37.5

I've been on the dose of 37.5 mg of generic Effexor for about a week. The initial first few days involved a bit of brain zapping, so one night I took a 75 mg pill in order to soften the withdrawal. 

I'm actually pretty surprised that these are the first zaps I've had since I started weaning off on February 3rd. 

It's been an odd, unsettling time. It's been a benefit to me that the mandatory quarantine came while I was weaning off of drugs. There are days I've napped or laid down to assuage brain fog or dysphoria. 

Then again, how does the added stress of working from home, quarantine, end of fiscal year and the cloud of a global pandemic affect my brain?

Every weekday I watch the national address at 11, and the provincial one at 1. Some days there are new horrors, some days relief packages. I check the CBC tracking system.

They show statistics of infection and death. Reminiscent of a sports stat. 

Every day is absurd. It's frightening. Parts of it are incomprehensible. I am grateful for government work and the stability of it. I am grateful that my mother is well and near me. I am grateful that I live in a country that takes the epidemic seriously, and has enacted measures swiftly, and backed by science. 

I have these personal daily movements, within a fishbowl that is lining a windowsill looking onto other fishbowls and it's unlike anything else I've ever experienced.

I have a few weeks of 37.5 to go, and another appointment with Dr. Paul in a few weeks (Dr. Paul is replacing Dr. Rishi since the latter is leaving his family practice and will be going private). 

I'm at home every day, so you would think I would be able to take the time to sit and write, but sharing my one room kitchen and dining space with my mother means my limiting my common space time to work and necessities. As I write this she sighs audibly on repeat, since she is doing some sort of paperwork that irritates her. It doesn't take much for me to get irritated. 

The energy I do have I try and put on my work hours during the work week. It's difficult. We're in end of year. We're at home. All of our work processes are changed. It's just a mess. It took several weeks before we had a team meeting, and even longer to get any sense of what was expected of us from management. We are considered essential services since we're finance, and it's been a shit-show of patchwork and problem solving. It takes a tremendous amount of energy to navigate. 

I walk the dog twice a day, at least. Trying to get some air and break up the weekday. 

We await the apartment downstairs, which should be vacated for May 1st. That, with it, will bring a few to pay the former tenant off (a long, arduous story that has been) and after it the forthcoming bill I shall expect from our lawyer. How much will be reclaimed of me? I expect several thousand. Will it be three or five? Only chaos knows.

I no longer have one thought at a time. I don't know if I ever did before. It will be a question of time and experience to see how I feel weaning off of the drugs will affect me, both mood and personality wise. 

I've been at home, quarantined since March 16th. The first three weeks of which my mother stayed with my brother. I was lonely, but content. Having her here brings both benefits and irritations. Once we have the empty apartment downstairs, she will have a project, which will help me immensely. 

Forward.