It’s going on 2 am and I’m awake for no other reason than that I feel like it, thankyouverymuch.
I stayed up to finish reading The Girl on the Train because I just HAD TO KNOW who did it–
(AND I was right, thankyouverymuch)
–and then I finished reading the book hours ago and opened up Allie Brosh’s Hyperbole and a Half book and saw that it was only 100 pages and I decided to just read a little bit of it and now I’m on page 42.
And now I’m just still awake just because I am.
Tomorrow’s gonna SUCK.
But right now? I totally don’t care.
The awesome part, though? I totally don’t care in a “I’m an adult and I can stay up as late as I feel like it even all night if I wanna” way, and not in a “I’m depressed and can’t muster the energy to care about sleeping” way.
There’s a HUGE difference that you only know if you’ve been on both sides.
Depression has been on my mind a lot lately.
Okay, truth be told, depression has been on my mind for three and a half years and, really, probably longer than that.
But I’ve been thinking about it from a totally different perspective lately. Where once I was wading waist deep through that horrible, pointless shit-filled swamp, making the conscious decision multiple times every day that I was just going to survive through the day and sometimes through the next minute, now I look at my life and think, Hmmm, things are pretty damned good.
It’s really weird.
Because I look back on those dark days of two summers ago and it feels like a weird sort of dream. Like it never really happened. Or maybe it did, but to someone else who then told me about it.
I don’t really have a point to this post. I don’t think I ever did. I kind of just felt like writing and when it’s in the middle of the freaking night you just kind of write whatever comes out of your brain, whether it makes any sense or not.
I don’t know. Is this post about depression? Not really. But it isn’t NOT about depression either.
I have an appointment with my therapist in a few hours. I still see him every other week. I’ve been thinking about cutting back because it seems like I have less to talk about with each visit, but I’m scared to just stop going altogether. Because I DO remember how fragile I once was. How on edge. And I don’t want to go back there again.
So I keep going. And I keep having stuff to talk about, without having to search for things. But I sense that an ending is near. Or, at least, a break.
And then there’s the medication.
I want to stop taking it.
I have this deep-rooted sense that I just don’t need it anymore.
Not that I’m cured or anything. I don’t honestly believe you’re ever CURED of depression. At least not when it’s been a lifelong struggle. But I just feel in my bones that I don’t need that concoction of pills I take every morning.
(Okay, since I’m going for honesty here, I usually only take them 4-5 days a week anymore and skip almost every other day.)
I brought up the idea of weaning off of them. My psychiatrist, who is possibly crazy, told me this isn’t an option. That my mental health situation is such that I pretty much need to just plan on being medicated for life.
I don’t like that answer.
Especially when I question the motivation behind it.
I mean, the guy is getting a hundred bucks (thanks, insurance!) every month when I walk through the door to meet with him for 2.4534 minutes while he writes out my new prescription because he doesn’t give refills and requires me to come in every month to get a new one.
It makes me wonder. Does he REALLY think I need to keep taking them? Or is he thinking more about his practice’s bottom line?
I mean, I guess that’s probably a serious allegation. It would mean malpractice, and I’m certainly not accusing him of that.
I just…wonder, is all.
And when I have that down-deep-in-the-gut feeling that I just don’t need them anymore, I question it even harder.
I think it’s really just time to be super straight with him and say, “Look, I’m coming off of these with or without your help but with your help will be much healthier.”
Again, I don’t even know what my point is with all of this.
I just…needed to write, I suppose.
What’s on your mind?