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holly_evolvingTwenty milligrams of Prozac! Ah ah!
Yep.
I missed work yesterday. I was too apathetic to get out of bed. That's...not good. I joked with my doctor that I'm the least harmful kind of depressed person, because harming myself or others requires doing...well, anything. Which is the opposite of what my depression wants me to do.
Yes, I anthropomorphize my depression. It makes it easier to treat it as something I can fight, as opposed to something that is a part of me and therefore I should just accept it and let it slowly crush me into nothing. I treat it like a parasite that wants to hurt me.
So, I've gone from 10 mgs to 20, which will hopefully help me remain functional while I sit around bored at a job I can barely tolerate anymore. Maybe it will even make me care less that I've gotten sick of doing the exact same thing every week for the last three years. Maybe I'll even be able to look at my story notes and feel something besides shame that I haven't done more with them yet...shame that, instead of motivating me, keeps me from touching them.
My dad's medical cause of death was sepsis following a surgical attempt to remove all of the parts of his colon that were destroyed by cancer. There wasn't enough tissue left to hold the sutures, and they ruptured. Doctors said they could probably clean him up and give him no more than six more painful months. In the end, his two siblings were unable to make any sort of choice, so I made the call alone, and we switched him from life support to a massive morphine drip, and he died peaceful.
Here's the thing: his colon cancer was so bad because he went at least 10 years without any treatment whatsoever. The recovery rate from colon cancer is not 100%, but it's pretty damn good with early detection and treatment. He never got any, because he was apathetic. He felt bad and did NOTHING.
FUCK.
THAT.
I will not go out like that. I will not let this demon kill me.
Admitting that I have a mental problem is a small price to pay for my life.
Yep.
I missed work yesterday. I was too apathetic to get out of bed. That's...not good. I joked with my doctor that I'm the least harmful kind of depressed person, because harming myself or others requires doing...well, anything. Which is the opposite of what my depression wants me to do.
Yes, I anthropomorphize my depression. It makes it easier to treat it as something I can fight, as opposed to something that is a part of me and therefore I should just accept it and let it slowly crush me into nothing. I treat it like a parasite that wants to hurt me.
So, I've gone from 10 mgs to 20, which will hopefully help me remain functional while I sit around bored at a job I can barely tolerate anymore. Maybe it will even make me care less that I've gotten sick of doing the exact same thing every week for the last three years. Maybe I'll even be able to look at my story notes and feel something besides shame that I haven't done more with them yet...shame that, instead of motivating me, keeps me from touching them.
My dad's medical cause of death was sepsis following a surgical attempt to remove all of the parts of his colon that were destroyed by cancer. There wasn't enough tissue left to hold the sutures, and they ruptured. Doctors said they could probably clean him up and give him no more than six more painful months. In the end, his two siblings were unable to make any sort of choice, so I made the call alone, and we switched him from life support to a massive morphine drip, and he died peaceful.
Here's the thing: his colon cancer was so bad because he went at least 10 years without any treatment whatsoever. The recovery rate from colon cancer is not 100%, but it's pretty damn good with early detection and treatment. He never got any, because he was apathetic. He felt bad and did NOTHING.
FUCK.
THAT.
I will not go out like that. I will not let this demon kill me.
Admitting that I have a mental problem is a small price to pay for my life.