...about two weeks

So I took the pill. And I have taken it every day since. And I feel ok. I feel calmer. Less inclined to fly into emotional rages at the slightest provocation. Like Jason bringing girls over to our house to take naked portraits. And honestly, I think the situation with him is one of the main reasons for all this mess in the first place. We have not been together for 4 months but we still live in the same house. He lives downstairs and I live upstairs. He has always insisted that we would be fine being roommates but I have always known better. How am I supposed to get over him when he never goes away. And now, that;s where we are. He's done, ready to date someone else and I'm freaking out about it. I thought I was fine until the possibility actually arose. I realized something the other day though. I was upset and he was hugging me and saying, "My Marlenee," which is what he used to call me. And I had this fear that he was going to say he wanted us to be back together. Fear! That's when I knew, this is right. Not being together is the right thing, it's just going to be hard for a little while. I know we don't work and I know we need to be apart but it would be so much easier if he lived in a different house, if I didn't see him and talk to him everyday, if I didn't see him texting random girls all the time. I told him he HAS to move out or I will go crazy. And he promised that he will as soon as he can afford it. I adore him, I love him, I am attracted to him, I want him, I miss him, I enjoy him....but I need to get over him. And he needs to move out in order for me to do that. That's why these pills are working. Because two weeks ago, I freaked out every time I saw him texting a girl or whenever he would tell me he was going out with a girl, I would start crying and yelling. I even hit him with my sweater once. I was so jealous and upset. And now, because of the pills and because I know, deep down, that this is what's right, I am calmer. More able to just ignore and be patient. I want to meet someone else. I want to go out and date and have fun and live my life and I feel like as long as he is here, I cannot fully do that. We have had a good ride. Two and a half years of ups and downs and craziness and good times. He is my best friend. But he needs to give me time to think of him as "just" a friend.

This weekend was a bust. I got sick on Friday and spent all day Friday and Saturday in bed. I tried to go to work at Red Lobster on Saturday but had to leave when I started blacking out. So, now after hours and hours of rest, I feel so much better. I feel ok. I feel like cleaning and getting ready and doing stuff. I feel like drawing and painting and grading papers and cleaning my car and doing laundry. Life is getting better. I'm feeling better. I don't have to force myself to get out of bed anymore. I feel like I'm going to be ok.

...me versus the medicine

It is sitting here on the table about 4 inches away. Staring me in the face. One little inconspicuous capsule. Hmmm....take this. Don't take this. You don't need this. You need this. You need this help. You have failed at life. You deserve this help. One little pill and I am a doped up, sunnyville, Utah female. Who doesn't hate life anymore. And can sleep at night. Fuck this. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why is this so fucking hard? What's the big fucking deal? Meds. No meds. Who cares? Nobody cares. Nobody will know the difference. Can I just have some opiates instead please? If I'm going to be doped up, I'd rather have the good shit. Let me describe this. No, I can't. It's impossible. It is literally completely IMPOSSIBLE to describe this moment in my life. There are no words that can possible begin to do justice to what is going on right now in my kitchen. It is a fucking war. Armageddon is going down on my kitchen table right now. Ever wondered what the end of the world would look like? It looks like this. A little white oval with a blue stripe and a green stripe and some numbers on it. Except that it is sending out little radioactive waves of communication to my brain that say something to the effect of, "Take me. I'm delicious. I will love you the way no one ever has." I do not have cancer, I am not dying, I do not live in a war-stricken, impoverished third world country...so what is the deal? Seriously? What is wrong with me? Why do I need this? Why can't I just fix it on my own? My doctor said what I have is called recurrent depression and that each time it comes back, it is stronger and gets worse. And she said to think of this, taking meds, as dealing with it, as fixing it. It's not a bad thing, it doesn't mean I'm a loser and a failure. It means that I am being proactive and taking charge of my mental health. It means that I'm not going to let my feelings of despair cripple me and exhaust me and delude me anymore. It means I will be able to hold a conversation without crying. It means I will be able to concentrate during the day and sleep at night. You know, honestly, I admire people who can take these pills and not stress about it. I don't know why I am stressed about it. I don't know why it bothers me. There's no reason for it to. This is to help me. This is not torture or punishment, I went to the doctor of my own free will. I chose to fill the prescription. Why am I being so dramatic about it? I think I need a cigarette. So I can feel guilty about fucking up my lungs and then assuage my guilt by taking charge of my mental health.

...about meds

So I've been having a rough few months. I know it. I can look back through my blogspot entries and see it. I talked to my mom about it. Told her how I have just been feeling shitty and miserable and sad and start crying for no reason. I told her how I try really hard to pull myself out of it by drawing or reading or hanging out with friends or my family or going to shows or the bookstore or on bike rides but how it doesn't really matter. Because no matter what I do, there is this undercurrent of despair. It's always hiding just below the surface, ready to rear its ugly little head at the slightest provocation. Someone pays me a compliment, I tear up. Someone looks at me the wrong way, I tear up. I can't find my favorite black sweater, I tear up. I have been fighting it for months but it's not getting better, it's getting worse. It used to be that I would feel relatively normal for a week to two weeks and then would have a bad day or two but now I'm having a bad day every few days. I can feel the pressure building behind my eyeballs as I fucking write this. My mom told me that depression runs in our family. Her and my sister have to take meds for it. Both her parents had problems with it. Almost all her brothers and sisters have problems with it. I've known this and I have always had bad spells as long as I remember and I have always resisted going to a doctor or even considering medication. Because I felt like taking meds/antidepressants was like admitting that I can't deal with life. But I have never had three months in a row like this. Usually it's like a wave but this is like a wall. It has parked itself in my head and shows no intention of going ANYWHERE anytime soon. I'm tired. No, I
am EXHAUSTED. I'm frustrated. Making myself get out of bed and face the day takes sheer physical effort. I have so much to be thankful for, so much life to love. I have the apartment I've always wanted, I have an amazing family, good friends, I love my job, I'm making art on a daily basis, I have a little bit of money. So why do I feel like I'm drowning? Why do I sometimes feel like it's hard to even breathe? Why does every muscle in my body ache when I haven't been doing anything? Why do I wake up with a pounding head every morning after tossing and turning all night? Last night I went to dinner with my brother and my parents. My mom asked me how I was doing and burst into tears. I can't do this anymore. I have a doctor's appointment on Wednesday. I'm admitting it. I can't deal with it. I am weak. I am lost. I am giving in. I don't know if I'm going to agree to meds yet but going to a fucking doctor about it is a really big deal for me.

...some highlights

from the first three weeks.

"Love is a magenta shoe. I don't know how it is but trust me, it is."

"That's Ms. Hardcore to you."

"Ms. Teacher?" "Yes, Mr. Student?"

"This project is only going to take me like five years."

"This is my best friend that just transferred into this class. Can she sit by me?" Hmmm...let me think about that one.

"This is Art class, not drama class. Save it for after school please."

"You are seriously the only teacher who makes us do that."

"Hey, Miss H. I hear you are like the coolest English teacher ever." "Is that right?" "Yeah, everybody says." "Well, everybody also likes to spread salacious rumors, you shouldn't believe everything you hear."

"I love you like potatoes."

"I don't want to write a poem about myself. I'm not a narcissist." "A. Good word choice. B. You don't have to be a narcissist to write a poem about yourself."

"Sarcasm is my favorite literary device. Followed closely by exaggeration."

"In the desk, not on it please."

"Whoa, too many people in my bubble. Back away from the bubble."

"I apologize. I'm just confused. Why are you out of your seat without permission again?"

"Congratulations. You will forever know the meaning of "pulchritudinous" after this class."

"Free writing is like blowing your nose. Most of the time, it's just snot. But sometimes... you get something juicy."

"Sometimes you write something and then read it later and think, 'man, I'm good!' There's a little hidden genius poet in every single one of you. You just have to stop hating poetry enough to let it out"