Adjusting

For what it's worth, I feel fine. I appear to have made a complete
recovery from the accident, at least physically. My back hasn't bothered
me in a couple of weeks. The scabs on my leg fell off, and were quickly
replaced by smaller scabs. I resisted the urge to pick at the original
scabs for as long as I could, but eventually the itchy feeling got the
better of me.

My head is a little less well, but getting better. The accident freaked
me out a bit, as you can probably imagine. The night of the accident, as
I was leaving the office, I left my helmet in the second floor bathroom of
building 40. I got as far as my bike before I noticed, and decided to go
back and get it. Good thing I did. At least one other day, I left
the helmet at home, and didn't realize until I was half way to work. That
day, I decided not to go back.

Rather than spending my time thanking my lucky stars, I spent a lot
of time dwelling on the accident. I had trouble sleeping for a week or
two after the accident, as every time I gave myself a few minutes to relax,
the sequence of events of that night would replay over and over in my mind.
This eventually eased up, but I'm still very freaked out about traffic, and
I'm not so keen on driving, let alone biking.

My tendencies toward self-doubt, insecurity, and anxiety
have been getting the better of me lately, and were getting the better
of me before the accident, too. If I wasn't obsessing over the accident,
I was obsessing over my insecurities about work, or the giant TODO list in
my mind, including work, wedding party preparation, medical bills, police
reports, insurance, etc.. I was getting to the point where I was almost
certainly visibly anxious, irritable, and/or depressed at work...certainly
not traits I'm eager to show my new coworkers.

I've been on and off various antidepressants of the SSRI variety for the
past few years, for the anxiety component of my IBS. I just finished
tapering off of Lexapro about a month into my new job. Poor timing, but
Kirsten was very adamant that I not put it off any longer, as
she sees these drugs as a crutch, and not a long-term solution. Poor
timing, nevertheless. I finally saw my new primary care physician last
week, explained what I've been like and what I've been feeling, and she quickly
stated that I should go back on the antidepressants and stay on them.
She suggested Lexapro or Wellbutrin.

I knew what to expect from the
Lexapro, and the side effects were bearable, but I had heard good things
about Wellbutrin from a friend, so I asked for more information. It sounded
like a better deal, in terms of side-effects, so I decided to give it a try.
I'm finishing up my first week on it, and I think it's only just starting
to kick in, but I feel better today. I'm rarely sure whether the good or
bad feeling on a particular day is thanks to the drugs, or thanks to
something in my life actually getting better or worse. Once I'm on one of
these drugs for a period of months or years, I totally forget what I was
like when I was off them. It's an entertaining cycle.

Wellbutrin is interesting, and very unlike Lexapro. Lexapro made me a
little bit tired, and perhaps made me sleep a bit more. Paxil
was the same way, but the side effects were amplified. Wellbutrin
is the opposite. Since I've started it, I feel like I've been on an
extended caffeine high, particularly in the morning. (I take it at night.)
My energy level is much higher, and I hope it stays that way. On the other
hand, I've been waking up in the middle of the night and have been unable
to get back to sleep, which is very atypical for me. Sleep is my favorite
defense mechanism. I tend to sleep off depression, anxiety, and anger,
and it usually works pretty well. Maybe not so much, now.

I'm a little concerned about how a stimulating substance that seems
to speed up my metabolism will affect my general level of anxiety.
I think a malfunctioning fight-or-flight mechanism is primarily to blame
for my stomach trouble. When I get stressed, my digestive system reacts
directly. The stomach trouble gives me something to be anxious about,
which further fuels the stomach trouble. It's a vicious cycle. I'm happy
to be constantly buzzed and energetic, as long as that doesn't bring
anxiety or paranoia along with it. I'll try anything once (a personality
flaw?), so I'll reserve final judgement until I've been on this stuff a
month. I also need to decide whether I am willing to give up drinking
completely. I like to enjoy the occasional beer (or two, or five), as
most of you probably know. Most medicine warns the user not to drink
alcohol while taking it, but the Wellbutrin is particularly clear about
alcohol increasing the risk of seizures...and the highly specific nature
of the warning is enough to give me pause.

On a non-pharmacological topic, I'm still struggling with work. I have
my good days and my bad days, but it seems that my tendency for self-doubt
might be winning a good portion of the time. It's a little over three
months in, and I'm still looking for my groove. I can name a wide variety of
potential culprits for my general level of unhappiness, but I'm really
not entirely sure what the problem is. It's certainly my first job that
is overwhelmingly operations-centric, instead of programming-centric.
I'm not used to having my attention and coding time divided up into 15
minute time slices, scheduled between more urgent operational matters.
I'm not sure if I can be acceptably productive like that. Even if I can
be productive, I'm not sure I can be happy like that. Only time
will tell.

Adjusting to FactSet was a lot easier than this, I
think...but I was also coming from a job that made me totally miserable.
Anything was likely to look better in comparison. I rather enjoyed
my FactSet job, I was very satisfied with the work, my accomplishments,
and my growth, and except for some frustration with the fact that the
company no longer seemed to provide any meaningful amount of equity to its
newer engineers, I had no particular gripe with the company. If they
had properly applied a set of golden handcuffs, I probably wouldn't have
left. I don't regret my decision to leave, but the occasional feeling of
doubt crosses my mind when I have a bad day, a bad moment, or just a bad
mix of brain chemistry. It's not that I want to go back. While I miss many
of the people terribly, I don't really miss the company as a whole so much
as I miss my own feelings of adequacy, security, and comfort. This is
a new ballgame, and I won't have that sort of self-confidence until I feel
I've earned it. Living without it is hard.

Random aside: the man who hit me was arrested for DUI, admitted smoking
part of a joint 2 hours before the accident, and presented no proof of
insurance. My bike still remains with the Mountain View police department,
as evidence. The medical bills that have arrived total nearly $9000, and
I expect more in the mail shortly. My insurance will cover everything,
except for perhaps a couple hundred in copays. If I were one of the
~50 million Americans without insurance, I'd be pretty screwed.