It's like trying to hike in full gear through quicksand. That's what finding the right meds feels like. You can make slow steady progress but just when you feel like you've got the hang of this, someone throws a boulder at your head.
It's more than slightly unnerving to feel yourself making progress, only to slip deeper into the muck. It's a kind of progress, I suppose. But it sure doesn't feel like it. I get slivers of stability. Just enough to know what I'm losing when it slips away. Thus making me sink lower than I was before.
I get to have just enough stability for hope of a new and better life to start creeping in. Just as I start to imagine what I'm capable of next... WHAM! Boulder to my head. I'm sinking again.
I wish there was an easier way than experimenting with these brittle vines that look like life lines, but aren't. Like a tree root. Or a ladder. But no, slow moving. Grasping at whatever you can reach, and awaiting the boulder is all you can do.
The progress here feels cyclical. Not forward. I can feel my stamina leaving. I'm exhausted and I wonder what will happen if I just let go?
Will I disappear into the swamp?
Will I just bob around, surviving but resentful?
Will I float my way out on my own? Heh. Not likely.
What I do know is this sucks. And it's discouraging. I feel like I'm letting my loved ones down. I feel like the opposite of progress. I feel like a failure.
So I'll keep wading slowly. Dodging boulders, and trying to find a lifeline.
Or maybe I'll just get really good at living in swampy quicksand.
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