Musings of an Old Man

Whatever this used to be about, it is now about my dying. I'll keep it up as long as I can and as much as I want to.

Name:
Location: Columbus, Ohio, United States

I'm a 69 years old white, male, 6'1", 290 lbs., partially balding in the back. I was married for ten years and fathered two children, a daughter and a son. My current marriage (2nd) will celebrate its 39th anniversary November 4. The date will be in the news because it was the same day as the Iranian hostages were taken at the US Embassy in Tehran. (Obviously, I had a better day than they did.) I'm a Vietnam Veteran ('71-'72). I have worked as a Computer Programmer, Project Manager, Graduate Teaching Associate, Technical Writer, and Web Developer. I own, with my wife, a house and a dog.

Friday, March 10, 2006

New Meds

I saw my psychiatrist yesterday. After reviewing how I've been doing of late, he agreed that the Lexapro I've been taking has probably played out. I'm now transitioning to a newer SSRI, trade name Cymbalta. I don't even care if it's a placebo effect; anything that helps lift this depression is a good thing for me.

Depression is so frustrating. I want to be motivated. I want to care. I want to do things besides sit around in zombie state. I want to be able to string coherent thoughts together on paper and have those thoughts be about something other than my health.

For me, the most positive thing I've done during this bout of depression is to keep writing something. In the past, I haven't done even that. Writing at least forces me to connect, even for a brief period of time. It doesn't matter that almost no one reads these thoughts or that fewer care to respond. At least when I'm journaling, if nothing else, I'm keeping in more conscious touch with myself. I'm more consciously aware of how I'm feeling and what I'm thinking.

More later (maybe).

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