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.

Creepers! Use the minecart!

No, no, just kidding about the Minecraft reference. Actually, I was talking about two guys who were hassling me on the street the other day. I was walking down the sidewalk when they made some very... obviously sexual remarks to me, and I sprinted in the nearby building and didn't even wait for the elevator, just went into the stairwell and sprinted up until I found someone else.

And now I'm having issues walking in the street - thinking, everyone's out to get me, anyone could want to hurt me. Anyone here. I had problems at the library today when a woman asked what I was drawing. I seriously had panicky problems where I kept glancing around and memorizing what she looked like so that I could report her if she said anything, and then I realized that I was being ridiculous.

This is bad. Especially considering that my classes are right smack in the middle of a city. I need to get a hold on myself.

Personal Symbolism

Today I was really, really stressed due to a variety of things, but those causes are unimportant to my thoughts at the moment.

This morning, I was starting to get to the point where I was afraid of having a panic attack in the middle of the classroom - but I know how to fix it. I got out a piece of paper and I forced myself to make calming squiggles and movements with the pen until I found something that just looked reassuring when you saw it. Imagine you're writing a cursive J, capitalized; right where the loop rejoins with the beginning of the line, it swirls back up, makes a heart shape, then loops back down into two lines, like a flag, and another one crossing those two. It looks like a distorted crane. Or, rather, a low-necked crane if it were to sit like a human.

I've done this before. Sometimes, forcing yourself to think calmly, and then coming up with a symbol to remind you of that willpower, can honestly be all you need, if you are strong enough. I drew it on my hand in ink, and I folded the original paper up into a triangle-shaped charm, which I wrote the final symbol on and stuck in my pocket, and I wrote the charm on all of my notes all through the day to keep my mind on happy thoughts. That's just how powerful the mind is. Maybe it's a tad hypocritical of me, considering my own mental health as it is, but if you literally demand that your brain whip itself into shape, you can conquer it, at least temporarily.

On that note, the charm is still in my pocket. On looking at it, it also has a sun symbol on it... it looks like a nonsymmetrical God's Eye, and a simplified "personal calm" marking that you can make in one line. But this pattern, I largely suspect (well, probably, know), was mostly just to keep my mind busy so that it couldn't stress itself out more.

...isn't that really just as good, though?

Finding Flaws

Lately I've noticed that I'm a highly irritable person.

There are things that are Okay to be annoyed by, like fast cars that slow down at the LAST POSSIBLE MINUTE on the crosswalk, or your friend blowing you off, or your teacher misplacing your test. And then there are things that are Not Okay to be annoyed by that annoy me anyways - like people breathing too loudly, people changing from how I know them, people forgetting that you exist when there's no reason you are particularly important in their lives, and/or people who always seem to go out of their way to drive you insane by simply acting stupid (or, as they say, "like a ditz"), though they don't know any better.

There are often moments when I wonder if I could possibly have the highest IQ in the world, and that is why I simply cannot relate to anyone. (There are also moments where I fear that I actually have the lowest IQ ever found in a human being and am being convinced of my intelligence in order to keep me happy and, therefore, keeping my uncontrollable primal urges to gut people in check, but that is only vaguely related.)

I am annoyed by people I've known for years who develop new habits and hairstyles when I'm not looking. I am annoyed by people that I barely know who think that they're better than me simply because they've been here longer ("here" can imply a job, or a school, or even this plane of existence). I am annoyed by people who think they're doing what's best. Sometimes I'm even annoyed by people who truly do what is truly best for everyone else, the rare person who cares about someone else - annoyed because I am never going to be like that, and surely, SURELY they have a flaw, somewhere...?!

The only logical conclusion is that the thing that irritates me the very, very most is people in themselves. They also fascinate me psychologically, socially, and mentally - probably because I'm a writer - as well as physically - probably because I'm an artist - but nothing can overcome that urge to just take a step back, disengage, and then go scream into my pillow for a few moments.

This brings up an interesting conundrum.

How do I let new people in?

What happens when I lose my old friends, or when they lose me? What happens if I'm dropped like a hot potato in a sandstorm over a minefield at high, hot noon? (Like that metaphor made any sense.) I'm going to search and search for ways to appreciate the kind of person someone is. Maybe I'll do it, even. But until then, I'll continue to find the same flaws in everybody else that already exist in myself, and the sad part is that I don't think I can help it. And that's a fact.