Un-Wellbutrin

My psychiatrist doubled my Wellbutrin dose because she loves me and wants me to be happy.

Or, you know, perhaps not so much HAPPY as just NOT an unshowered, self-hating pile of laze.

Six of one, amirite?

I JUST. Need. A MINUTE.

Look, if this is the way the world is going to be, that’s fine. (Well, it’s NOT, but…)
 
But I’m gonna need some designated, socially accepted time for the ensuing breakdowns.
 
“Sorry I disappeared from my desk. I just needed a few minutes to cry about everything. I’m good now!”