As I mentioned early on, one goal of mine has been to stop taking antidepressants----to see what I'm really like now, without their influence, and to test whether they were merely dulling me to the pain of living as I didn't wish to live (but felt I had to live), or whether I'm one of those unfortunately diseased folk who must take chemicals merely to live. If I am the latter, I will learn to deal with that at some point.
Okay. I'm entirely off of the things now, as of yesterday. Because I didn't exactly follow my doctor's directions (designed to keep me from feeling the side effects so much), I've been feeling . . . strange: my eyes feel like they zoom back and forth on occasion, which makes me feel dizzy; I feel these little shocks (for lack of a better term) all over; and I'm a bit agitated, irritable, impatient, though MUCH more energetic.
I was in tears by yesterday evening, overwhelmed, and highly critical of myself (which is typical of my past, this self-wounding), but I stayed up late keeping myself busy with gathering all of my art supplies around me, organizing them so I can more easily access them when I'm in the mood, and listening to music, which took me OUT of myself, where I wanted to be.
Rising very early this morning (unusual for me since I hadn't gotten more than five or six hours' sleep; I can remember a time not long ago when I thought I needed at least 10 hours' sleep), I decided to look at my blog, in delight noticed a new follower (my best friend in Georgia had been the only one), and looked to find out who on earth could be interested in my page here, only to find another kindred soul. . . and to be reminded of myself.
And so, if anything I write here can serve as help for a lovely person who is trying to feel that strength within and to act upon it----without guilt and self-doubt----with joy and celebration of the immense beauty that is possible (in the midst, we acknowledge, of the great sorrow that Bruce Cockburn sings of in "The Beautiful Creatures Are Going Away") AND with the knowledge that she is not alone, then these words I write here, words that feel sometimes like so much "belly-button gazing" to me, are worth the discomfort I sometimes feel because they help serve to tell someone else "you are not alone," just as I learned only too recently, that I am not alone.
Because yesterday, I felt like a dry wind had blown through my soul, touching everything with its sucking fingers, leaving me feeling vulnerable, exposed, and hurting, hurting.
It's hard not to care what people think (and, yes, those of us who are sensitive CAN read minds on occasion), but I think it's absolutely necessary to be able to ignore it and to live to our fullest and truest, regardless of the perceived criticism, regardless of the difficulty we have in holding our feet to the ground when that strong wind blows through and threatens to take us with it.
