My mind is a dangerous place these days

As Facebook continues to read my mind and send me ads I don’t want, I’ve noticed the latest recurring one has been some kind of article on ketamine treatment, using the tragic overdose and manipulation of Matthew Perry. They all say is it worth it, is ketamine treatment really helping anybody. And ya know what? Yes, the whole fuck, it is. Because if it weren’t for my weekly treatments, I would probably be suicidal again.

When meds aren’t working, it’s a scary place inside my head. The intrusive thoughts tell me the most horrific things. My self-esteem and self-worth go down the drain. I stop eating. I stop getting out of bed unless I absolutely have to. I stop writing.

Why has it been so long since I updated this? Why is it taking me so long to do those shorts? See above.

The score on my PHQ is getting higher and higher. But, by divine grace, the last 2 questions remain 0.

Question 8: Moving or speaking so slowly that other people could have noticed? Or the opposite — being so fidgety or restless that you have been moving around a lot more than usual

Question 9: Thoughts that you would be better off dead or of hurting yourself in some way

For those unaware of the PHQ-9, you answer on a scale of 0-3 — Not at all, Several days, More than half the days, Nearly every day. For about 30 years, my answer to question 8 fluctuated but nine stayed the same. Nearly every day. Since starting nasal esketamine treatment, I’m pretty sure the answer has been Not at all for nearly a year. And yes, I know the nasal treatment is different than the full infusion treatment - that’s a different argument. But at surface level, it’s still ketamine and it still works.

Because man — right now, I’m ticking off the boxes. After my successful hysterectomy that freed me from pain I didn’t even realize I had, I now have a hernia. So that’s going to be more surgery. And I can’t afford to be off work as long as I was before. Financially, obviously, cause I only have 2 weeks worth of sick time and maybe a week worth of PTO. If I can’t heal enough in 21 days to tell people to take their meds and go to bed, I’m fucked. And mentally… I’ll spend so much time worrying about what’s going to hell at work that I’ll be even more stressed. And I’m already stressed about work stuff. And affording things. Oh, and that little apocalypse that’s waiting for us thanks to how much racism and sexism showed up during our elections.

I don’t know how I’m upright. I’m in the bed way more than I should be, lying down with a mind-numbing phone game when I should be at the keyboard typing away, because the depression is trying to slide back in and my answer to Question 1 (Little interest or pleasure in doing things) is definitely at Several Days and trying hard to work its way toward More than half..

And this isn’t where I want to be. I have so many ideas. I have a list of agents and publishers to query. I have multiple folders for each separate query packet. I have a whole new world brewing in my head that is chomping at the bit to see the light of day. I can’t stay in bed because I have things I want to do!

And inside my head? The intrusions whip themselves into a frenzy and tell me I’m not good enough. They tell me what’s the point, no one wants to read your shit, anyway. You’re better off just giving up and going back to bed. But… they still aren’t telling me I’m better off dead.

So yeah, it’s a scary place inside my head these days.

It could be worse.