Spurts

We all go on spurts. Gambling spurts, traveling spurts, spurts of depression, etc..

Do you know what a spurt is? If not, here’s how Oxford Languages defines it: A sudden marked burst or increase of activity or speed.

A sudden burst equaling increased activity. For a guy like me, a guy who willingly plunges under the covers to throw away two hours just to get rid of those two hours, spurts can be day-changing. I’m going to hold back from saying “life-changing” for now… unless I can continue to ride this spurt till the sun comes up.

Anyway, what can a spurt do, you ask?

Since really getting going at 10 AM (now 7:30 PM), I’ve…

  • Written this blog (easy one)
  • Really struggling to recall now…
  • Oh, I put together a rough 10-year plan for my lifelong dream
  • Studied hyphens & I still have no fucking clue how they really work, like really WTF’s up with those
  • Demolished some spreadsheet stuff from work I put off for the past… four or so months
  • Took a COVID test (doesn’t bother me – not that I’m some tough guy, but… yeah, doesn’t bother me, not that I’m a tough guy or anything…)
  • Took the dogs on TWO, not one, but TWO walks
  • Showered (that’s a regular occurence, I swear)
  • Last night I took a woman out to look at lights (don’t worry, she had COVID like a week ago. She’s immune, they say – for now)
  • That last bullet sounded evil
  • Ooh, phrasing
  • OK, let’s get back on track, I cooked dinner for the folks (bacon, eggs to order, hash browns)
  • About to workout here on the living room floor (currently on COVID watch so can’t head to the gym)

OK, way too much information there. One of you shoulda said something. Tell me to shut up, cmon!

Hey, on a serious note, I hope you find spurts here or there on more occasions. Don’t be afraid to turn off once you feel your brain melting a bit. It’s always OK to rest. After a while, we can turn those spurts into some consistency. Hopefully, right?

I wish you well. Try not to beat yourself up.

The Stigma with Mental Health Meds (don’t let it stop you)

Yesterday I had a wet net on my head. After that, a cotton swab rubbed on the left and right side of the inside of my mouth.

No, I wasn’t taken hostage (that would’ve been a massive plot twist in this blog). I had an EEG (An EEG tracks and records brain wave patterns) and a DNA cotton swab test. Why? Well, supposedly they help dwindle down what a psych thinks is best for you in terms of medication. It’s weird. The EEG was really, really weird. You wait to hear the “target tone” and you click a button once you do, but more often than not, they plug other noises in there – such as farts, burps, and babies crying. It really isn’t pleasant.

As for the cotton swab thing? Eh, no big deal. Neither were that big of a deal. But they are helping me figure out something that is a big deal.

I used to be against meds for a couple reasons:
1) I absolutely hated psychiatrists, they just seem like shitty people most of the time.
2) It never made sense how if my family has a history of pancreatic cancer then I should be prescribed Med A, or if my family didn’t, I should be prescribed Med B – you can explain it all you want to me, include scientific facts if you want, it still doesn’t make sense to me.

Then I happened to fall into a very, very dark place and I had nowhere to turn. I had to do what was right for me, what was right for the people around me, and what’s going to keep me going in the future (in a small way).

Meds aren’t all that bad. Actually, since I started taking my depression medication a couple months back, my sex drive actually kicked up. Also, I don’t really know what the fuck the med does, which I think is a good thing? I don’t feel it hovering over my brain, clouding up my thoughts, you know – all the bad shit people tell you meds do to you. Sometimes they don’t, especially if you find the right ones and you somehow find a good psychiatrist. I only had to go through five to find one decent one…

So what the fuck am I saying in this tangent? I’m saying never rule anything out. Yeah, it sucks to admit that you’re on depression medication, anxiety medication, all that, but it sucks even more to suffer heavily from depression and anxiety, doesn’t it? Fuckin’ suck it up. You aren’t bigger than the next person and neither am I. We all need help – maybe meds aren’t for you, but don’t think for a second that this depression will just go away all by itself. This BPD will just magically poof and leave you for good. That anxiety that makes that heart pump? It’s not going away unless you do something.

That’s what we all have to learn. It’s not the meds that help us (well, they do, but that’s not what I mean), it’s not the therapy that helps us (again, it does help us), and it’s not the psychiatrist that helps us (meh, I’ll stick to my hatred with psychiatrists, they just drive me nuts). What helps us is us. Not just you, but your collective group, that support system I’ve talked about, even if it’s just your cute lil’ dog.

My support system told me it was OK to be medicated. They assured me that I’m not fucking stupid and I won’t fucking lose myself if I do take meds. And guess what, they were right.

I wish you well. Try not to beat the shit out of yourself.