July 16, 2003 @ 1:32 p.m.
In Which Our Herione Ponders Her Medication

I realised a few weeks back that I really do actually need the antidepressants I'm taking. That sounds bleeding obvious, so let me explain. Ever since I started taking medication I've had countless people, some of whom know me well, many of whom do not, telling me I don't need it. Because obviously they can see inside my head and feel everything I feel and are the best people to judge what I do and don't need. Of course! My doctor and my psych-o are kidding themselves if they think they know what's best for me. My needs and how to meet them are best decided by someone who knows me well enough to know that I'm on meds but not well enough to know all the reasons. I can't believe I was so stupid and didn't take that into account.

But anyway. I have this terrible habit of interrupting myself. Everyone else, too, as a matter of fact.

A few weeks ago I forgot to take my medicine. For five days straight. It wasn't a deliberate at all, I'm just very bad with medication - I've been on the Pill for five years and can still barely remember to take it. I'm very absent-minded when it comes to that stuff. Anyway, I didn't take my antidepressants and I crashed. Badly. I don't want to go into detail lest I come across like some bad teenage diary, but let's just say that my head was not a pretty place to be at all. Fortunately I realised some, if not all of the problem was me not taking my meds. So that fixed that problem.

It made me realise that, at this point, I need antidepressants to function on a day-to-day basis, which in my books is cause for depression in itself. It also made me think that my goal of being off them completely by the end of the year may not be viable. I refuse to be on them forever, though, so I guess I'll just have to do what I can in the meantime (hi Issues, it's time I dealt with you), and hope my brain chemicals sort themselves out. And ignore the little voice inside my head that's saying "But depression runs in your family...YOU'RE REALLY FUCKED, HAHAHAHAHAHA, HAVE A NICE LIFE, PSYCHO!" and words to that effect.

I have discovered it's nigh-on impossible to kill the little voices in your head by stabbing yourself in the ear with a cotton tip. How unfortunate. (On the upside, I now have totally wax-free ears!)

So to reiterate to myself: this is not forever, and hey, you're not failing Uni anymore!

The good thing is, I have cut down on my dose. I've gone from one tablet a day to half a tablet a day. Initially it was because I was flat broke, but I've found that half a tablet seems to work just as well. So, hooray for that. Hooray for the amount I spend on various potions and pills every month going down a bit.

I've given up on trying to read Prozac Nation. It's too painful and brings up too many of my own issues. I kept hearing "oh, you'll hate it because she's so self-absorbed", and yeah, she is, but I can also relate to what she's saying. We have lots and lots of the same stories. The weird shit from childhood, the inappropriate sexual attention from men from a young age...all that rollicking good fun stuff. The main differences I can see in the 70-odd pages I've read are that she grew up in New York and I grew up in Buttfuck; and she grew up to be really pretty and I...have a bit of a self-image problem, it must be conceeded.

Also, I have found that not having enough sex makes me foully cranky, whereas lots and lots of sex makes me happy (albeit bruised and weary). This is the best excuse I've come up with yet for cobbling together a harem of willing and nubile men.

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