Rebounding

Yesterday was a total wipe out. No work got done; due to health troubles again! Depression hit and I went to bed. However, I'm back today. I'm up to page 196. I finished a key scene and I still have a lot of time today to get it up to 200 and perhaps get a lot more than that done.

I am disturbed at how much mental and physical health effect my production. I have so many health problems-- I think in previous times I would be known as a hypochondriac. However, I can't really question it in that way. It either helps me write, it doesn't ,or it totally kills writing.

Also, there is an important over-the-counter drug that I didn't even consider in the mix: caffeine. I take it in no-doz tablets, not drinks, but drinking it in tea or soda will do in a pinch (I can't handle coffee). I let myself run out yesterday. I tried drinking tea, but apparently, it wasn't enough. My mood and energy crashed horribly. So, now I know: don't leave it out.

I am so dependent on various prescribed psychiatric meds now. I'm practically an addict. Being without any of them would punishing.

Right now, I don't care. As long as I can write: on the right manuscript.

It isn't true that I don't write when I'm manic, depressed and suffering ADD. I do. Just not in the right places on the right subjects. There's one website; it's an escort/hobbyist discussion board. I discovered that since 2003, I have been by far the most frequent poster. It was over 5,300 posts.

My posts weren't short. I probably have 2,100 pages of writing in 4 years. I wasn't even trying to be prolific. That was just as I yawned waking up in the morning. That was 4 books. That doesn't count other posts, other writings.

Anyway, I've written a page and a half right here. I need to get back to real work before my day off ends. Page 200, here I come.

Heavy Lifting and Exercise

I feel I got some heavy lifting done on the novel today. I'm up to page 194, and I mark this as the turning point, the denouement of the romantic interest in the story.

I didn't write for weeks. First it was physical and mental trouble that have been corrected, but which sucked energy from the project. Then it was catching up on essential things in life that I had to also ignore. Then I sat down in the early week, and immediately hit a writers' block. It was an incredibly difficult scene to resolve. Right now, I'm afraid the chapter is too long.

I'm very fortunate to have this collaboration with my friend, mainly because I have permission to plagiarize the scenes and dialog he already developed and wrote. However, my contribution is very significant. His writing on the story line comes to approximately 110 pages, or so. I'm already up to 194 pages, and it's just half way through.

I feel like I've done a lot of work, and I'm going to take some time to entertain.

I managed to do some exercise in the form of walking when I got out of bed. However, writing is the only "heavy lifting" I think I could do now, with my body in the condition it's in.

The fog of life.

So, yesterday my doctor moved my Seroquel up even further. So, today I feel tired and dopey. I have a headache coming on. Even with that, I managed to write and I'm up to the middle of page 184. The writing is hard right now, even without the extra sedation.

I'm going to bed till I have to get up and go to work. If I had a choice about it, I'd be staying home from work.

Relapse of depression and recovery (for now)

I've recovered from a slow slide. I realized by Saturday night that my depression had reoccurred. Sunday I had to go to work and it was a miserable day for me. I was writing very depressing reminiscences my journal. I was writing things like my life was already a total loss. Plus, I was trying to talk to my dead nephew. Not that I had a hallucination that he was there, but I was willfully trying to put him there to talk to. I was tearing up, and I even checked on the knives.

Meanwhile, I was failing to get anything done. The writing habits were gone. The place was looking like a crack house. Caffeine was getting me through the day. I was spending a lot of time in bed too exhausted to do anything but unable to really nap. And I was doing impulsive things.

I had already decided to call my psychiatrist in the morning for an emergency appointment. It was apparent my current meds were ceasing to have their effects. Last night, though, I decided to raise my dose of Seroquel by 50 mg.

That stuff is electro-convulsive therapy in a bottle! Ka-Blam! Forget about calling my shrink first thing in the morning. I went to bed at one and with two alarms, I couldn't get up for anything. In an earthquake I'd be crushed. In a fire I'd be ashes. That stuff sedates you like nothing else. It's extremely effective immediately, too. When I finally got up at noon, and life was good again. I immediately began to do things I previously couldn't get done.

Now, I did call my psych, and made an appointment for Wednesday, and made appointments for other medical problems I've been neglecting. I finished my appeal to my prescription drug company, I did exercise and I look forward to work and the morning tomorrow, and to work, strangely enough.

It's sunny and warm outside. Things are thawing, finally. I still have congestion, and I'm going to see an E, N & T doctor about that.

Back into it.

Recovering my physical health, I finally remembered that I'm a novel writer, and therefore insane. So, instead of doing anything common sense, I got up and wrote for an hour first. I broke through the blocks, and I'm up to the middle of page 182. My energy has been so low, lately. I'm already tired. I'm going to lay down, have some tea, and then get ready for work. It's embarrassing how little I get done in a day now.

Sorry to disappear

I was sick with a heavy cold for two weeks. In my spare time, I had no energy. My work time was hell. I'm not able to take a sick day at work. So, I took the sick time in my days off.

I then immediately had computer problems. It was something minor, but any minor thing with a computer could take 5 minutes or 5 days, depending on if you have the right intuition. Unless you've studied up to a degree.

As a result, very little writing was done. More later, I'm at work. Will write more tonight or tomorrow.

Sick, again.

A few days ago I felt this terrible fatigue. Wondered what had I done. Was I suffering a caffeine downer. (With taking No Doz, 400 mg a day is awfully high.)

When I got home from work, I fell into bed and slept for 12 hours. The sleep was very dream heavy. I remember waking up and feeling my heart pound hard. I wondered if I should check my blood pressure. The next day, I woke up congested. Today, I feel very congested. Being on final warning, I can't miss a day of work. So, I'm going in today, even though I hardly have a voice. However, I'm waiting for the decongestant to do it's work.

Of course in this state, no writing has been done. I did get it outlined last night. I have a day off tomorrow, and I know I'm going to hit it hard.

It is so friggin cold outside. I read the news about Global Warming. I could see in other ways that it's happening. Winter used to hit in late November. Now the coldest months start in January rather than December. There's no snow. When I was a child, snow would make it bearable, but I have been hiding inside waiting for the freeze to begin to retreat. I could just bundle up against it, I guess.