Control: The Blogging Blues

I, Dalton Lewis, had a mildly successful blog until I rage-quit writing it. Why? The reasons were terrible, as they always are. Lose weight! That was the goal — my life crashed into the ground because of an insane desire to lose weight and have more energy. A strong desire to be skinny and attractive and do what society wanted ruined my life.

Talking to my doctor went great.

“I want to lose weight,” I said.

“I know,” my doctor said.

“I was skinny until I started to take antipsychotic meds,” I said. “I want to lose weight. I’m almost 300 pounds.”

“We can try to stop using the main one, the one that slows you down a lot.”

“Great.”

That was — sort of, I don’t remember exactly — the conversation that we had. I knew that eating less and working out would be the best way to lose weight, but I didn’t want to bother with that nonsense. Switching meds would lose me weight!

The first day: glory. I felt faster, stronger, better, more. I ran around my home, gleefully listening to music and watching old comic book movies. I got some writing done but felt a little distracted. Then my mom asked me if I’m okay.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“Good,” she said. “We’ll see if you lose weight.”

“Yeah,” I said.

Stopping the meds in April went well. It was right when the Covid-19 disaster started to grow, when we had to sit at home doing nothing. Doing nothing happened. Listening to the voices happened.

Degeneration occurred. Lapsing occurred. Running around, barely sleeping, playing games, enjoying the energy. The energy! It coursed through me. I felt more alive than I ever could. I would work out, pedaling on the exercise bike for half an hour a day.

Then they told us not to leave our homes. I was trapped, sitting at home, unable to leave, because if I left the home I might die. The next day — riding the bike felt like too much. The following day — maybe I should pace for a while instead of playing video games. The day after that — pacing all day.

“The voices are back, aren’t they?” I asked.

“I think so,” Mom said. “I’m sorry.”

I stopped doing anything productive at all. I will be honest — I stopped doing anything. Talking to the voices and screaming at the walls became the entirety of my existence. After a couple of months in hibernation we gave me the old meds again.

Within a few days something struck me: I felt better. I was out of the problem, the cocoon, the shell. I had become something more, something different, after these couple of months of not living a life. Starting a blog — happened. Reading more — happened. Writing fan fiction — happened. Working out — happened. Talking to friends — happened. I felt better. Now I am on the other side, and we will see what this new life brings.

Thanks, and take care, friends.