General notes: Pill (30mg Elvanse) at 7.30. Last day of the 30mg tablets – I’m boosted to 50mg from tomorrow.
Physical notes: Much better afternoon energy now I’m making myself eat during the day. Stomach a bit funny first thing in the morning (an hour after pill), but nothing drastic.
Mental notes: Night-time sulk is first time I’ve felt ‘down’ since starting meds. Not dramatic, but noticeable.
Slept well, though not really for long enough. Have had ‘proper’ breakfast of some leftover pasta, and am bringing lentils and spinach into work with me for healthy late lunch.
I get up at 7.30 and write another 400-ish words of my short story. It is about a cat with a double life. I rather like it. It’s a bit of a wrench to tear myself away, but I am now ten minutes behind schedule so I’d better put some bloody trousers on.
TMI time: loose bowel movement for second day in a row. Bit worried that I’m shitting out some of the medication.
Morning at work is reasonably productive – have to force myself through some incredibly dull data input but I do manage to force myself to do it, which is the main thing. Start feeling a bit sleepy near noon so eat half of my lentils.
Afternoon is less productive, but I get enough done to justify my presence. Might do something this evening to boost the old output total, though (edit: I do not).
I get home and power through a small list of chores while Joe goes to get yet another disposable barbecue (Tuesday is his night to cook, and putting patties of soy or beef on a metal grate until they are brown is his style of cooking). The meal during the day, small and despicably nutritious as it was, seems to have done the trick.
After the (much softer) crash comes, I loll about on the sofa, lazily brainstorming a potential article. Joe looks knackered, but I suddenly realise that it is a week since I started medication. I ask him whether he’s noticed any differences in me during the past week. He says, sleepily, that I am “more positive”. I press for more details. He doesn’t really give any: he has just noticed that I am happier, and generally giving off more “positive” vibes. This is good news, of course, but not very illuminating. He’s the only person who both knows that I am on medication and spends a lot of time with me. I will try and get more out of him when he’s more awake.
I ask him whether he’s noticed any differences in me during the past week. He says, sleepily, that I am “more positive”. I press for more details. He doesn’t really give any
Fittingly, after Joe’s kind words about my positivity, I have a mood crash at about 22.30. I get a bit frustrated with Joe for refusing to take bug bite cream with him to the farm even though his arm is starting to swell up like a balloon, and then I sit and worry in bed about my brother’s general inability to organise himself, and whether he’ll make it to the wedding or not. I cry a little bit as I imagine him not being there.
Being upset at these two things is not unreasonable, I don’t think (one is more upsetting than the other, granted), nor is my level of reaction to them disproportionate (although I probably didn’t need to indulge my sad self by playing hypothetical scenarios in my head); but it’s notable that this is the first time I’ve felt low for a week. It takes me a little while to get to sleep, but I sleep soundly.
Featured image: Original image Font Awesome by Dave Gandy – https://fortawesome.github.com/Font-Awesome [CC BY-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons