Outside world cures
Seeing old people and feeling new. Seeing old friends and feeling new from the experience and looking at my life again in a new way and wondering why I’m not doing more reading and writing. Maybe I’d enjoy life a bit more and actually be a bit more productive if I simply did more reading and writing.
And that’s all it is. Coming up with one thing that will help and moving toward it. This is like the path the milligrams take: without pause, they head toward their goal and plug up those receptors (the SSRIs) and otherwise keep things relatively calm up there (I don’t know how the anti-convulsants I’m taking work). All these pills are meant to regulate electro-chemical misfiring in the brain. That’s their big idea. They mean it. You can’t even stop them once you’ve swallowed them. They’re tenacious and they don’t stop for a break until they run out. And they help a lot.
And then there’s the way we try to help ourselves. Not as direct, in my case. Bordering on scattershot, really. Never tenacious, never single-minded or committed. Hardly ever thought out, and easily distracted from its goal.
It’s time to make the outside world cures as focused and automatic as the inside world cures. What’s first?