Well, I’ve officially been detoxified from Effexor for about a month now.
I know I promised updates regularly about this, but… well… I didn’t do that. I guess I didn’t feel like I had a whole lot to say.
Life feels a whole lot more clear now. Some days, this is good; other days, not so much. The thing is… I am coping. I am coping far better than I have any right to, and I am happy about that. I didn’t do this expecting sunshine and roses, so I am not let down.
I can genuinely laugh again.
I can cry.
I can be angry.
I can be happy.
Best of all? I can choose what to do about all of those things.
Quarantine has presented her own unique set of challenges.
I feel angry that I was just getting back into regular exercise at a yoga studio, and now the studio has closed under Ohio’s quarantine regulations.
Now, I could do yoga in my own house, and I have, but the problem is that I don’t yet have suitable space available for this. Doing yoga on my kitchen floor was not very… yoga-fying, to say the least. I mean, I suppose it shouldn’t matter, but…
Working from home… what to say about that?
I mean, don’t get me wrong… I’m incredibly grateful to have a paycheck coming in. You know what? I’m going to leave it there, for now. I’m still working, I get to do so from home, which means insurance is still available to me, and I am lucky because of that.
Social media is on my last nerve. I’m tired of keyboard experts, fear mongering, and division. This whole spirit of “if you do/don’t do this/that, then I hate you/don’t want you in my life/think you’re a horrible person” makes me really really fucking sick. It’s seriously worse than when Captain Cheeto was installed as Grand Poobah of the USA.
I’m tired of being the Rodney King of my circle. “can’t we all just get along?” Apparently not. Not when everyone is right.