I have been trying to discern if I have been in a low grade depression or not. It can be tough to recognize these borderlands. The signs can be subtle. While I do not have negative thoughts coming at me and trying to carry me off on the backs of lemmings flooding over a cliff, I have found it harder to complete tasks and sleep less than 11 hours a day. If I am not in a depression, I am very near one, I think.
Two things in particular seem to be helping at this point. The first is my Vyvanse. The second is exercise. Vyvanse is known for raising people out of funks. Exercise is a remedy that I have used for a long time. But it only helps when I am gasping at the surface of that great ocean of drowning. So if I am down, it is not very far.
Last Friday night, I forgot to take my meds. When I discovered this on Saturday afternoon, I didn’t feel unusual so I left the meds in their compartment to be taken in a week. Saturday, Sunday, and Monday passed without incident; so I forgot what had happened. Tuesday, however, brought light-headedness and euphoria that peaked in the evening. I battered it down with my usual night meds and eleven hours of sleep. I still felt a little high on Wednesday which made me worry that I was ramping up into something more serious. Thursday found me a little below level-headed but no longer hypomanic. Then Friday arrived. I woke to a crashing depression and general fatigue, sluggishness, and stupidity.
The temptation not to leave the house was strong, but I defied it and went for a long walk in Whiting Ranch. Golden Stars had made their first appearance and Blue Dicks their last along the trails. A single Splendid Mariposa Lily signaled that there were more things to come. I had my instant camera with me and set myself to the task of taking five good photos with the last of the film: I succeeded at four. The exertion slowed the whirling of my head, but didn’t stop it entirely. I pumped the blood through my veins by walking fast up the hills and finished my circuit in two hours; leaving me enough time to work on the computer a bit and enjoy a large snack to curb my massive appetite.
Do I insert here a warning to take your meds? Do you need one? Because I had skipped one dose, the foundation that I relied on for existing cracked and slumped. The funk that I find myself in will linger for a few days more. I’ve made plans to exercise and take pictures as I usually do on the weekends. The fissures should heal, my cocktail should plane off the undulations, and my equanimity return. This is a course that I have often run: I know what happened and what works to improve things. There’s no hammer that fixes it all. Only time and attention to my routine repairs my brain.