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enteleinThere was a good snowball's worth of snow today in Chicago, and everyone from Schaumburg to Lincoln Park freaked the hell out because they'd been coasting along in this semi-rainy semi-balmy atmosphere for months now, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
And drop it did, a big snow shoe, that melted practically as soon as it hit the floor.
I've been feeling pretty up for a few days, feeling happier, but I am so afraid of the possible downturn that inevitably comes, whenever it comes.
A friend told me the other day:
"Remember how I was telling you that it was good that you were thinking good and hard about waiting to take antidepressants? Well, I rescind that. I am glad I am taking them."
I am paraphrasing the words a bit, but when I heard them, I felt a roar of relief, for that tiny split second, before my pride clamped down on it. Musn't give in. Must do other, more normal things, you know, to help myself. Maybe I need to do yoga, maybe I need to take fancier vitamins, eat more fresh organic spinach, something, anything.
But those words, aye, such a temptation. To give in, isn't that terrible? That I think of this possible (life-saving) measure as something that is an easy quick fix?
I guess it's because I've been getting it from family, and some friends, who are quick to almost admonish me: "Why would you ever want to do that? Medicate yourself? Isn't this just something that will pass? Isn't this just a matter of making yourself happy?"
I wish it were. I am still wishing that that is the case, because even though I've gotten the first step of professional support out of the way, I've been avoiding the situation for weeks, months now.
You just don't know, do you, until you've been inside my head? You just don't know the ridiculous thoughts and the timbre of the world viewed through eyes and ears and heart and soul that are gripped in a fury of fog, strangled in a miasma of hopelessness.
When it's all over, it's like I was the mean drunk, and I am asking forgiveness from the spouse, for hitting them after I hit the bottle. I can see how wrong I was, and it's as if I could make myself feel better, just by being happier. (er, not that I've hit anyone during a 'down' cycle, by the way)
It's not even drama, folks. So many people take meds now to fix what's ailing them emotionally that I am sure most people reading this would think to themselves that I am making a mountain out of a molehill. Perhaps I am. But I see the dream I was in for five or six years of my life, and how waking up has been a dulling and saddening experience, and, well, I am not so sure that I have the reserves to keep up, to get back to where I once belonged.
And drop it did, a big snow shoe, that melted practically as soon as it hit the floor.
I've been feeling pretty up for a few days, feeling happier, but I am so afraid of the possible downturn that inevitably comes, whenever it comes.
A friend told me the other day:
"Remember how I was telling you that it was good that you were thinking good and hard about waiting to take antidepressants? Well, I rescind that. I am glad I am taking them."
I am paraphrasing the words a bit, but when I heard them, I felt a roar of relief, for that tiny split second, before my pride clamped down on it. Musn't give in. Must do other, more normal things, you know, to help myself. Maybe I need to do yoga, maybe I need to take fancier vitamins, eat more fresh organic spinach, something, anything.
But those words, aye, such a temptation. To give in, isn't that terrible? That I think of this possible (life-saving) measure as something that is an easy quick fix?
I guess it's because I've been getting it from family, and some friends, who are quick to almost admonish me: "Why would you ever want to do that? Medicate yourself? Isn't this just something that will pass? Isn't this just a matter of making yourself happy?"
I wish it were. I am still wishing that that is the case, because even though I've gotten the first step of professional support out of the way, I've been avoiding the situation for weeks, months now.
You just don't know, do you, until you've been inside my head? You just don't know the ridiculous thoughts and the timbre of the world viewed through eyes and ears and heart and soul that are gripped in a fury of fog, strangled in a miasma of hopelessness.
When it's all over, it's like I was the mean drunk, and I am asking forgiveness from the spouse, for hitting them after I hit the bottle. I can see how wrong I was, and it's as if I could make myself feel better, just by being happier. (er, not that I've hit anyone during a 'down' cycle, by the way)
It's not even drama, folks. So many people take meds now to fix what's ailing them emotionally that I am sure most people reading this would think to themselves that I am making a mountain out of a molehill. Perhaps I am. But I see the dream I was in for five or six years of my life, and how waking up has been a dulling and saddening experience, and, well, I am not so sure that I have the reserves to keep up, to get back to where I once belonged.
