Calling Dr. Bullshit

No. Listen. I'm not down for a long, drawn-out, baby-steps process ANYMORE. After giving variations on that path MORE than their fair shot, I am done. I am so fucking done. I am so tired of expanding my patience beyond its natural limit. I have gone ahead and asked for help, and with all due respect, if not maybe a few credits more, for how I've been answered, and with infinite reams of gratitude for the earnest efforts, I am not better. And in fact there are a couple key ways in which I've worsened.

II don't know exactly what else to say right now.

 

I I'm not spending months and months in this whole depression-meds game. Fuck this. Agreeing to try them at all was a mistake made in desperation. Still desperate, mind you, but done with that phase of it. What I was fucking thinking? I was not being true to myself or my principles or even my (vast, VAST) knowledge and understanding of how my depression 'works' when I agreed to try this.

I am having more trouble than ever remembering and keeping track of what is truly important in this life and my life than ever before. It's as if every day has been a further drift away. If I can't stop this, my life, with all that I am lucky enough to be capable of, will be seriously, sinfully and permanently wasted.

There is so much that I am NOT capable of, enough confusion, a dark enough murder of crows against my sky, that certainly getting to my right, healthy self all alone is probably impossible. It's not help itself that I'm suddenly refusing (though I hardly seem a charming or gracious enough character in this angry snit to attract any volunteers :P).

I don't know exactly what else to say right now.

 

If you are good at feeding an animal that might snap at you for your trouble, please send a kind thought to me, today. Somewhere in there, it will be deeply appreciated.