For some reason I feel badly about talking about feeling badly. How is that for guilt and shame? I had a great weekend. But is there some kind of rebound effect? Last night I crashed. I shouldn’t have watched the Biggest Loser. It was makeover week (this was Tivo’d from earlier in the week – I catch up on TV on weekends), and the contestants’ families surprised them at the fashion show. There is one woman, Ada, whose family is not supportive. During home video week, every family sent a video to their contestant, except her. She did not get a video. This week, her family did not come to surprise her, but her best friend did, whew! I got very emotional seeing the reunions between the contestants and their families, and very anxious worrying about who would be there for Ada. I was so glad her friend was able to come be with her. Yes, it is a TV show. I tend to get overly involved, can you tell?
Someone posted on their blog recently about life, and meaning, and purpose, and feeling an empty void. I had told my t once that I felt like there was an open wound inside of me. We talked about this at a session in April and this is what I wrote on my blog that day:
He said he wanted to talk more about the “open wound” that I wrote about in my email. He said he thinks of it as an emptiness or a void. Thinking about that I have to disagree. There is a difference between a wound and void. A void is what is left after the wound heals. We talked about where that wound might have come from and I said I have no idea. I have never suffered any trauma, so I am not even justified in feeling wounded.
I’m not sure if I have moved on from wound to void. But one night last week I was leaving work, pulling out of my boss’s driveway, and I thought to myself, “Why am I going home? There is nothing there for me.” I thought the same thing tonight. But tonight there really is nothing here, my husband and son are at a hockey game. And actually I prefer when they are not here, because then the reason I am alone is because I am alone. When they are here I am alone because we have no connection. No connection with my son in the evenings, because he is in his room with the door closed, watching a hockey game and on the computer. No connection with my husband because we have no connection at all.
What do I do at night? I either pick up some food for my husband and son, or make them some dinner. Then I make myself something to eat (I don’t eat what they eat), pour some wine, and catch up on blogs and email, and try to respond to as many of my friends as I can. I also try to catch my daughter on line and have a bit of a chat with her. I write on my blog, or write something for my writing class. I have some more wine. Once in a while I go do some work for someone at night. I never reach out to a friend to go out to dinner, something I used to do very often. I try to read before bed, but I have trouble concentrating.
Someone mentioned a “lifeless” life. That is what I have. I am alive, obviously. But I don’t feel like I am living.
I tried to pass it off to hormones. I have been bleeding for 19 days (sorry guys, if you are reading this and are squeamish about female disorders). I called my gynecologist and told him my symptoms, and how I am lethargic, gaining weight, tired, blah blah. He said, “We try to blame everything on hormones and cure everything with hormones.” He did say he is not trying to minimize my symptoms, but since I take birth control pills my problems can’t be due to hormones. Oh well.
Guess what else I did today? I started Wellbutrin again. Well, pdoc has been suggesting going back on anti-depressants the last two times I saw her. I checked my blog and I was on Wellbutrin from October 2009 until January 2010, when the side effects got too overwhelming. I’ll give it another try, I’m going to try to stick it out three months and see how I feel. It’s the only anti-depressant I will use.
I had such a good weekend. I guess I want that every day. I know that is too much to ask. Having that feeling a couple of times a year – is that enough to warrant living? It doesn’t seem so. A lifeless life – that is what I have.