When I come off the medication, does it mean I’m cured? Officially speaking, am I as mentally stable as I’m going to get? My illness has defined me for so long, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to not have it hang over me constantly.
It’s actually been something of a safety net, allowing me to fall back on it as an excuse whenever things got overwhelming. Will I still be able to do that if I come off the medication? Or will my excuse be “I used to be depressed”? I don’t know if the extra pressure is going to be bearable or not until I’m knee deep in it, and that scares me.
But what scares me more is what will happen to me if I do crack again. You can come back from that once, but if I’m knocked down that far again I don’t think I’ll ever have the courage to push myself in any way at all for fear of replicating an outcome I’ve seen twice before.
I don’t really know how to end this, other than to say I’m terrified right now.
So my next psychiatrists appointment is early next month, and it’s probably going to be the beginning of my my weaning off of my medication.
If you’d’ve asked me a couple of months ago if I was alright with the I would have said no, but as of late I’ve found myself thinking more about it, and I think my answer has changed. As long as I feel as good as I do now, then I’m happy to come off them.
Katie pointed out that on the occasions that I’ve forgotten to take my pills I said that I felt much sharper, mentally and psychically. I’ve been entertaining the thought that I might actually be even better than I am right now, which would be fantastic, not to mention the liberation I would feel just not having to take pills every night to feel happy or comfortable in my own skin.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. If I can at least be as good as I am now, but without the need for the medication, I will be happy.
Anger was never really something that I expressed when I was younger, being almost impossible to offend or get any real human reaction out of at all. I never really figured out how to fit in properly and became secluded among my peers, which gave me a lot of time to observe and think. My heightened sense of emotional understanding is as a result of those times, and only when I was broken down in even my most fundamental structures did I finally begin to express myself properly.
Until that one big psychological breakdown I hadn’t dealt with the anger I had towards anything, other than in passive aggression that I kept very close to my heart, and even when my father died I couldn’t truly express the full spectrum of my feelings. Anger isn’t really a feeling people associate with the death of someone close, but it’s definitely one of the big ones in there, and while I still refused to acknowledge it for years to come out of some inflated sense of god-like superiority, it only grew larger, until it became one of the primary means of communicating my ideas. My frequent rants are a result of this.
Most of us experience a vast array of emotional states, and we only do ourselves a disservice to approach any one of them without the same passion that we approach the others. These are what make us human, and although they can be weaknesses, they are also our strength.
The song “Passive” describes, with haunting accuracy, how I felt when my father died, but that I was too self-righteous and quietly invested to articulate. It’s strange how one can be drawn to such art without even realising the meaning which it holds in their hearts.
Dead as dead can be The doctor tells me But I just can’t believe him Ever the optimistic one I’m sure of your ability To become my perfect enemy
Wake up and face me Don’t play dead ‘cause maybe Someday I will walk away and say You disappoint me Maybe you’re better off this way
Leaning over you here Cold and catatonic I catch a brief reflection Of what you could and might have been It’s your RIGHT and your ability To become my perfect enemy
Wake up (Why can’t you?) And face me (Come on now) Don’t play dead (Don’t play dead) ‘Cause maybe (Because maybe) Someday (Someday) I will walk away and say You disappoint me Maybe you’re better off this way
Maybe you’re better off this way You’re better off this Maybe you’re better off…
Wake up (Why can’t you?) And face me (Come on now) Don’t play dead (Don’t play dead) ‘Cause maybe (Because maybe) Someday (Someday) I will walk away and say You fucking disappoint me Maybe you’re better off this way!
Go ahead and play dead (GO!) I know that you can hear this (GO!) Go ahead and play dead (GO!)
Why can’t you turn and face me? (WAKE UP!) Why can’t you turn against me? (WAKE UP!) Why can’t you turn against me? (WAKE UP!) Why can’t you turn against me? (GO!) You fucking disappoint me
There’s something about space that fills me with excitement and absolute terror. The size of it is enough to drive you to cthuvian insanity from just trying to imagine it, but the billions of wonders out there and the limitless possibilities make it so enticing. It makes me genuinely despondent to think that I will never be able to see any of it with my own eyes.
And then there’s the ocean. This massive section of our planet is an almost impenetrable depth, devoid of light and most heat, and full of alien horrors the likes of which I can only conceive of in my most depraved of nightmares. Those crushing, lonely depths are equally hard to fathom, yet somehow more terrifying.
I've tried to type this description about four hundred times now, and it always turns into a serious passage about my life and what this blog is about, which I guess is what you're looking for if you're reading a blog description.
However, that is totally not who I am, and it's definitely not how I want to come across. Yes, there's a lot of serious, dark, and fucking horrendous stuff detailed in these pages, but on the surface, and down to a certain depth, I take things less seriously than most clowns.
My roots are in my "about the author" page, but who I am on top has eveolved a lot from that. So here we go, welcome to my bizarre little world of rants, social comentaries, and "comedic" observations.