I've been taking an anti-depressant for about 18 months. One day, I found myself sitting in the doctor's office, bawling uncontrollably, filling out some little "check often, sometimes, rarely, or never" paper with questions like, "I feel hopeless," and "I am a total spaz," and "I am completely unable to deal with my fucking husband and all the shit that is required of me regarding family and work," and "I think I am a total fat ass who resembles a bloated elephant seal." (I might have made up those last 3, but those were the questions in spirit, if not fact.) So, after taking one look at me, and then my survey, I think the doc's exact words were, "Well. You're REALLY depressed." He sent me on my way with 2 prescriptions--one for Lexipro (the spell check wanted to replace Lexipro with Lucifer. ha), and one for Phentermine (one of the phens of the former fen-phen).
2 weeks ago, I quit taking the Lexipro--without telling my doctor or anyone. My prescription ran out, and I didn't refill it. I figured--hey, I'm doing all right. Apparently, that was the drugs talking, because I feel like Ted Kazinski (Another spell-check irony. Apparently the closest thing to Kazinski in the spell dictionary is "jazziness".) I literally have been flipping everyone and everything mental birds for days. My current mantra is "I hate. I hate. I hate."
I know the arguments. If you're diabetic, you take insulin. If you're arm's broken, you get a cast. Something about taking those pills just makes/made me feel so mother-fucking defective. Like I can't keep my shit together. Unfortunately for Erik, when I'm depressed, every single word he says makes me either roll my eyes, start bawling, or become totally pissed off. He is currently demanding that I listen to him tell me what a rude bitch I am, and I am ignoring him while blogging. Hopefully, you won't read a post-humus blog written by a sister or friend tearfully explaining that we have both expired.
Oh. I also quit taking the Phentermine. The resultant 30 pounds that I've gained are really pissing me off. Something about loosing those 50 pounds last summer made me feel like I'd finally been admitted into the skinny girl's club--a club that I had always wanted to be a member of and never been. Members of this club are allowed to tuck their shirts in, wear swimming suits without t-shirts over them, shop in the regular size department, and aren't card-carrying members of Lane Bryant. I think I've been officially kicked out of the club. None of my clothes fit, my stomach bulges over the tops of my pants, and only after many many drinks would I even consider putting on a swimming suit.
Guess I'd better add a little about Sophie. The potty-training is going so-so. I haven't been as diligent and vigilant as I should. After yesterday's momentous poop, she totally peed all over herself at grandma's house. She had a rough time sleeping last night--nighmares again. But--she's still a beautiful angel, and is having lots of fun with the cousins.
Mandy's visit is being a little soured by my pissiness, and Katy's job news. It seems like my mom's taking Kate's resignation even harder than Katy--and my mom is the living embodiment of the phrase, "If Mama ain't happy-ain't nobody happy." But, she (Mandy) has another week, so maybe I can pull my head out of my ass and act like a human.
No best and worst today.