December 12, 2009

Eh, I tried.

On Tuesday, I go in for my annual "woman's" exam. Oh, joy. It's something I really look forward to all year because there's nothing quite like the feel of cold, hard stainless steel prying you open like an over-zealous rescue worker with the jaws o' life. At any rate, that's Tuesday, and I've decided I'm going to ask my doctor about going back on some kind of anti-depressant. As you might remember, I went off them over the summer because of blood pressure problems I was having. I thought I might like to give "clean" living a try, and I've pretty much decided it sucks. It's funny experiencing the sort of irrational moodiness and anger I've been feeling again since going off in July. You know, I really forgot what it was like before. I really forgot how I'd know my reactions and responses weren't logical while not being able to do otherwise. But I find my main reason for wanting to go back on is the same as it was the first time around: my daughter. I don't want her to ever think she's responsible for my sadness or anger. And even though I'm not having rash outbursts or anything, I definitely feel like I carry a certain pall around nowadays, and I've no desire to live in darkness. Besides, I got so good at pill-popping the last seven years, it seems a shame to waste all that skill.

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