WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING?
I was reading my most recent journal this morning and was taken aback at how depressing it is. I started writing just as my marriage started to fall apart and 75% of the entries deal with some terrible thing that has happened in my life. I know my life ain't been no crystal stair, but damn. How could one man gather so much angst in such a short amount of time?
Easy. I am an eternal optimist who suffers from clinical depression. I live my life with a glass half full philosophy. My nature is to always look toward the best possible scenario. Inevitably, my chemical imbalance doesn’t let that outlook last too long. Right now I am trying to live without medication and it seems not to be working. I thought I could do it, but that’s not the case.
I don’t like my meds. Not because of the side effects, although I do believe Prozac is evil. I don’t like the idea of feeling I may never get off the drugs. I like drugs as much as the next guy-maybe more than the next guy; however, I want to chose my own drugs and take them when I want to. Unfortunately that may not be an option.
If I had a better support network, I think things would be okay. I have wonderful friends and family, they just can’t give me what I need most of the time. It’s because they don’t know what I need or that I need. I’m usually the one who props them up when things go awry. They’re used to that. When I’m out of sorts they don’t know what do. I guess it doesn’t help that I keep space between us. It’s the only way I can function, but I don’t think they understand it. Hell, most people don’t even know I’m on meds.
I’ve decided to stop looking at this as defeat. It can only improve my life. Right?