(Just had to vomit out some words . . . long post, sorry.)
I don't know how it's possible to be feeling worse lately, but I am. We
hit the two-week mark yesterday, which should have been an occasion for
celebration; my husband couldn't stop going on and on about how great
he felt, but I feel worse every day, like nothing can really make me happy. Of course, he was one of those "I only smoke socially" people, while I was one of those "I only don't smoke when I'm sleeping" people. So that may account for the differences in our moods.
The best way I can describe it right now is it's like there's a hole and nothing will fill it. No point even trying, but I have tried, and I've tried just about everything: water, food, fancy wine, exercise. The times I feel the best are right after working out but they don't last long. Even then, it's not so much that I've filled the hole as that I've obliterated all thought through exhaustion. Still, it's turning into a secondary addiction, power yoga three times a week, grueling uphill runs on the other days, anything to keep myself from thinking about the hole.
The weird thing about the hole is it's not really a craving, or a set of cravings. My cravings are shorter and further apart now, and I feel like I can pretty much handle 'em; the advice I often see here, to wait a few minutes and see if the craving goes away, works well for me, maybe because I am easily distracted. The hole isn't so much a feeling as an absence of feeling. The hole is boredom and lack of enthusiasm for anything and the sneaking suspicion that nothing's ever really going to be fun again. Like, my friend e-mails me asking if we can go to a cute neighborhood and walk around and explore Saturday night, and the first thing I think to myself is "Oh great, another night of faking it." Because all activities just sound dull and lifeless and pointless, even the ones that should be delightful.
I know I'd be even more depressed if I did smoke, so it's not really about that. It's just feeling like it will never, ever get better, that I have permanently damaged my brain chemistry or something, that I'll never get joy out of anything ever again.
If I think about it rationally I know I've really only had this feeling for a few days, and I'll probably only have to slog through a few more. In the meantime, though, I'm like this zombie. It's all just exercise and playing video games and glancing at the clock every three seconds to see if it's a reasonable time to go to bed yet. The days just seem to go on and on forever, full of time I can't fill.