Be new, already

Blah blah 2011 blah. I'm waiting for the wonderful web designers who created my current site to transform it into a Girlbomb group blog, something I've been nattering about since the summer but have not yet executed due to: severe tendonitis in both arms, emotional stumble into depression, exhaustion as a side effect of anti-depressants, and to be fair a certain amount of laziness and indolence, on top of Certain Interpersonal Communication Issues ("CICI") between me and people who are not me, which group seems to be comprised of the whole lot of you. Anyway, the relaunch is officially imminent, to coincide with the fifth anniversary of Girlbomb's publication, for which I'm having a big reading/party at Bowery Poetry Club on March 11, and I'm excited to expand the online empire, as soon as I get around to doing everything I need to do on my end to make it happen (note to self: get on that).

I don't know what to tell you. I've been practicing meditation since the new year, though I can only go for maybe three-quarters of a full breath before I interrupt myself with some completely superficial train of thought, and I can only keep trying for five or six minutes at a time before I surrender to the tyranny of my brain's chatter. But I've decided that I'm going to keep trying, because it's not making things worse. I know that part of the relief I've felt from anger and anxiety is due to the meds, but I'd like to believe some of it is due to, like, pseudo-Buddhist meditation.

Wellbutrin makes my gums taste bad. But you know what makes them taste good? Surrender. Reading this book about metta meditation; it says you can't control anything, and life's not fair, and the sooner you accept this, the happier you will be. Life sucks and then you die, and nobody should have ever promised you otherwise, but in the meantime, you can think of the things you would really like -- May I have physical happiness, may I have mental happiness, may I live free of danger, may I love my life -- then move on to direct those thoughts at other people, a close friend, a neutral acquaintance, then a person you dislike, then all beings, at which point you are a total master of your emotions and nothing can knock you off your square, even if you aren't on meds. I'm building up to all that. I have a hard time starting with myself; I'm always tempted to jump ahead to "all beings" or "a close friend." But I am going back to the beginning, and when I can meditate on the first phrase for longer than half a full inhale, I will consider myself almost ready to move on to the second.

Bush-wah. Girlbomb sells out, goes all organic-white-linen-sheaths and chunky natural rock necklaces that weigh a ton, a Stonehenge of jewelry. The red hair whites and frizzes as she sits in full lotus in a time-lapse montage of a sunbeam shifting position from one part of the wall over her shoulder to the other. Or she stays "punk," which at her stage of life is...a little Hot Topic. A little Fluevogs-and-Liz-Phair. It's a little bit too pigtails for 40 plus. No, I'm already okay with nagging my friends to do what I do and eat real oatmeal for breakfast every morning because it lowered my cholesterol and provides a lot of fiber; I am only weeks away from doing water aerobics and taking Boniva. All I need to do is go to Pier One and get a standing waterfall sculpture. and I can start modeling for the covers of tri-fold bank flyers about your "investment options." 

What? Yeah, I don't know either. I just wanted to say hello, thanks for reading and commenting while I was away. I'm back and if you're reading this then you are here too, and welcome, or welcome back. With any luck, there's more to come.

Comments

[Satia]

Janice,

You know why I've been silent the past couple of weeks what the in-laws visiting for the first time and then Rob's nearly exploding organs all over the place.

Just before the New Year and my life turned to chaos, my mother said "Ooh ooh ooh we should read this book" and then I said "Ooh ooh ooh you should read this other book" and now I don't know what book we are reading because she said "ooh ooh ooh that other book is great."

Which is my way of asking: What book are you reading?

[amy f.]

Genetic preloading is a bitch. Life's hard enough without your brain chemistry working against you (it takes one to know one).

[carpet cleaning pittsburgh pa]

This is away of giving gratitude to the people who made its way to keep your post alive. I really enjoy the the article and I am inspired by it. Keep it up and continue to inspire us.

[Kirsten]

I'm reading backwards, which means I now have to write my own damn book and say "you're welcome" for reading your blog. I'm confused.

No. I am S.A.D. and Wellbutrin is being a bitch to me and I would like to log a complaint with the board of antidepressants who are nothing but teases and charlatans.

If I count the water drops that hit my head when I sit in the shower, will that clear my mind?

I want very much to be at that anniversary. May I crash it... if I can find funds to do so.

I need to find somewhere to live.

I want to win the lottery so I can specifically wave it in people-who-have-hurt-me's faces and say, "Ha! You can't have any!"

I wish chocolate didn't make me sick to my stomach... and fat.

[The previous has been brought to you by the chattering hiccups buzzing in Kirsten's brain any time she attempts meditation.]

[Sarah Jefferies]

Kirsten, Wellbutrin is indeed a total, irredeemable bitch. So are, IMHO, Paxil, Prozac, and the nearly-ubiquitous Zoloft. The board of antidepressants turned a deaf ear to my complaint, which was screamed at the top of my lungs, so I went back to the pre-SSRI magic pill that saved my life back in the day, Pamelor, aka nortriptyline.

It worked. For 7 pretty good years. Whatever "worked" means when you're talking about a brain chemistry-altering substance that doesn't get you high, but which serves chiefly to keep you alive, unharmed, and hopefully, able to experience that feeling known as happiness. But how can you even approach happy when you can't go anywhere or do anything in public without sweating so much, it looks exactly like you just ducked into wherever you are because you were caught in a freak, sudden, rainstorm of Biblical might?

So...I quit. Twenty years of antidepressants....gone. My life was stable. Nothing was happening, or changing, and I decided, with my doctor's cautious approval, to taper off and fly solo. Nothing, absolutely nothing was ever going to happen in my life that could possibly topple me from my perch of serenity and acceptance. Why not?

And I am still here, 7 months after taking my last antidepressant of any kind, and I don't even remember anymore what it was like to be on them. But my life? You wouldn't believe me if I told you, so I'll save it. Let's just say I have suffered---a lot---but I don't feel like I need to go back on them. Nor does my doctor. "Don't pathologize what has happened to you." OK then---now we're talking!

Evil, evil, evil antidepressants and their libido-robbing, sweat-producing, urination-complicating, empty promises....