There was a point at which one wag declared “Comedy is the New Rock and Roll”. This was on the back of decades of “[colour name] is the New Black” in fashion, so it wasn’t that novel, i suppose, but it did confirm that construction in my mind, and I used variations of it often, and it occasioned my coining of the phrase “Crying is the New Black”, which is something I texted to a friend who I saw from a bus one day in Barmy Park. She was having a cry before getting on the tube, and she reported back that her shrink had approved the saying, so I repeat it here for your benefit.
As a migraineur, I don’t like to have “a good cry”. A “good cry” for me just means guaranteed physical pain, which I get enough of already, so I avoid it. Also, I’ve been on a “mood elevator” for just over a year. I won’t bore you with the details, the whys, wherefores, and contingencies, but I came off it recently. Inevitably, there’s anxiety waiting to meet you after your SSRI/SNRI sojourn, which doesn’t happen on day one, but it’s there. Waiting to FREAK YOU THE FUCK OUT. But when you know what it is you can say – well, this might be the horror of me returning, or else it might be that thing that happens when you stop these drugs and it will pass. Whatever it is it hooks onto, as long as you know it’s not really ‘about’ that thing it can be dealt with. A bit like PMT – don’t make any major decisions when in it’s grip and ride it out. The way it manifested for me was waking up feeling terribly anxious about the possible moving house scenario that’s cooking up chez moi. Once I worked out what was going on I just used my ninja buddha skills and spent the first 20 minutes/half hour of the day doing a breath meditation instead, and that seemed to be enough to see off the worst of it.
The other thing, though, is the crying. I’m not wailing and crying, I’m not heartbroken, I can still maintain my stance on the whole crying thing, but I am finding myself rather more moved by stuff lately. And that is certainly a good thing. Whether a video about a dog being rescued, or something frankly schmaltzy, a little slug of tear will creep down my face, unbidden, but not unwelcome.
I expect the little weeps will dry up sooner or later, me being the equanimous type that I routinely am, but I am welcoming them for the time being. I have seen enough people go on and off these drugs to know that with the tears come all sorts of other feelings, along with the desire to create stuff, usually dampened for the duration. Happily, for me, I continued to blog, but I do know people whose entire online life has gone the way of all things while medicated, and for me that’s most of my friendships as well as some writing and pictures. So, here I am, welcome back, me, whoever I am.