Stalled

It just hit me: I'm feeling stalled. In fact, I dare say, I AM stalled. It's like I somehow can't get going, but am not so distressed about it as I would imagine. Is this merely the antidepressants? This worries me. I'm not getting as much done as I'd normally like to be getting done, but at the same time, I'm not so upset as normal about not getting things done. It's like I'm not making progress somehow, but it's just not grating on my nerves the way it normally would. And I have to ask myself: is this who I want to be? I know that maybe this doesn't make sense. I tried to explain it to J. the other night, and I realized that it's all pretty darn complicated, and it's near impossible to articulate. But it comes down to this: I'm suddenly afraid that I won't be me anymore without stress and anxiety grinding down my psyche. Really. I'm afraid that I'll be stalled forever, that I'll never amount to anything, but that I'll just never care. This is not at all how I perceive myself, at least until very recently, nor is it the way I want to live my life. I want to commit myself to my work and to crafts and to books and to people, and I want to do all these things passionately. Lately, my greatest passion seems to be physical comfort. And so, I find myself stalled. And I don't know what to do. I am wondering if living with anxiety, however debilitating it sometimes became, was preferable to this. I mean, often the anxiety got in the way of my peace and satisfaction, but at least I was getting stuff done. I was knitting and reading and scrapbooking and thinking and reading. Now, it seems that I'm content watching Law and Order, my not-so-guilty pleasure, all night. And more than ever, I'm content with being alone. Contentment is certainly good. But can't I have balance? Can't I have contentment and still work the way that I want to be working?