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 have a lot of feelings…”

I take the pill in a way that allows me to skip my period. But every so often my body just decides to spot until I let it happen, so I am, and now I’m about to cry at 10 a.m., and OH RIGHT, this is why I don’t DO THIS SHIT.

Sweet Home Anxiety

I’m watching Sweet Home Alabama, and even when I saw it in the theater, when he takes her into Tiffany and tells her to “pick one” engagement ring, I got anxious. That’s too many choices, I’ll be here for 14 hours. YOU pick one. I’m-a go get a pretzel.

(And by “YOU pick one,” I mean pick one at Kohl’s and use the rest of the money to take us to Italy.)

(OK, fine, not really Kohl’s — I’m not THAT bad. But he’d know which friends to call.)

The early bird gets the anxiety.

“Hey, Brain? I acknowledge I’ve made several minor mistakes this morning that could’ve been avoided easily if I were a better organized person. Could you stop being a dick to me about them for just, like, 3 minutes?”

“…Sorry, have we met?”

Listen here, jerkstore — I go see the nice lady tomorrow, and if I tell her you’re getting outta line, she WILL medicate that smug look right off your dumb face, dumbface. Get your shit together.

See, THIS is why I shouldn’t be alone with my thoughts.

This is kind of a lot for a Saturday morning, but I need it out of MY head, so I’ll just vomit it along to you fine people!

I’m going to talk to my therapist about this on Monday, and I’m really not looking forward to it, because I don’t even know where to start in figuring it out.

I don’t know why I can’t just TALK to guys on dating apps. Every time I try to, I freeze up, get anxious, and run away. And I don’t know if it’s because I don’t actually want to date, or that I think I’d feel overwhelmed if I added that to my life (which often already overwhelms me — thanks, Anxiety!), or if I’m scared to…get hurt? To have something actually work out?

I’ve tried thinking about it and I got nothin’. Maybe I just believe I’ll meet someone in person like I always have — online dating has never gotten me anyone worthwhile, so maybe I’m convinced it’s not worth it. I don’t go out a TON, but I go out more than I used to, so it’s not like online is the only way I’m going to meet men.

Do I just really not want to shave my legs more often?

My guess is that it’s all of the above. But if I really don’t want to or don’t think it’s worth it, then I should just delete the accounts and stop wasting everyone’s time.

Ugh. Therapy is gonna suuuuuck. She’s going to make me…feel feelings. And ahhh, fuck, I BET she asks about my dad. 🤢

All my shit is so textbook that they can’t even PUT it in textbooks because it’s too easy. You could tell a toddler my business and they’d be like, “Well, yeah, obviously…”

Time for a new OS

I’ve posted about this before, but what’s SUPER fun about depression is all the ways it looks that I didn’t know about before I saw doctors for it. And apparently in ME, it looks a lot like being an exhausted, lazy asshole. And since I frequently AM an exhausted lazy, asshole, it’s hard to differentiate.

So basically any time I’m tired I get anxious that I’m depressed, and then I can’t sleep, which is just goddamn delightful.

And I’m still not convinced I even HAVE depression. I feel like there’s a diet or a vitamin I haven’t tried yet that would just fix me right up, and my doctors are just throwing pills at me because that’s what doctors do for middle-aged, middle-class white women. Maybe all I need is, like, less gluten and more St. John’s Wort or whatever the shit.

Human brains and bodies are stupid and obsolete. I demand an upgrade.

Sure, yeah, vacations TOTALLY reduce anxiety…

Today is Day 9 of my 10-day vacation, and it’s the only day I don’t HAVE to do anything.

But I started thinking about getting my apartment in order while I have time, and then about what kind of decor and furniture I want, which led to remembering I have zero sense of style, and to wondering HOW I have such a wide spectrum of things that appeal to me, like how I equally want my apartment to look like Olivia Pope’s but also just bought groovy yoga art and hot pink mixing bowls, and to “Do I want to stay in my tiny apartment or get a bigger place so I can have other rooms to play with different styles, AND an office and a dishwasher?” and to “City or suburbs?” and to “East Coast or West?” and to “What do I want from my fucking LIFE?!”, which led to a headache, and now I’m going back to bed.

That is what I want from life.

See also: Replacing this cup of coffee with water, and perhaps also Valium.

This is your brain on drugs.

I feel bad for people who won’t even TRY mental health drugs because they “don’t want to rely on them.”

Well, no, no one WANTS to, but you rely on Lipitor for your cholesterol, right? Maybe a blood pressure med?

Sometimes your body doesn’t give you the things you need, or gives you too much, because your body is an asshole. If I take a Wellbutrin every day and feel LESS like there’s no point in getting out of bed when it’s raining? I’ll call that a win.

This kinda hit home because it’s a blood relative who gets anxiety attacks if they’re around too many people, which…hi… 🙋🏻‍♀️

Whatever, man — maybe I DO rely on my drugs, but I also no longer break down in Target stores, so…again, win.

“My Body is a Dumpster Fire” works just as well as “Wonderland.”

Once in a while I have to play a little game with my brain called, “Sick, Exhausted, or Depressed?” because I have a hard time knowing the difference.

This game is EXACTLY as much fun as it sounds.

Turns out depression can look a lot like laziness, which sucks when you are, in fact, ALSO lazy. Spending my Saturday night differentiating my lethargies? AWESOME. *humming club beat*

Nope. No. This is not what’s going to happen.

I’ve been in a fight with my brain and frankly it’s winning, including skipping the gym all week and a triumphant return to feelings-eating that’s left me no longer able to see the changes in my body exercise had achieved.

But fuck you, Brain — I’m smarter than you. Nice people are delivering me healthy food so I’m prepared for Philly’s forthcoming bullshit snowstorm. So if you insist on staying indoors, that’s fine. But you are gonna drink weird fruit smoothies and do SOME form of exercise and have a goddamn productive day, and you are going to LIKE IT. And tomorrow you’re talking to the therapist.

Asshole.