Pills

Been having a lot of psychological issues lately, and I finally got my doctor to put me on pills. Prozac - for depression. I'm frank here because I won't be with anyone else.

I take them once daily. They usually aren't prescribed to teenagers because they work so well... that is, they work very well in comparison to others, with fewer side effects.

Make sense? I thought not.

My mother, a psychologist and also on depression meds for a heck of a lot of years, explained it like this: when you're depressed, all anyone ever cares about it whether or not you're suicidal, right? So most people think that if you're not, it's not serious, or at least not very. But a lot of times it's because people hit that low. The psychological low that means you can barely function, if at all; the feeling where you want to lie in bed and let things get worse because you don't have the energy to counteract it, to do anything. And that can be good too (though, having experienced it, I'd never call it "good"): if you don't have the energy to get up in the morning, you don't have the energy to commit suicide.

So the pills start working, better than most other pills. And you're right in that transitory stage, right in that place where you're still feeling horrible but you've come up with some energy to do something about it.

And so you do.

I don't feel that many people have... the right, honestly, to tell us about or diagnose depression. I watched a movie in the eighth grade in Health class - it was mandatory - called "Silence of the Heart." I felt offended at the movie, frankly. The way it depicted depression... well. For starters, the main character at the beginning, the one who commits suicide, named Skip - he's apparently depressed because of all of the hardships he's been going through, because he didn't pass a test and his daddy doesn't love him or something (I'm serious). And so he drives his car off of a cliff.

And the rest of the movie was all of the characters dealing with the aftermath, trying to pick up the pieces of their lives. A guilt trip for me because at one point that year I had been mildly suicidal (can you be mildly suicidal?) and it only made me feel worse.

It's awful because movies like this perpetually give "normal people" a reason to differentiate depressed people between themselves, to make them feel worse about themselves. The people who think this kind of movie are right, completely right, are making things worse by using guilt tactics to coerce depressed/suicidal people and trying to find a reason for a person's depression, or obvious warning signs just before they commit suicide. That's all total bullshit. Some people don't have warning signs, or at least not ones you'll recognize. Some people don't have reasons... that's me; sometimes I realize I've just looked for any excuse to be angry or depressed, even one as stupid as getting the cold, a friend taking too long to reply, or getting a paper-cut. Mentally I know that's all very stupid, but sometimes my brain uses it as a horrible excuse to go on a downward spiral, just like that. And then sometimes there are no reasons at all.

Depression is an illness. An illness caused by defects in the processes in your brain involving "happy chemicals" and "mood balancing chemicals" called serotonin and norepinephrine* in your brain.

And I'm tired of it being treated like it's just me complaining all day, because goddammit, I've been diagnosed and I'm obviously not using it as an excuse - I can talk coherently and politely, can't I? If anything, I need to complain more. Because you know what other people think of me, even my closest friends? That I'm confident, that I have a brilliant sense of humor, that I always give stuff my best shot, that I'm an overachiever, that I'm a good artist and writer, that I'm a shoulder to cry on and a good friend, sometimes a truthfully selfish person and sometimes an altruist.

Normal person, confident in her abilities and in her life, right? Right?

That's what everyone sees, but on the inside, I'm just a vulnerable little five-year-old girl, and every hit doled out to me like someone would hit a person of my apparent strength and resilience just goes straight through the facade and beats that little girl.

I'm not saying that I hate critique, or something (it helps you improve, so I enjoy it, mostly, in fact), but... there are some hits I have trouble taking. And most people out there will never tell the difference. All I know is how to dish back what I just took, harder, faster, stronger, more accurately. My only defense is an offense, and guess how well that works out? Which is why I never did like arguments with friends (or "frenemies," for that matter). There are always sharp barbs in your words, always something asinine. There hasn't been an argument in the past two years that didn't involve an angry someone calling someone else "honey" or "sweetie" or "sugar." Because those names are like powdered sugar, sweetening you up before they cut you open and making it oh, so much easier to wound and bite and hurt.

I am very... something right now. It's a dull feeling, kind of numb, where talking hurts, moving is impossible and thinking is all you can do, and so you think a lot.