Tag Archives: doing things about depression

The feckless anger that is poverty

Well, I have a good title that describes my current emotional state, but what can I build from that? I’m literally unable to do anything towards making the thing because I can’t get the stuff to make the thing, and unless the thing is some kind of food that’s true for almost every thing, notice there is a separation between every and thing. We blew all the raw stock budget buying food 😝 When your mind is essentially a fountain of ideas that won’t stop coming until you at least get started, the inability to get something started is nothing short of painful, physically so. And that is not a joke or other attempt at humor, not being able to build any of the things I have planned is physically painful for me, a literal interpretation of “beating your head against a wall”. No kidding, I get a pain like sinus pain when I plan something for too long and not even get a glimmer of how it will get finished. And there is not a damned thing I can do about it but suffer.

This project has been stewing in the old grey and white matters since 1987, when the inspiration struck at a club meeting for the Tennessee Region SCCA, where we were discussing making a consistently good autocross car. I came up with the idea of a tube frame hotrod with an SBC and a TH350 transmission for a literal “stab and steer” car that would keep the tires mostly correctly oriented to the track. This was when the modified category rules were not as stringent as they are now, and the possibility of running a T-bucket in the production modified classes was not that wild an idea. Even if some people at the meeting thought it was hilarious. Mostly they were amused at the idea of using the automatic transmission bringing up the Powerglide (which wouldn’t be a bad idea for a trailered car), “Slip and slide Powerglide,” was the chant. I was looking at a 350/350 combo which were common as dirt in junkyards, in a car that weight slightly less than a ton, and also knew that as long as I didn’t let the power to weight ratio get too crazy the main thing to worry about was grip and brakes. I knew from experience that power without grip was pretty useless, but as long as you had enough power to get and keep going grip was much more important, witness the VW powered special with a stock 50 HP engine and sticky race slicks that consistently stomped the high powered American iron. My idea was to get a bucket and sort out the handling and clean up. Thirty-one years later it is still a viable concept if the execution has shifted more to the lightest possible V6 and 4 cylinder engines and away from the now-ancient SBC and 350/350 combo.

Anyway, one of the things I did in the past to stop this feeling was to buy something “not-very-expensive” (aka “cheap”) that would move the build forward in a tangible way, and also be something I could physically grab hold of and hold and say “This is part of my car”. The problem is I’m running out of things I can do that with. There are very few parts left that will work on any of the variants I’m “working” (thinking) on, that are still something I can afford by saving up or sneaking money out of the money I get from the trust for presents. I’m running out of options for not losing my mind and dropping into a giant pit of despair and depression. I’m not depressed (much) now, but I have played this game enough to know what’s coming if I can’t work my way out of this trap. And it ain’t pretty for me.

And now that I have horribly depressed you, a cat picture.
Clint taking a siesta

And the tag is another description of my physical status after literally spending almost every penny I had getting bandaids.

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I’m detoxing, posts might get weird for a while

I’m eliminating all the brain drugs because the side effects are worse than the disease. I was taking anti-depressants because untreated PTSD from when I was a kid turned into depression, so I took SSRIs which helped the depression for a while until the side effect of destroying my ability to have sex kicked in. I managed to get most of a year in without depression, and I had a positive attitude and everything. I was even cheerful and talked with my wife regularly. That was great while it lasted. but eventually side effects kinda blew that out of the water.

So, then I changed meds in an attempt to find one without sexual side-effects, with the first attempt getting the side effects in full effect before the intended effect of reducing depression even started. Which brings me to the current med, that uses a chemical strategy that does not even affect my depression. Well my soon-to-be-previous-med, that takes as long to wean off of as it required other meds to be clear from my system. It will be about 2 weeks to detox enough to switch to an SSRI. Then at least another 2 weeks to get back up to speed on the SSRI as I mourn the death of my sex life, or not. I might decide to just save the money and live in a dull, grey world, and retain something of my sex life.

In other news I was going to get my toes done Tuesday, but we are experiencing the southern end of an arctic cold front that dropped the temperature about 40°F overnight, from a high of 57° to a forecast low of 20 tomorrow morning, with wind chills expected to be in the single digits. That’s chilly. We had to fight to get the cats to come in and stay in because they want to be out in what is still pretty warm, and now they are pacing the hall yelling to be let out.

I’m wandering without a compass here

And a map would be nice, too. That is what depression does, it robs you of your sense of direction and knowledge of what is ahead and behind you. And in this case knowing is not half the battle. Just because I know that I’m depressed, and that depression robs me of my sense of self and self-worth, doesn’t mean my depression goes away. Even with medication I’m still depressed, just not as depressed as I was without. And that only takes care of the chemical part of depression. Anything that’s caused by external factors, like a pair of nit-wits threatening to destroy the world in a dick-measuring contest, is up to you to deal with. So Cheeto Jesus and Rocket Man rattling sabers are creating a whole new group of medication-resistant depressed people.

Anyway, I know what I need to do to get the money to build the car, I know what I’m going to buy with the money once I get it, I know how to use the parts and materials once I buy them. It’s just finding the drive to get up and get the money. Taking that first step, that’s the scary part. Literally getting the courage to take the first step, and the next and the next. In my mind’s eye that first step is a huge cliff towering in front of me. In reality it’s literally getting out of bed and walking out the door. I do that. I get up and get dressed and walk out the front door to go to the Lab Rat Keeper, but it’s a struggle when I’m doing it for my own selfish purposes. I know that people need the plasma I would be selling, but that turns it into a commercial transaction, not expanding the bounds of medical science a minutia. And for some reason, doing things for just me with no altruism, makes silly things like getting up in the morning almost impossible tasks. Going to get my insides poked around on the off chance it will lead to a surgical cure for hypertension, I’m ready to go. Sell something that people need to live, me-h-h-h, that’s too haaarrrd! Same action at the same time of day, one altruistic and the other mendacious, but only by the tiniest margin, and altruism wins. Don’t ask why, I don’t know. That’s why I’m mentioning it here.

Another thing that’s worth mentioning is that writing about this is easier than not doing anything about it, believe it or not.