Fuck it

3/25/13

Damned anti-depressants are giving me results that I am not very fond of:
--crazy, vivid dreams
--headaches that feel like a balloon is being inflated behind my temples
--restlessness- I have all this pent up energy in me and I don't know how to exert it.  It's not caffeine-induced.
--a strange non-desire (is that a word?) to obsess over negative thoughts or glorify suicide

I find the last one to be particularly bothersome.  I'm a habitual Debby Downer, and have been for most of my life.  Unsurprisingly my alcoholism, drug-use, and eating disorder have perpetuated this comfortable cloud of a depression into a frenzy of careless debauchery which I have grown to accept and appreciate.  Yes, I appreciate my depression.  It's the only thing that I am familiar with.  Of course, it encompasses neglect, isolation, episodes of extreme emotional bouts, episodes of staring off into space for hours, but it's what I'm used to and I'm hesitant to letting it go.  It's like my guardian against the world.  And the damned anti-depressants are like invaders trying to wring it away from me, leaving me feeling cold and vulnerable.  I haven't had the chance to sink into my comfortable cloud for a while now.  And as the days pass, I feel like the cloud is getting thinner and thinner, and the invaders are fighting to have me fall through and join the rest of the earthlings in a place where emotions are dynamic and human-interaction is necessary.  Painfully.  I don't like communicating.  I don't like conversing with people, especially with other clients.  I don't mind so much communicating with therapists or doctors because there is a clear role for me to play.  
But with clients, I don't have a role.  I'm one of them.  The eating disorder connects all of us, and so does the fucked-up daddy issues.  I was comfortable in my ED and in my depression until the prescriptions came along.  Taking the meds is part of my treatment plan and my boyfriend would kill me (not literally) if I came off them, so I am playing the role of a "good client".  I thought if one takes anti-depressants when having suicidal thoughts, the suicidal thoughts may increase?  My ST were intense..shouldn't they definitely increase?  This not-particularly-depressing mood leaves me confused.  I don't feel like being a hermit anymore. I can't be a hermit even if I wanted to because it's part of my treatment plan to actually attend treatment 6 days a week.  I'm actually beginning to share more in groups.  ME.  The fucking Debby-Downer-don't-talk-to-me-I-hate-people attitude is slowly fading away just like the comfortable cloud that has held me up and protected me.  
So this socializing tendency is creeping in on me and I'm freaking out because I have gnarly social anxiety.  I bounce from talking about one subject to another, forget what the original topic was, and find myself talking about things like crayons and squirrels.  Even writing this post is taking up so much of my mental energy.  It's been 2 hours since I've started writing.  Not so much editing what I've written so far, but just stopping myself from writing totally nonsensical, irrelevant rambles.  What was the purpose of this post anyway?  Oh yea, damned anti-depressants.

Fuck it.