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If I were determined enough, I could slog back into a random psychiatrist’s office, pay the $30 co-pay I would deeply resent because I can’t afford it, be annoyed talking to a doctor who’d probably be a robotic slice of Wonderbread (mixed metaphor?)…and then pay I don’t know how much for a bunch of pills that wouldn’t work, and then repeat that whole cycle a few times until I found something that wasn’t quite right but was sort of okay maybe, meanwhile having subjected myself to bouts of medication-induced nuttiness. Not sure it’s worth it. But I know more now than I knew when I was diagnosed.
On the bright side, I get into hyper-focus whenever I work on the book I’m writing – usually at least fifteen hours a week, sometimes thirty or forty. When I’m working, I feel good. Plus, there is carry-over of that energy during times when I’m not working.
But now I have been away from my writing for a couple of weeks, I’m having more problems again with mood, sleep, and energy. Weird, huh?
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