I inadvertently discovered what happiness is not this week. I’m working on a Happiness Project of my own (although slowly and badly– haven’t quite found my groove yet), so happiness has been on my mind.
And for the past few weeks or a month or so, I was thinking I must be pretty happy because I’m not sad. I mean, there’s been no depression or fits of weeping or hiding under the covers all day. Those things are indicators of sad. I just felt sort of… nothing. Not bad. Just nothing.
Then last week I finally went to go get my thyroid checked again because it’s been forever since I’ve done it (bad me, totally my fault) and I just thought I should brave the doctor’s office phone tree and get it done. It was waaaaay out of whack. I was surprised. Because usually way-out-of-whack thyroid equals horrible depression-like funk among other unpleasantness, and I was feeling neither depressed-ish nor particularly unpleasant.
So my doctor updated my dose. (When you have a sluggish thyroid, you take pills to replace the hormone it fails to make.) And I started taking it.
And, for a couple of days after I started the new dose, I felt like sheer, utter crap. I was sad, I was angry, I actually did consider hiding under the covers all day. I did almost no work. I sat on the couch in my living room, alone and silent, glaring at the wall. (Good thing no one was around because it was creepy.)
