The best way to procrastinate on writing a paper, or two, is Netflix. And once you are through trying to watch one third of every show on there and you've decided that nothing is as good as Sons of Anarchy and The Killing, but you've watched all of the episodes, then you think maybe you should get to the paper, or two, that need writing. But, you simply don't think you've pushed it to the wire enough so what else can you do to fill that gap between Netflix and writing a paper, or two?
Blog, that's what.
So, since it's been forever since I really sat down to blog, let's do that, shall we?
We shall.
I mean, yesterday I blogged, so I guess it hasn't been forever. It sure feels like it though.
Feels like forever when you live in a bubble of your own chaos. I think the bubble has a leak and air and light are working their way into my peripheral. I think I am ready to surface again. Maybe this is premature. I don't know. I don't feel like I know much but I feel the urge to blog and that only happens when I'm feeling pretty good.
So I must be feeling okay or I wouldn't be here, right?
We might be talking about mental health here. Or, more specifically, my mental health. But I sure hate those two words. I avoid them like the plague they are. I don't want to use them. I don't feel like I should be using them, or that I should be allowed to use them because clearly I am sane.
Clearly.
The last 6 weeks have been a bevy of emotions. And most of them bad. It has been up and down and then down again and more and more down until I was so down that the only option left was to go up because going sideways is silly.
I don't even know what that means.
Anyway, it involved weaning off a little white pill that was no longer performing as it should and introducing a multicoloured one that "should help" with the anxiety.
"Should help," said the doctor. "But everyone's different so I guess we'll see."
Oh, joy.
But then I did that crazy person thing. That thing where you tell yourself you're fine, you don't need drugs, you made the whole thing up, surely you did because there isn't anything you can't do, and that has to include choosing to be well in the head. I must be able to make that choice for myself. Right? I mean, happiness is a choice. A choice I willingly make. So that's that, I choose it and so it shall be. And for a few days after I was completely weaned off the little white pill I told myself I was well in the head. I was happy. I was okay. And that was that.
So, I did not fill my new prescription. I was convinced I did not need it. I was all better, as determined, by me.
It took three weeks to wean and it was one of the top 5 most unpleasant experiences of my life. I shook and trembled. I was ill. For one week I had a rage I had never experienced before. I wanted to hurt someone. All the time. And then it passed, just as they said it would. But it was replaced by a zombie who felt nothing. I felt an apathy I had never experienced before. I didn't care if I lived or died. I didn't care if you lived or died. I missed some school. I didn't care. I watched movies, alone, in the dark. I didn't care. I was here, but not present. And I didn't care.
I didn't care about anything. Not a single thing. I never want to feel that again.
And then it passed. Thank the heavens. A few more days and I was declared weaned.
Why would I willingly put myself through anything like that again? Who chooses that? Not me. I never wanted to take a drug that caused me to feel hate and anger and apathy like that. So I declared myself whole.
I was well.
Until I wasn't.....
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