Come To Think Of It...

I don't think these pills are doing what they're supposed to at all. I've been pretty much withdrawing from the world for the past few weeks. I hide in my room and only come out to babysit my nieces. The only person I hang out with is my mom (admittedly, my mom is awesome, but she lives in the same house as me so it takes no effort to hang out with her). I don't call my friends anymore (I called Ivan yesterday but it was his birthday, and even then I put off calling him for several hours), I don't hang out with my friends anymore. I tried to take a break from Facebook; it lasted about five days and I'm pissed at myself for having gone back on so soon. I also went on Twitter for the first time since April, but I also narrowed down the amount of people I "follow" from thirty three to ten. And I'm mad that I logged back in there, too. I hate social networking sites because they're a pathetic excuse for actual human interaction but I'm making no effort to go out into the world and actually interact with humans. So what is the fucking point of anything? I'm scared. I'm scared by how negative my brain is, how much it hates me. I don't want to be "normal" for several reasons (the biggest being that I believe in "normal" as much as I believe in "weird," which is not at all) but I thought antidepressants were supposed to help you be not depressed anymore, not just rearrange your depression so you can observe and study it. I feel like that's all the Prozac has done. I've spent the past several hours unable to log off the computer. I haven't done much of anything; I went on Craigslist and looked up how much it costs to rent an apartment in Rutland, Vermont and I looked to see if anybody in Ventura County might be giving away a little dresser since mine is falling apart and I am broke. (In case you're curious: no, they're not). And I did the aforementioned logging back onto Facebook and Twitter. I've also played countless games of solitaire (how appropriate) and thought about what I would write if I were to place a personal ad on Craigslist. (Everything I came up with sounded negative and bitchy.) Not that I'd go through with it. 'Cause I know me; that's the sort of idea I get around midnight. If I were to post something, I'd feel embarrassed and stressed and cowardly about it tomorrow and go right back and delete it. So instead I'm sitting around and typing a blog post about how I'm hyper aware of my depression and wondering why I didn't realize that the pills were having this effect on me all along.

Be seeing you.
-Sally