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.)

“Try not to suck any dick on the way to the parking lot!”

I’m gonna need someone to come wake me up once the weather in my city stops eating more dicks than Caitlin Bree.

“Stop trying to make ‘fetch’ happen. It’s not going to happen.”

That’s it, I have done HAD IT with you people and your ridiculous facts and science — I demand someone invent a blood test for mood issues. Yep. Blood. Science it up, people, I don’t care how you make it physiologically valid. But all this “being aware of my feelings” shit is just not gonna work for me. I have things to DO. I don’t have time to think about how I feeeeel.

Psychiatrist: “Well, can you ask your friends if they’ve noticed changes in your mood?”

…I’m sorry, you want me to be the Gretchen Wieners of mood disorders?

“I mean, you wouldn’t be bipolar without asking your friends first if it looks good on you!” And you know ADD only comes in sizes 1, 3, and 5 — I’d have to try Sears.

#WorldsWorstPatient

“Look at me, I’m skinny. It never stopped me from gettin’ busy.”

I would prefer not to be the kind of woman who gets a tiny self-esteem boost when someone asks if she’s lost weight. Especially when it’s accompanied by, “You look so skinny!”

Ahem… I would prefer not to be…

In my defense, I was getting a li’l rotund for 5 feet tall. So it’s good to hear all this fresh food/taking walks/ordering less takeout bullshit may be helping. (Don’t get it twisted — there’s still ice cream. I don’t hate myself THAT much.)

Also, a happy bonus of ADD is that drugs for it can suppress appetite, and dehydrate you so you drink tons of water and aren’t as hungry. They may also have crack in them. I don’t know. I’m not a scientist.

I would prefer not to be the kind of woman who gets a tiny self-esteem boost when someone asks if she’s lost weight. Especially when it’s accompanied by, “You look so skinny!”
Ahem… I would PREFER…
In my defense, I was getting a li’l rotund for 5 feet tall. So it’s good to hear all this fresh food/taking walks/ordering less takeout bullshit may be helping. (Don’t get it twisted — there’s still ice cream. I don’t hate myself THAT much.)
Also, a happy bonus of ADD is that drugs for it can suppress appetite, and dehydrate you so you drink tons of water and aren’t as hungry. They may also have crack in them. I don’t know. I’m not a scientist.

P.S. I know I’ve bitched about people commenting on my weight in the past, so to clarify, this was someone I’m cool with.

“Last Night a TV Saved My Life”

BRB, have to go marry this woman:

“I’ve got this shit called FEELINGS and they are the goddamn worst…Feelings are fundamentally UNFAIR and TERRIBLE. Something happens to you, totally outside your control, and then you just have to feel BAD for god knows how long? Don’t get it, don’t like it.”

YUP. In the past few years, I’ve taken breaks from/avoided my stupid feelings by mainlining Scandal (multiple times), Grey’s Anatomy, Gilmore Girls, Breaking Bad, and Jane the Virgin, along with repeated viewings of standup comedy specials and comfort movies.

Not sure if that’s a SIGN of depression or a coping mechanism for it, or both, or just totally normal behavior for the age we live in, but…screw it, it does help.

Via Ravishly:

“Fuck you. Fuck you very, very muuuch…”

Earlier I wondered if I’m walking around all Bitchface McIrritable at work today because I have PMS.

And then I saw this, got viciously angry, then weepy-sad, so… that answers that.

My body image has been hovering around decent lately, so I’m pissed this got to me, but Christ, this is what *I* look like, just shorter. People are fucking awful.

But then…Hm, I still think she’s hot, so I must be hot, too.

Right, then. Done and done. Good work, Brain.

Via E! Online and Hateful Fuckers Everywhere: Amy Schumer Slams Haters After Beach Body Criticism, Says She Looks ”Strong and Healthy”

Not today, Satan.

Can someone please come exorcise this weepy bitch from my brain? I’m not sure how she got here, but she’s kind of an asshole.

This is America. Medicate me.

I’m on medications to even out my mood, give me an attention span, prevent OkCupid babies, and control my heinous allergies.

There are, what, 4,000 erectile dysfunction drugs now?

I think there’s one for a particular form of exhaustion you get from shift work.

They debated putting me on a drug that fixes ADHD and binge eating disorder, which… damn, I still want that drug.

So, really, you can’t create a drug that will make me feel LESS like my period might actually kill me? One that keeps me from waking up weeping for no reason? (OK, there was a reason, but not a logical one.) Could you, like, get on that, Science? Or could I just get sent to the edge of the village or whatever?

I know there’s stuff they can finagle for PMDD. I’m mostly kidding.

Related: the weather in Philly right now can kiss my dick. I checked the forecast and it just said, “Your mood is fucked until Sunday.” That’s what I saw, anyway. It’s possible it just said it’ll be cloudy and rainy.

Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Sexual Healing

I’m reading this book, and while discussing the early history of depression and diagnosis, the author writes:

“Rufus found melancholy patients also suffered buildup of unreleased sexual fluids, whose putrefaction infected the brain… Galen shared Rufus’ belief in disastrous consequences of deficient sexual release. He treated one of his female patients, whose brain, he believed, was troubled by the noxious fumes of her rotting unreleased sexual fluids, ‘with a manual stimulation of the vagina and of the clitoris and the patient took great pleasure from this, much liquid came out, and she was cured.’”

So there you go — I’m not depressed, I just really need to be fingered by my therapist.

I may be having non-therapist sex fairly soon (fingers crossed, legs not so much). So here’s hoping that release will be its own form of mood stabilizer.

Judge not, lest ye be an asshole

One of my OkCupid photos was taken in a pin-up-inspired boutique I went to with friends. I tried on a dress that fit better than any glove, accentuated all my best bits, and looked STUPID-good. But I couldn’t rationalize spending $130 on it, so I asked my friends take a photo.

I added the pic to OKC, captioned: “Taken in a fitting room. I didn’t buy the dress. Because I am an idiot.”

Today I get a first OKC message from a guy saying, “Yes you should have bought that dress…” That’s the whole message.

I go to his profile, because he’s attractive enough, and his FIRST sentence is, “Only thing that seems to matter is how one looks on here.”

Oh, OK, so you’re saying you don’t like being judged only on appearance? So despite my completely-filled-in profile with many non-appearance-related conversation starters, you went with…commenting only on my appearance?

You do that math, dearie. I’ll wait…

And dammit, I SHOULD have bought that dress. I can’t even believe that’s my body — I am cute as fuck.

P.S. He sent a followup message 20 minutes later, saying, “That was a compliment. .. you’re gorgeous. … ”

Um, I KNOW it was a compliment, or at least I know that’s what you were going for. Do you think I’m too pretty to know how words work? Do I owe you a “thank you?” Go fuck yourself with your ellipses, and why the SHIT are you ALSO using periods? That’s not how any of this works!

*pant* *pant* *pant*

…Ahem. What mood swing?