In two weeks’ time, I have planted my vegetable garden out back. I have found unwelcome visitors in my cannabis plants inside and hopefully dealt with them. I set up my greenhouse with tomatoes, cucumbers and Pineapple Express. I have stopped thinking about someone my every waking moment. I quit my addiction to Facebook. I started taking Bupropion. So I ought to feel accomplished, right? Well, kinda.
I feel “kinda”. I’m about to go on a trip to see my mom and brothers in Seattle. Okay. Anxiety at the thought of being in a huge city? Meh. The joy I felt as I tended my medicinal plants? Chores. Smoke a bowl of my own grown sweetleaf? Maybe later. This is not me. I’m starting to suspect that this antidepressant the VA has me taking is squelching my inner fire. I did say I’d try it for a few months, and it’s only been a couple of weeks. But if this feeling or lack of feeling is what being on an even keel is supposed to be, I think I’ll have to wean myself off of it when this prescription expires, which is a 90 day supply. That way, I’ll have given it a fair shake. Right? I’d rather have a bit of the ol’ anxiety and feel my feels, than not. Because it’s gone. My spark. My mojo. My muse. I feel like I’ve broken up with my inspiration.