I’ll level with you. I have this blog on queue, and I try to work on it a bit every week, along with my Facebook page and my draft work. And today is my day to work on this. And this is not what I want to do. It’s not the writing or anything like that. Generally, I still like writing. I still like working on projects and all that other nice shiz. Today, I just don’t like much of anything.
Story time!
I’m not new to depression. In the past I’ve been to counseling over it and a couple other issues, and I’ve also been on medication for it for…oh…let’s say a little over two years if my memory is correct?
I’m no longer in counseling because talking to a stranger doesn’t work for me and I’ve never really found one who I liked to talk to where I didn’t feel judged. That’s not a comment on their professionalism or anything like that. I’m sure they are good at what they do. It just didn’t work for me.
I’m no longer taking medication because it kinda stopped working. I tried Zoloft and did fairly well on it, but I started having problems with clenching my jaw 24/7, and after some research of my own and confirmation from my doctor, I weaned myself off it and switched to Wellbutrin for about a month. My body and my mind did not take the switch well at all.
I felt like I had the flu for weeks when I was on it. I went through the worst low of my twenty-nine years of existence, which ended with me curled up in the bottom of the shower bawling because I thought I was going crazy and my boyfriend sitting with me trying to convince me I wasn’t.
It.
Sucked.
Balls.
So, I called my doctor and got the okay to slowly get off it, and had to deal with the withdrawals from not just one but two medications. Phew. Not good times.
So yeah, me and depression are long time friends. Like, not the kind of friends you want to go hang out with on weekends, but maybe the kind a friends you dread going to the bar with because you know they are just going to ditch out on you and leave you to walk home by yourself at two in the morning through alleys and the streets you don’t really like to drive past even in broad daylight.
My analogies suck, but work with me here.
I guess the point of this post is to show that even when it hurts to get out of bed or eat when you’re supposed to or breathe when you’d rather not is that sometimes it’s better to force yourself to do it. Even if you would rather do anything but be productive. Keeping busy is important especially when you are on a low because if you don’t, then the self-depreciation thoughts kick into overdrive, and that shit is scarier than anything else.
This blog post is nothing but an exercise in forcing myself to do what I don’t want to do and seeing how many times I can write a few words before I delete paragraphs because everything I put to page sounds petty. These feelings don’t go well with expository writing, in my ever so humble opinion. Here’s a poem instead:
Late night early
morning late night again
and still I cannot get
these thoughts
out of my fucking head.
I don’t think I want to die in earnest,
but I do think that existing is
harder than what some people
make it out to be.
Whenever someone says something
less than satisfactory to me
(in jest I think it’s in jest I hope it’s in jest)
I tell them that the joke is on them,
because no one can possibly hate me
more than
me.
I say it so often, I’m not sure
which of us is really
joking
anymore.
I don’t know. I think that’s as far as I can push this issue. I guess what you can take out of this is that depression sucks, that getting medication is almost too easy and that just because one thing works doesn’t mean another one will, and that I don’t know which thing sucks more. That’s probably a good topic for another post now that I think about it.
I usually like to end all these things off with a question that has to do with what I wrote about, but fuck that on-topic bull.
Do you like puppies?
Manda Kay Writes 