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.

“Whatever, sea cow…”

Therapist: “So how’s it going with your body image as far as your vacation and trying on swimsuits?”

Me: “I mean, it is what it is. I can’t change much in 2 weeks, so…this is my body, I’m gonna go have fun.”

Therapist: “That sounds like a very healthy perspective. Good for you.”

Later, while trying on shorts…

Me: “Cool, so I’m basically a manatee.”

Aaand now I need more therapy. 🙄

Pizza understands

Hippie wisdom: “Just listen to your body, it’ll tell you what it needs.”

Me: “Mm’kay. Body, what do you need?”

Body: “I need to order a large pizza, eat one full slice, then eat just the cheese off the rest.”

Me: [blink] “Um… Hey, hippies? I don’t know if the fat broad can be trusted…”

“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*

Jesus just cockblocked my lazy day

I took a couple days off, trying to alleviate some work burnout, and put myself on the waitlist for a popular class at my gym tonight. I figured if I got in, that was Jesus telling me to get off my ass and leave the house, and if not, clearly He’d prefer I stay home and watch comedy shows.

They just emailed me that I got in, and godDAMMIT, Jesus! This is why I’m not religious!

Ugh. FINE. I’ll do something “They” claim is good for mental health — fucking hippies tryna thwart the part of my brain that’s perfectly content being fat and depressed, thankyouverymuch. 🙄

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.

No-talent assclown, never even won a Grammy…

Me: “My scale still hasn’t moved, but I can see and feel changes in my body, so I know the scale is just being a jerk.”

Therapist: “I’m glad you blame the scale. Some people blame themselves, thinking they have to exercise more often or restrict their diets more.”

Me: “No way. Why should *I* change? He’s the one who sucks.”

Aaand that’s how I decided to name my scale Michael Bolton.