wellbutrin is doing something quite odd to my brain, unlike any antidepressant I've been on before. While I'm still having total success with the not-smoking, my mood is all over the place, and I simply cannot get focused and quiet enough inwardly to do anything. Feeling edgy, restless, and irritable -- it's like the psychological equivalent of having a bad rash, or clothes that don't fit right, or having a staticky transistor radio not quite tuned in to a station that's playing heavy metal all the time, very loudly, right in one's ear when one's trying to think.

And then there's The Rage, which is on a very fragile tether and comes roaring to life at unpredictable intervals. Yesterday evening I had two bags of groceries I was trying to get out of the car, while standing in the slush, and my purse kept slipping off my shoulder and banging against things, and then one of the handles on one of the grocery bags tore loose, and I had to SLAM! THE CAR DOOR! OVER AND OVER! HARD! at least a half-dozen times, because otherwise I'd have started screaming, and maybe killing people. I *really* should get back into kickboxing, because I want to hit things, very hard; just thinking about it makes my muscles quiver with anticipation. (I should also probably talk to the doctor about dosages, and how soon I can taper off this stuff.) (And of course it might not be the meds at all, or not entirely, but rather detoxing from nicotine.)

God, this is the most boring update in the history of boringness, isn't it? I'll be back, and (I trust) more interesting, as soon as I've got my brain whacked back into shape.

Comments

[katallison.livejournal.com]

That link was *wonderful*, and exactly what I needed. And yes, you're someone who I know understands about The Rage, and the weird ways that it works its way through one's body and psyche. I've mostly got my rage chained in the cellar these days (I'm well past that time of life when, for example, I tried to run over a horrible obnoxious woman in a parking ramp) (well, OK, I wasn't really trying very hard, but still). So it feels odd and a bit scary to be revisited by it. Ah well; this shall pass. Be very self-congratulatory, by the way, that you never got into cigarettes. Talk about nasty unkillable addictions...