Went for an 8K walk today. One current goal is to get in shape and reduce the weight gained due to overeating in response to depressive events. The second goal was to mull over a decision in regard to going on medication.

The crux of the problem centres on something written in a prior post on Self Narrative:

I exert significant effort in the belief that such effort will assist me in recovery.  But, when I encounter a true perception of my current state,  I experience cognitive dissonance due to the extreme disconnect between my narrative of a recovering self,  and the actual facts.

My sense of the problem is that I am anchored in my present way of doing things. When I contemplate going on medication there is a sense I will be giving up control to an unknown foreign element. I have no idea how I will react. There is no way to predict possible side effects. I am not even certain I would remain cognizant of myself. I worry about losing the ability to derive insight into my situation. Those are the negative prospects.

On the other hand, I also experience a frequent desire to blot all of this out, to make my problems go away, bury them. I do not know how to deal with TBI, this loss of mind, of competence, of self. During the walk, I continued thinking that perhaps all this experience is merely part of a bad dream, that I will wake and find the problems gone, and my prior life resumed.

I recognize I cling to text creation as a means to redress the situation, as a form of medication. This blog has become a lifeline, a diary, a means to achieve psychic stability, an opportunity to investigate myself, and to make unexpected discoveries. It has great value. I worry I would be unable to continue with it were I on medication.

The counter argument derives from the times I find myself engaged deep in mindless routine. My latest project concerns a problem I inadvertently built into the blog. I am now going back through 130 odd posts, correcting the problem. Last night I found myself deep in another bottomless data project, making endless entries in a spreadsheet, the purpose of which I now forget. My sense is that this mindless activity forms a defence against depression. Or perhaps it is symptomatic of depression. Or it functions as a means to climb out of it, to reassure myself that I can perform, even if that performance is a mindless, endless, repetitive task.

The upshot of today’s walk? With regard to the second goal, no decision was made. The current plan is to discuss these issues with both my doctors.