fragment

I need to start writing regularly again, and I'm not willing to artificially separate out the personal from the political. Any who make it through these personal posts, and even offer some help, have my regards and deepest thanks.

***

hearshot: so what else has been going on?
Sent at 8:39 PM on Sunday
amanda: right now?... work, cats, sleep, grocery shopping. insurance woes. cleaning house. not much else
hearshot: i can still be interested in your life even if it's the same old same old, you know
amanda: no, it's just that i can't even think of anything new to say
that's what i mean by "blank," really. besides the above, i just sit here reading blogs
...
amanda: i don't know
on the one hand, i am obviously so much healthier and have been doing great things since i moved here
hearshot: i... was not expecting that response
amanda: but on the other, i still just feel blank about it all
hearshot: in what way?
amanda: i don't feel the motivation to get up and do something with myself, at all
i could be out doing photography, i could be writing so much more... i used to love writing, and i hardly ever do it anymore
i could be creating something
i take pictures of the cats, and that's really it.
i don't have any friends besides [coworker] here
hearshot: i hate to say, but you sound rather like me
amanda: and i never go out with her
i miss college. i felt like i was doing something there
i'm doing something awesome here too, after all. i do have a great job, i work with people i largely like doing stuff i largely like. i'm teaching classes (did one tonight), gaining experience, and obviously making some money
it's not like i'm sitting on my ass all day doing absolutely nothing. my life is actually fairly full. but i guess i don't feel fulfilled.
my internal gauge still seems to be near "empty"
hearshot: i don't really know what to say
amanda: neither do i, obviously

***

I don't know what to do.

I had a long conversation with my husband (for whom I really need to come up with some witty pseudonym) on the subject, starting off by sending him the above conversational excerpt. It didn't end neatly in a solution; it was just some venting and some comforting, and I've been somewhat depressive since then.

I remember how connected I felt to myself and the world around me back when I was journaling regularly. I would have times where I'd fall out of writing, but they inevitably lasted no longer than a few months, and I'd be back again. But it's been a good year and a half now since I took to paper (so to speak) about my life.

As I said, I'm not willing to separate my personal and political writing anymore. You all know the mantra. It does make me somewhat nervous to write in public again.

I'm feeling disconnected right now. I've been noticing it since just after I moved here -- December 2, 2006. I started my anti-anxiety medication a month or two before that. I'm worried that may be contributing. But I'm afraid to mess with that, considering the severe mental crisis I went through in the summer of '06, living with my mother, trying to tie up loose ends in California before moving out here to PA, with her mental troubles flaring as my independence reached new heights, at the same time I was first making a go at life without an antidepressant (which I took, as a sleep aid -- not even aware of the antidepressant properties -- from ages twelve to nineteen). I'm in a healthier environment now, but that doesn't make the lack of "support" any less scary -- and I also worry about how it will affect me as I'm embarking on the Lupron treatment, not knowing yet how that will affect me.

There are also just too many external factors. I miss home. California. This is my home, here, in southwestern Pennsylvania. But I still just feel an ease inside when I'm in my home state. I haven't been there since our wedding last May, and that wasn't even a proper visit, but instead a three-day rush-around.

I'm still confused about my relationship with my family. Something broke this last Christmas. I went from feeling complete terror when considering anything to do with them, with my childhood, with my home -- to feeling rather relaxed, not entirely positive, but no longer so panicked. I don't know what changed. I really don't. I don't know what I feel.

I've lost steam. I don't even know what to say to myself.