Okay. Here's the deal. Yesterday was not a good day for me. I had weaned myself off of Prozac over the course of a month and have been without it for a month and I've been on a downward spiral. Yesterday I crashed. I left work, made it to the parking lot, called my doctor and then had to have John pick me up. Why did I wean myself off of Prozac? Because I felt empty and soul-less. How do I describe what this feels like? Do I even need to? I am embarrassed by all of this. I don't want to talk about it. Mostly because I don't want anyone worrying about me or feeling badly for me. The world is too much and though I'm an organic part of it, well, so is everyone else. If I can deal with this on my own without having to involve a whole flock of family and friends then all the better.
That being said, I can sure write about it. I have been in the desperate throes of depression. Couple that with a few strategically placed anxiety attacks and you have yourself a case of the crazies. I jest. I'm not crazy. Just severely, cripplingly sad. To the point where I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel. What does normal feel like? Because I'm pretty sure my brand of normal will be a tad different than the generic kind. I'm a left of center kind of gal. I find pleasure in it. What I don't find pleasure in is feeling completely worthless and stupid and overwhelmed and broken. And I'm sick of my little voice. The voice shrinks call your conscience or your inhibitions. Well my little voice won't shut the hell up. And it will inevitably lead me down the path of regret. And as John says, "The little fucker ALWAYS wins." It's like a screaming kid. You give in just to get them to be quiet for a little while. Only my little voice can't be appeased with a Happy Meal. Mines not happy until I'm weepy and terrified.