I feel so stupid lately. I can’t concentrate, I am forgetful, and I can’t type for shit. I can’t remember project details at work, or if I even worked on a project. I can barely string together two sentences without getting a brain cramp. Writing this is proving to be difficult for me.

My creativity has gone out the window. I was writing some halfway-decent poetry, but it has been about a year since I came up with any good ideas.

I don’t know what is causing this. I don’t think it is the bipolar; it has been relatively tame lately, except for that dip during the holidays. I don’t think it is the medicine; the med changes (Wellbutrin, Topomax) seem to have boosted my brain function rather than dampen it.

Maybe the most likely cause of the desertion of my mental faculties is existing with the hopelessness of living in Trump-world.

this site requires cookies

Back in December, I had posted here that I wasn’t feeling great emotionally, and I wished I could just be alone with a plate of cookies for Christmas.

Last week, I had an appointment with my psychiatrist, and I was describing this feeling to him, telling him that I had been feeling very flat and a little depressed. I told him this was normal for me, but I knew I would get over it after a while.

Apparently it raises a red flag when you tell your psychiatrist you want to be alone with a plate of cookies, because he offered to increase my Wellbutrin until I was feeling better. I declined, telling him I wanted to wait it out and see if things improved within a few weeks.

He did make a joke about it – he asked, “were the cookies in the shape of Christmas trees?”


Regardless of what my p-doc thinks, I think this guy approves of my plan:

just say “fuck this shit”

I seem to have shaken the deep depression for a little while; I’m back to just being a little depressed all the time instead of wanting-to-escape-it-all depressed. Work is no less hectic and stressful, but I seem to be dealing with it a little better right now. A healthy “fuck this shit” attitude seems to have helped, along with adding Wellbutrin to my medicine cocktail. The p-doc, who I still like, seems to think that a little bit of the anti-depressant will not send me spinning off kilter, it will help with the depression, and it will give me a little more energy. So far, I think he was right.

I know most people don’t get to do what they enjoy for work, and work is something they have to do to pay bills, myself included. I somewhat enjoy engineering, I’m somewhat good at it, I just hate all the shit that accompanies the actual engineering part: budgets, schedules, meetings, permits, deadlines, and so on. I enjoy solving problems, doing the math, brainstorming solutions, and drawing things in Autocad. If I could have someone else do all the other crap, I would have a lot more fun.

The other frustrating part is that the workload keeps growing, management keeps hiring more project managers to deal with more projects, but the number of technicians who actually produce the work has actually shrunk. We are expected to accomplish more work with less people, and management will not get us any more help, and instead asks us to work more overtime. Other departments seem to get more help when they need it, but not ours. If this were a temporary thing, we could deal with it. But there is seemingly no end in sight; morale in our department is getting lower, and the constant pressure is wearing people down. People are starting to have a “fuck this shit” attitude toward overtime, because people have lives outside of work too.

Most people’s lives are much more interesting than mine, but that’s a topic for another post.

unfinished business

I’ve been in a pretty deep depression for over a month now, and it’s not getting better. Stress at work has been increasing, and I’m not doing well. I had my scheduled visit with the p-doc yesterday, and he will have me try some Wellbutrin to help with the nearly constant depression. [Side note: I’m still glad I found this doctor, because he actually listens and interacts with me rather than just telling me the same “stay the course” bullshit.]

In the midst of this depression, I all of the sudden get the bright idea that I finally might like to go back to the old hometown and relive some memories, see things close up and personal that I left behind 30 years ago. Sure, that seems brilliant. Call it the Unfinished Business Tour.

I’m not exactly sure how this would work. Fly back to Sacramento, drive to Goldville and Treetown, and then what? Look at the ruins of the houses I used to live in, or get chased off by dogs or drug dealers? Take photos that Google street view can’t provide? Go stand by A-mom’s grave and reminisce about how fucked up life was for both of us? … Maybe. Maybe that is exactly what I need to do. It will be painful and depressing, and it will stir up lots of bad memories, but somehow I wonder if I need to do that one more time just to put some of that to rest for good.

The other thing I would like to do is just drive around in my part of the mountains, smell the pine trees, see the stars away from town, visit the old campground, take in the natural beauty of the Sierras one more time. Maybe I can visit a couple of friends, but maybe I don’t even want anyone to know I am in town. I’m torn, because if I visit one person, then others find out, it becomes a fucking circus, and I want to avoid that if possible.

My wife asked the same question, what would I do if I went. She also asked if it was something I needed to do by myself. I told her I wasn’t sure about either answer. She still has a brother and three nephews who live in the area. I think maybe if she wants to go, she can go, but if she wants to stay home it would also be okay.