My birthday brought me many things. A haircut, a sewing machine and classes to learn how to use it, a baskin robbins ice cream cake (personal favorite), a surprise sister-in-law (congrats to my brother, Max), and the distinct feeling that my anti-depressants are finally starting to work. As birthdays go, it was a pretty good one.
Since i am starting to feel better, i think it would be really fun for all the kids out there in blogland if i posted a previously unreleased blog that was written pre-crazy pills. Now to be honest, i was self-medicating at the time which enabled me to hash out some of my negative feelings from a more distant, objective point of view. This is important to know because what i wrote is a little bit erratic and not particularly well written or punctuated.
So here she goes:
"it's a strange thing in a way that i am even making an effort with a blog. really, i tend to have a strong dislike for the whole writing process. First of all, all of my ideas are a lot more interesting inside the confines of my own mind. Once i vomit them up into written form, they become....dumb. Embarrassingly so. and then i feel compelled to sit there with the garbage i wrote, and try to improve upon it. a sow's ear into a silk purse kind of idiocy. and turning a sow's ear into a plain old purse takes long enough, let alone trying to make it actual silk. so i settle for a simple sow ear purse, which is what i deliver. but the point is, it takes an extremely long time for me to create even that mediocre piece of crap, and so i find writing endlessly frustrating and generally unrewarding. and here i am writing, so i don't even know what that means or says about me.
anyway, i feel this blog has a clear enough disclaimer as its title, so if anyone feels like they are wasting their time reading this mind-rot, it is his or her own fault. i wash my hands of the responsibility that someone is wasting their oh-so precious minutes as a living human hearing my insignificant thoughts. that's all there is to say there, i think......i feel moderately better.
things have been more difficult for me than usual. i am unhappy more deeply and more often than in the most recent years, kind of going back to the way it was when i was a wee miserable highschool kid. and i hate seeing this written out because it makes me feel more disgusted with myself. i mean, honestly, what do i have to be sad about? nothing. my life in the scope of all human life, could not get much better. i probably can't even come close to comprehending the sort of suffering of people in war torn, poverty, and/or famine stricken places. so there's a whole lot of the self-loathing thing for being miserable when i have no right to be.
So now i am going to being seeing two therapists at once...a psychologist for "therapy" and a psychiatrist to assess if i should go back to taking medicine. and these people charge an obscene amount of money. i told my husband that i feel worse instead of better when a therapist personally tells me how much i am being charged, just to make a more bearable experience out of having to listen to me whine and cry for an hour. it's just fucked up. and really, i don't think therapy will help me because my thoughts are such a convoluted mess (i should know, i have the best vantage point) and i always run into contradictions or various disappointing conclusions when i try to untangle it. and it irritates me when other people try to untangle it for me, because they always come to the same parts that i have already discovered and worked through, and it takes time to explain this to them, and inevitably they get lost in the mess too, and then we all hit a wall and nothing is fixed. really, i find visits to the mind doctor to be a bit of a time and money waster. i don't know that i can really "work through" my issues. i just don't. my perceptions and approach to life, however clinically "skewed" or "wrong" they may or may not be, are not really going to change. i know that medication will make me less inclined to feel hopeless in my negative worldview and therefore allow me to function better in this life. i may actually enjoy the pleasures of life more than i do now, laugh a little more (i can always laugh), but i get the sense that i will always have a an innate inclination towards melancholy, and every experience, no matter how outwardly enjoyable, will continue to be fringed with the weighty knowledge that the moment of "happiness" will soon pass and give way to anxiety, disappointment, numbness, depression, anger, frustration, exhaustion, and la dee da. sometimes it seems that moments of happiness and pleasure exist only to distract us and give us reprieve from all that is cruel and sordid about life. this view is probably indicative of an unhealthy mind, but to me, it seems so obviously clear. i suppose most people do not see things this way, but instead: "life is beautiful." maybe i have felt this way before, but i can't remember. the medication is supposed to help with this. at this point, i will sell out myself and what i feel is an honest (though unhealthy) world view, for some medicated relief. initially dead against going back on anti-depressants, the last month has made me rather desperate for a break from the steady march of lows i've been experiencing. at least on medication, i will be a more bearable person for others to be around. i don't like being a drag or a strain on my family and friends; that just makes everything worse. for everyone's sake, probably including my own, it's back to pharmaceutics."
If you're still awake after that shamelessly self-indulgent diatribe, Congratulations!
Ugh, i knew when i was writing that crap that i would live to regret it. I was right, as usual. And my punishment is humiliate myself further by allowing other people to read it.
I think we've all learned a valuable lesson here today, boys and girls. Keep popping those pills!
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