Bupropion Diaries – Just not a Morning Person

I have to call my doctor today, I’m going away for a work training session and will run out of my script during that time. I’m unsure right now if I should ask her to up it or not. My anxiety has mostly gone away (I’ve also stopped drinking so much caffeine). I am writing, but I’m behind on my scene a day, I include these entries and poetry along with actual fiction scenes. I’m only four days behind though, and I think that I can crank out four scenes today. I’m feeling in the mood to write at least.

This brings me to the conundrum.

I feel better, but I’m still not getting up on time or feeling strong desires or joy. I flop around and hit snooze and cuddle my pets. Sure, warm snuggly pets make getting up hard on anyone, but there’s no reason for me to languish in bed for an hour after I really wanted to get up. In theory I LIKE getting up early. I daydream about walking the dogs for more than five minutes in the morning (maybe 15-20), then taking a shower (30-45 minutes), doing some chores (20-30 minutes), making tea or coffee, eating (so like 20 minutes total), THEN going to work (takes 20-25 minutes). I have to be to work at 7:30. Meaning that to get all that done happily, I’d have to get up at 5 or 5:30. I TRY to wake up at 5:45 at least once a week, turns into sleeping till 7.

This, coupled with my distinct inability to feel joy is frustrating. I realize that feeling content is a HUGE step up from where I was. Where I was involved staring off into space, feeling like an empty sock, and getting so far behind in my work that I am a bit amazed that no one noticed; not to mention the fact that they are spending a LOT of money flying me to a week long training session.

When I speak to my doctor I’ll try to articulate that. I’m better because I feel content, but I would really like to feel happy. Maybe upping the script a bit will help? I’m mildly worried that I am going to feel like this forever and I miss being a very creative person. I am jealous of people that can lose themselves to the muse.

I actually cried over a sad story this past weekend, it’s… oddly a step in the right direction. I hadn’t cried in so long the act made my eyes actually hurt. I’m not exactly recalling dreams at all yet, I’m not sure what to attribute to that, either. I feel like there’s some deep meaning in life and there’s a barrier between me and it.

I’ve never been what I consider a spiritual person. Many of my friends are. They deal with gods or goddesses, they work in their churches or on their own. They are connected to a sense of something because they felt a calling. I want to believe. I want it so badly that it makes my chest tight. However, there is this nagging little doubt within me. If it does exist, I’m not listening hard enough or, just as likely, maybe nothing is calling me at all.


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