So...this summer was really hard on me. I've been fighting depression pretty much my entire life, which has been difficult. It's kept me from doing stuff that I would like to try, or things that I enjoy doing already. But this summer...it just got worse. And it wasn't helped by the fact that I stopped taking my anti-depressants sometime right after my grandma died last year, right when I probably needed them most. So, I've been on a downward spiral since then, but I think school was keeping me together and giving me a goal. But I didn't go to school this summer. I decided to take the summer off, and that left me a bunch of time to sit alone and think. And think. And thinking turned to brooding. Brooding turned to analyzing my life. That turned to me deciding that the best course of action in my life right now is that I end it.
So, a few weeks ago, after I had been fighting between this dark presence in my head, trying to convince me that dying might be the best thing to do, and this other sort of will to live that I still had, I went to the hospital and asked for help.
Whoo, what a mistake!
Now, don't get me wrong, I was right to go to a hospital. I needed someone to talk to, I needed anti-depressants, and I needed a plan. What I got was anti-depressants and a plan to get out of the hospital if I was a good little girl and ate all my food and joined in all the useless activities of making crafts and letting some guy yell at a room full of people for an hour about twelve-step programs. Because chronic depression is so addicting. I mean, doesn't everyone want it? People selling their bodies to strangers for it? No? No?
Anyway, I was released from the hospital into the custody of my mother who promised the doctor in front of me that she'd remind me to take my pills every day, and make sure I made it to all my follow-up appointments, but when I noticed to her the other day that she hasn't asked me lately if I'd taken my pills, she said, "Hey, you're an adult! That's your problem, not mine! Don't you try and make me your keeper."
One of the girls in the hospital was really worried that her mom was going to lie about her to the doctor, but I just said, "They have to know that we didn't get this way by ourselves. They have to know that our parents had something to do with it."
I don't want my mom to be my keeper, and I don't really want her to remind me to take my pills, but it would be nice if she mentioned it to me every now and then. "You okay? Taking your pills. If you're not, I'm gonna kick your butt!" Or, you know, whatever it is that normal parents say to their depressed children.
Anywyay, none of this has to do with me going to college necessarily, but I needed to share somewhere, and since no one reads this blog, I guess this is as good a place as any to unload.
I start yoga class tomorrow, and I went to History on Monday, and Economics on Tuesday. Both are going to be interesting classes, and Econ is going to be very challenging. Especially since the teacher is the embodiment of every single Econ Professor Stereotype available. He could give Ben Stein a run for his blandness of speech.
Well, I guess I'd better go shave my legs and pits before tomorrow so no one has to look at my hairyness.