In addition to being remiss about blogging, I've also been remiss in checking in on the blogs I used to track. Man, I used to be religious about checking in with the same 5-6 blogs every morning. They got to be like virtual friends, people whose lives I followed and cared about in some lurking, stalker-like way. Clearly if you're reading this you understand what I'm saying?
ANYWAY. Today I went and looked up my old blogs. One gal had lost her job. Another was writing about her friends moving away and how bummed it made her feel. It was nice to hear about what they were up to, to reconnect in a sense with people I've never connected with directly.
In case you're wondering why I'm rambling about this, it DOES relate to my previous post about anti-depressants. I'm still thinking about getting something, but part of me realizes too how much better I always feel after I call or write or read or hang out with PEOPLE. I feel like I've lost connections with a lot of things lately -- I'm finding a lack of interest in things I usually care more about -- reading, writing, knitting, mocking, walking...blah blah blah. The sofa has been very comforting lately, it has low expectations of me, which I find all-too soothing.
But here's the rub. Part of me is starting to think that the solution might not be in a magic pill, but more in just getting out and experiencing the world rather than sitting home during the weekends stewing in asocial solitude.Intellectually, I know that's what should happen. I know what the solution should be. And yet, maybe the magic pill could help to get me out in the world in the first place? Does one lead to the other? Coax it out somehow? Or are they not related at all?
The traditional Midwesterner in me is telling me to buck up, get things figured out and quit looking for drugs to solve my problems. The new-agey West Coaster in me is telling me to ask for help when I need it and stop feeling guilty about needing it in the first place. Feeling philosophical tonight. No easy answers here.