Monday, September 22, 2008

My Alter Ego

I've been questioning myself lately as to whether I should stay on my meds. I take Cymbalta. When I first started it, I felt like finally people could see me for who I really am. Finally the person appearing on the outside was the same one I knew on the inside.

However, I've found myself in recent weeks to be kind of blah. Things go undone, and honestly, I just don't care. I'd like a clean house and laundry all neatly folded and tons of sewing projects done, as well as the ability to be a faithful youth sponsor and dynamic church worker. It ain't happenin'. I simply have no motivation. I'm just even -- not up or down, not motivated, just -- blah.

So I decided to take a couple of days off. I did get a headache, but that was manageable. And then yesterday, it happened.

Volcano mom appeared.

Honestly, I could have created an entirely new person with all the meanish lava screaming that I was doing. Evil Demon Lava Person, and straight from the pit of hell -- on the way to church!

I was mad about several things, and one was my fault. I think I was maddest at myself.

But -- I took it out on four of the girls. I screamed and yelled. I turned into the Momster. All that energy I have when I'm not on my meds goes right into anger, and impatience. Honestly, I probably get about the same amount of stuff done because I use up all that valuable energy just being angry.

So --

My good friend and sister Gail said "Take your meds now. As in right now." And I did. I sat alone in church -- Hunk O Man preached, and hit a grand-slam with his sermon. It was fabulous.

Afterward, I walked home. It's about a half-hour walk at a brisk pace, but I kind of moseyed along, picking up the trash when I saw an available trash can (our town would be so pretty if people would just pick up after themselves!). By the time I got home, I was very chilled out and myself again.

Sadly, the moral of this story is that I get to live with the middle of life -- a loss of passion and drive that I always had before. But I also get to live without the angry monster that emerges when I am not taking the meds. If this is why those who are extremely bipolar go off their meds, I see why. I don't blame them. And yet, although the cure is sometimes worse than the disease, it's mostly not. Being even-tempered is a very good thing.

Although I am not bipolar, I am clinically depressed. I have no idea why, and I have no idea when it started except to say that I can't remember a time when I wasn't like this. I sat and looked at God yesterday and questioned Him: "Why do I have to take all this medicine? Why the Cymbalta and Zyrtec and Sudafed? Why can't my body just function like everyone else's?"

Then I looked up and heard "My grace is sufficient for you." Even Paul had a thorn in his flesh. And I have nothing to complain about.

It was then that I thanked Him for His mercies, and for that little pill that I take every morning. He has made a way for me to glorify Him, and I owe Him my next breath and heartbeat. He will provide the motivation.

So I'd better get going. I have work to do . . .