Medicated to the one I love, p4
Thanksgiving went quite well, as did my annual bake-off with Mary and Daniel (and the bottle makes four!) In exchange for overflowing my bounty of yeast rolls, I was fed not once but twice...CRAZY amounts of food, and all of it was great. It was nice having my grandmother here, this year.
But...the day or two after Thanksgiving were kind of dark and desolate. Black Friday is a plague that I make it an annual habit to avoid contracting (in fact, I never set foot out of the house), but this meant I couldn't go pick up my prescription refill, which I had been out of since the previous Wednesday. I had managed to hold up just fine through the holiday because nice things were constantly happening, but as soon as it was over, I crashed pretty hard. I got into a nasty fight with Janice. Later in the evening, I ended up melting down in the car on the way to a party we were supposed to go to, and making her take me home...which sucked, but it was at the time of this incident that my girlfriend suddenly realized that I wasn't just being a whiny jackass.
"I'm sorry. I think sometimes I expect too much out of you. I...you know. Forget."
(I know. I just hate to be a broken record.)
The next day, she went to pick up my medicine. Didn't ask, or make me call it in, or anything. I know it sounds ridiculous, but when I'm in a low slump, even picking up the phone to tell someone that I need my prescription number refilled, which is well within my rights and will necessitate absolutely no further questions, is just...beyond me. I could more easily pick myself up by my own shoelaces. Usually, this necessitates a roaring row between milady and I, as she desperately tries to get me to do this simple thing, and I curl up into a ball of refusal and self-loathing. But not this time. And that...means a lot.
A few days and a few pills later, this entire episode seems incomprehensible to me. If I ever needed any clearer proof that DEPRESSION AND ANXIETY ARE NOT PERSONALITY CHARACTERISTICS, THEY ARE A FUCKING DISEASE, this is it. Sure, I am sad, sometimes. Melancholy, even. But I am not chronically, destructively, uncontrollably so, for no goddamn reason. When I'm taking my medicine and that behavior has STOPPED, it becomes difficult to romanticize.
Depression is a distortion in the lens through which you view reality. It is a defect in your filter. It means that instead of seeing the good and bad things in your life, you start to lose track of the good ones and zoom in with false clarity on the bad. And fuck that.
I don't want to live, I want to LIVE.
But...the day or two after Thanksgiving were kind of dark and desolate. Black Friday is a plague that I make it an annual habit to avoid contracting (in fact, I never set foot out of the house), but this meant I couldn't go pick up my prescription refill, which I had been out of since the previous Wednesday. I had managed to hold up just fine through the holiday because nice things were constantly happening, but as soon as it was over, I crashed pretty hard. I got into a nasty fight with Janice. Later in the evening, I ended up melting down in the car on the way to a party we were supposed to go to, and making her take me home...which sucked, but it was at the time of this incident that my girlfriend suddenly realized that I wasn't just being a whiny jackass.
"I'm sorry. I think sometimes I expect too much out of you. I...you know. Forget."
(I know. I just hate to be a broken record.)
The next day, she went to pick up my medicine. Didn't ask, or make me call it in, or anything. I know it sounds ridiculous, but when I'm in a low slump, even picking up the phone to tell someone that I need my prescription number refilled, which is well within my rights and will necessitate absolutely no further questions, is just...beyond me. I could more easily pick myself up by my own shoelaces. Usually, this necessitates a roaring row between milady and I, as she desperately tries to get me to do this simple thing, and I curl up into a ball of refusal and self-loathing. But not this time. And that...means a lot.
A few days and a few pills later, this entire episode seems incomprehensible to me. If I ever needed any clearer proof that DEPRESSION AND ANXIETY ARE NOT PERSONALITY CHARACTERISTICS, THEY ARE A FUCKING DISEASE, this is it. Sure, I am sad, sometimes. Melancholy, even. But I am not chronically, destructively, uncontrollably so, for no goddamn reason. When I'm taking my medicine and that behavior has STOPPED, it becomes difficult to romanticize.
Depression is a distortion in the lens through which you view reality. It is a defect in your filter. It means that instead of seeing the good and bad things in your life, you start to lose track of the good ones and zoom in with false clarity on the bad. And fuck that.
I don't want to live, I want to LIVE.