Okay kids, I need to talk about the pills.
(tl;dr : I cried today and puppies are God)Ā
The pills I take to calm my itty-bitty slice of mental illness. My diagnosis and prescription are for anxiety disorder, but the pills arenāt helping. At least, Iām not sure. Today was a very rough mental health day for me, I didnāt get anything done.Ā
But I cried. It was nice to have a good cry. Once it was over, that is. During the cry all I could think about was how Iām worthless and talentless and no one will hire me and nobody should date me and my family probably all makes fun of me behind my back. In my head I heard a combination of my dadās and an exās voices telling me that I made this bed, and now Iām going to lie in it. More like die in it at this rate, says my emo little brain.Ā
So hereās me, trying halfheartedly to put up Christmas decorations for my mom (because before I moved back in with them three weeks ago my parents had no reason to put up all this old shit so they had no holiday cheer, like at all, how dare) and I just canāt do it. Thereās no cheer in me. Thereās only sinking worthlessness. So I cry. I sit down on the kitchen floor and Iām just having a nice early afternoon sob with my coffee when my parentsā beloved puppy, whom I call The Princess, starts whining and pacing until she walks over and starts licking my eyeballs. Thatās right, my eyeballs. Not my cheeks or chin like normal. Nope. This skinny bundle of fur and teeth FUCKING KNOWS IāM EMOTIONALLY ALL WRONG BECAUSE DOGS ARE ANGELS AND I DONāT EVEN KNOW WHY WE HAVE TWO DIFFERENT WORDS FOR THAT BECAUSE THEYāRE THE SAME THING.Ā Ā
But, back to the pills.Ā
Today was not an anxiety attack. Today was just a cry. A year ago I had trouble telling the two apart, but not today. There is so much stress in my life, and rightly so, but while my brain is telling me on repeat that Iām doing the right thing, the weight of my choices is crushing me. The worthlessness wonāt go away. It eases up sometimes, sure, but itās still there, humming discreetly like a ceiling fan. Itās there before every little task around the house, every single sentence in polite conversation with Dad. It asks me twelve questions at once and demands and answer before I can proceed, itās a scary A.I. that ovverrides my boards until I can pick a solution and then it follows up to make me check my work. And I canāt even write about it! I tried. Iām just so frustrated, and angry, and scared and embarrassed, that everything comes out mean. Like this post. And Iām sick and tired of being sick and tired and I know that itās all my fault, really, I get it - But I want a damn break from this heavy heart while I work my shit out.Ā
I envy nutters and sociopaths (like Trump, and several of my old bosses) who donāt give any fucks. They donāt let people walk all over them out of politeness, and they donāt think twice about the money theyāve wasted or the people theyāve hurt and just keep on fucking around. It would be really cool to have that emotional entitlement for even just a day.Ā
I know when my friends post a really personal story like this, they ask for cute fluffy animal .gifs or funny memes, but that wonāt make me feel better. You know what I wish? I wish these damn PILLS would make me feel better without side effects, or at least make me calm enough to actually stay focused and commit to small chores, but magic doesnāt exist in this world so I guess if you need me Iāll be sloshing through this shared Millennial-perpetual-existential-crisis lifestyle oneĀ āit meā post at a time.Ā
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