Tuesday, August 24, 2010

the cycle

Whose idea was it anyhow, to create antidepressants? I love them and I hate them. They are genius and satan all in one. I believe without a shadow of a doubt that I could not have trudged through the last years had it been not for these divine, numbing, non-inebriating pills. I positively hate the negative connotation though. I submit and absolutely feel like a hypocrite as I take them. Trying my mighty best to live the good life, keep my chin up. I WANT to be able to feel happy. When I don't take them all I feel is sad. Not melancholy, no. Defeated. All for naught. Abandoned. So I suppose I settle for numb, lose my pride, but keep my life. ''

Who is my conscience reporting to? Why is it so distracted by what I perceive others to feel and do? I take the meds so I stay alive. Seems pretty important. I also go to 'therapy' because then when others ask me if I am, I can say yes. Don't get a thing out of it, other than getting creepers off my back when I tell them I'm seeing someone for all this shit. Why is my conscience not loyal to me? I beg your pardon, you little fucker; you belong to me.

That's about as far as I get, and then I question, second guess, and doubt, and return to exactly where I started. Damn it.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

From every wound there is a scar.
And every scar tells a story.
A story that says
I survived.