Depression is expensive

Describing my past week or so to the therapist…

Therapist: “So…do me a favor and keep an eye on that, because that could be depression creeping back in.”

Me: “Um, nope. No, it’s not, because I JUST paid $85 to see the nice lady with the meds, and I’ll be goddamned if I’m paying it again before my next appointment.”

Time to see if I can “cheap” my way out of a mood disorder!

(I am not doing things I’m supposed to be doing, so I will endeavor to do those things. If it doesn’t help I will certainly go see the nice lady.)

Facebook is just attacking me directly now.

*blink*

 

Why you gotta break balls, Facebook?

 

Trust me, it’s not a desire issue.

There is no human. There is only BED!

It occurs to me that if there ever IS a man in this bed, I am such a miserable shit first thing in the morning that I couldn’t let him spend the night. Or he’d have to sleep in another room and agree to leave me alone until the meds, coffee, and a hairbrush make me eligible for human contact.

“Sorry, man. ‘Cute and easygoing’ doesn’t show up ‘til, like, 11. Right now we’re at ‘bridge troll.’”

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?

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.

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.

You’re not the boss of me! Oh…wait…

It’s funny when my brain tries being an asshole like it doesn’t know I have access to pills, bourbon, cheese, chocolate, and pictures of baby animals.

Not today, fuckface.

So I guess narcotics seem easier than sex now?

I had surgery last year and they gave me Percocet just in case the pain exceeded Advil levels during recovery. It never did, but I still have it, and I’m not GONNA take it recreationally, but…during late-night anxious insomnia, I gotta say, I understand the appeal. My entire body feels clenched, and hush your mouth — I KNOW I probably just need that fucked outta me. 🙄

You may be experiencing Paxil Menstrual Syndrome…

Sometimes you know you’re smart, but you’re not QUITE “friend who’s almost done med school and has more experience with psych meds” smart…

“So, hey, what are the odds that 5-ish days without Paxil have made me feel like I have PMS on crack?”

“Very high. Paxil withdrawal blows.”

“Ha, yep, I kinda knew that, just wanted to confirm. 🙂 I’ll go fill the prescription. Jesus, Brain, you could’ve just asked for Starbucks — that would’ve gotten me to Target, and hence their pharmacy, minus the 5 days of internal screaming at EVERY mundane life obligation.”

“LOL. Why’d you stop taking it?”

“Oh, just because I’m ridiculous and ran out. They keep letting us work from home so I keep not leaving the house.”

…

Christ. I’ll go to Target, man, damn. Ahem… tomorrow, probably…

New meds, who dis?

New year, new me!

 

What? That’s what the expression means, right?