Do you miss me, Miss Misery, like you say that you do?
Triggers for depression and eating disorders behind the cut.
I may be fired from job and my girlfriend and I are this close to breaking up.
But at least I feel, right? At least it's real, right?
I guess it's been a month or more since I stopped taking my anti-depressants. I just ran out and I don't feel like going back to my psychiatrist. There's no way to say I'm smarter than my therapist without sounding like a snob, but it's a true fact. "You know," a friend more crazy and brilliant than I remarked to me once "It's a sign of narcissism that you are convinced that only a small group of people can possibly understand you." Well, then either we are all narcissists or all pathetically unrealistic. And somehow it seems I can be both.
And the month or so post medication I've written more. I've breathed. I feel the same strange sweet melancholy that I used to, and the glorious sadness is okay. It's the days like a few days ago, when utterly drained I lie limp on my bed even though I have sooooo much to do. Too sad to move. The way I used to. I blow off social engagements with my friends though I love them more than I can say. Just knowing they exist makes this time different than any other; for the first time in my life, I feel like I actually have support.
I've stopped eating, too. I've dropped a considerable amount of weight just in the past week, gained a bit of it back last weekend (a shit ton of vodka and pizza can do that to a girl) and then dropped even more this week. That's another reason that I went off the meds: the medication made me content with my body. Now, I want to starve again.
But while I know missing that beautiful hunger is unhealthy, there are some things I think it's okay to be worried about. Before my medication, I used to think about things like death, sorrow, the (in?)ability for human beings to connect eachother, and how to superimpose meaning on a telelogically meaningless existence. How to be a better person. "May I never have a clear conscience...that is when I cease to strive to be good"-badly paraphrased Jacques Derrida.I think's its okay to channel a little neurotic Woody Allen every now and then. It's the goddam hunger shivers that got me worried. And it's the fact that when I wriggle out of the gray into a clear mind, I know I'll regret letting this job and this relationship slide down the drain. It's just right now I find it hard to kinda fucking care.
I may be fired from job and my girlfriend and I are this close to breaking up.
But at least I feel, right? At least it's real, right?
I guess it's been a month or more since I stopped taking my anti-depressants. I just ran out and I don't feel like going back to my psychiatrist. There's no way to say I'm smarter than my therapist without sounding like a snob, but it's a true fact. "You know," a friend more crazy and brilliant than I remarked to me once "It's a sign of narcissism that you are convinced that only a small group of people can possibly understand you." Well, then either we are all narcissists or all pathetically unrealistic. And somehow it seems I can be both.
And the month or so post medication I've written more. I've breathed. I feel the same strange sweet melancholy that I used to, and the glorious sadness is okay. It's the days like a few days ago, when utterly drained I lie limp on my bed even though I have sooooo much to do. Too sad to move. The way I used to. I blow off social engagements with my friends though I love them more than I can say. Just knowing they exist makes this time different than any other; for the first time in my life, I feel like I actually have support.
I've stopped eating, too. I've dropped a considerable amount of weight just in the past week, gained a bit of it back last weekend (a shit ton of vodka and pizza can do that to a girl) and then dropped even more this week. That's another reason that I went off the meds: the medication made me content with my body. Now, I want to starve again.
But while I know missing that beautiful hunger is unhealthy, there are some things I think it's okay to be worried about. Before my medication, I used to think about things like death, sorrow, the (in?)ability for human beings to connect eachother, and how to superimpose meaning on a telelogically meaningless existence. How to be a better person. "May I never have a clear conscience...that is when I cease to strive to be good"-badly paraphrased Jacques Derrida.I think's its okay to channel a little neurotic Woody Allen every now and then. It's the goddam hunger shivers that got me worried. And it's the fact that when I wriggle out of the gray into a clear mind, I know I'll regret letting this job and this relationship slide down the drain. It's just right now I find it hard to kinda fucking care.