Raise your hands if you’ve been affected by mental health problems.
If your hand’s up, you maybe know that medication can do a great deal – just by giving you the possibility of functioning like a normal human being, you know, people you don’t have a full-blown meltdown when they’re listening to a (semi) sad song.
At first I thought, I’d be fine. Which is the usual approach of a psychologically damaged brain. Better even, I was proven right, since I was doing so much coke that it actually did trick my brain brain into being happy for another two weeks. But then I stopped the hardcore partying and I felt like shit after my last “enhanced” night. And being the wimp that I am, I actually considered calling an ambulance when I had the impression that my head would explode (no exaggeration here, it really felt like that), so fun pills or powders aren’t really my thing, even though I love the aesthetics. I mean Heroine Chic is somewhat to die for. Pun intended.
Anyways, the last couple of days were rough, like really rough. I felt like a Dementor had sucked all will to live out of me. And since I didn’t have a new prescription for my FDA approved drugs, I did some self medication. Spoiler: It wasn’t too efficient.
I honestly thought that my brain had a kind of a restart thanks to all the coke. I was under the impression that it understood for once how to react to happy hormones. After my coke adventures it seemed like everything was normal. I didn’t have a crash, before this day with crazy headaches, I just felt normal. Btw, I still think that micro dosing could be super helpful, so I can’t wait to see where studies are going with this. (Even though honestly, why wait for the fucking studies? Let’s just find a couple of voluntary guinea pigs to test it out, just like we did with the most controversial vaccine there is right now.)
However, since I, like most depressive people, am bad at keeping track of time, I have no ability or patience to plan ahead. Logical consequence, I ran out of meds, but it still took me by surprise.
I’m not great at adulting in general. Actually, I really suck at it. It’s now been the umpteenth time that I ran out of antidepressants without having a new prescription ready to use. And even though I’ve been fine for almost three weeks, I’m now experiencing pretty bad withdrawal symptoms.
Weirdly enough, though, there’s something funny about this situation. Maybe you’ve heard of the podcast The Hilarious World of Depression. The host always asks people on the podcast if they think that depression can be funny. At first, I thought “What a dumb question”. But now, I find it rather funny when I just start crying without any reason. I went to see my therapist today. You can’t deny the comedy of me starting to cry at random questions. If I was a candidate for the elections, nobody would vote for me even though my program would probably be one of the best. No external determination, just self determination. But then I think of possibly having to reveal my thought process, and that’s just a very personal question that I’m not sure I wanna get into. In addition to that, my mind is usually all over the place, so I can’t even put two cohesive sentences together. How would I write about society or even politics? But I digress, as usual.
Anyway, I’ve been pretty emotional this week, Emotional enough to learn that going through self-inflicted withdrawal is an interesting experience. At least that’s how I see it, looking back on how this last week went. It started with very apparent body dysmorphia – which I experience constantly, but it got especially intense these last days. I found myself and my body just horrible, and it’s safe to say that it was definitely the lowest my self-esteem has been so far. Even when I had a phase where I was fantasizing about chopping off my saggy boobs, my overall opinion of my body was still better. It didn’t help that people confused me with a dude.
I mean yes, I’m freakishly tall, you should probably put me in a museum just to make future parents be aware of the horrible consequences an overuse of milk can have, but being seen as a completely different gender still hurts. I mean I’ve been stripped of all my feminine attributes in just one sentence. All that’s left is the freak.
As a natural consequence, I fell back into binging and purging. Even though I had many friends confirming that they very much perceived me in my real identity, I didn’t believe them. So now, I have an appointment for lipfillers which I’m actually looking forward to and a couple of evenings that I can write down as transformative crying in my diary.
To end this post on a positive note, I should probably add the following. A few weeks ago, a friend asked me what I’d do with my life if I could do anything. My reply was “End it”. My demented humor kicked in, sorry, not sorry. But now that I have these aesthetic procedures planned, I’m thinking “Why having all the work done for nothing? This shit is expensive”. So everyone can rest assured that I’ll stick around for a while, for better or worse. And I’ll still grace you with my stunning Halloween costumes, of course.