I took my pills this morning.
I feel so pathetic that I have to take pills to feel okay.
I hate that they keeps me from feeling some things.
On Christmas I watched Mr. Krueger’s Christmas.
I always cry at the part where he’s talking to baby Jesus.
I’m crying now just thinking about it.
Not last Christmas, though.
I wanted to.
I tried to.
But I just couldn’t.
It kept me from enjoying it as much as I usually do.
I hate this.
It makes me feel like a robot.
When I forget my pill I feel normal until the next day.
Then I make up for all the sadness I couldn’t feel before.
By which I mean I’m a cry baby.
All kinds of things make me cry.
Things I read.
I haven’t always been so sensitive.
I wonder what’s changed.
I have a love/hate relationship with my antidepressant.
I forgot to take it yesterday.
Today I feel really dizzy. Confused. Irritable.
When I take them I don’t feel suicidal. At all. Ever.
I can’t put a price on that.
Before I’d have a fight with my wife. I’d leave. I’d think about ways to kill myself. I’d cry a lot.
I don’t have to deal with that anymore.
I hate that it takes a drug not to feel that way.
I hate that my doctor will only give me a three-month supply.
I hate that he demands that I make another office visit before he’ll give me more.
That doesn’t feel like freedom.
It feels like slavery.
I’ve thought about just quitting.
I tried it once. I went three days without it.
I was okay for a while. The last day I had a meltdown.
I was on a lower dose at the time.
I’ve thought about gradually reducing my dose. That’s what I’ll do when I decide to stop.
I think I need to wait until after my wife moves out with the boys.
I might even need a higher dose to get through that.
I hate this.