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15 Days…..Meh

September 4, 2014


I sat in my therapist’s office and said, “Yeah, I’m about 15 days away from fulfilling a lifelong dream and I feel ‘blaa.'”

“Yeah, you have botox face,” she said.

She asked me about my life, my friends, work, love  and I answered dispassionately. I gave her my own diagnosis. This isn’t situational. It’s chemical. Yes, I lost my job. Sure, the guy who lit up my life is in Dallas. No, I’m not sure how I’m going to get out of this mess.

Still, I know that I’ve felt some version of this disgusting nothingness many times before, no matter what the situation. I hear the voice and know it’s full of shit. My brain chemicals are fucked up.

For the past few years, the 2-3 days of this bullshit that comes to me once every few months was manageable.

I know what I’m supposed to do when it shows up: get up, go out, be around people, eat well, exercise, write your stupid blog, try to have fun or just fuck it and lie in bed and wallow until it rights itself. This time it’s lasting a little more than a few days and it’s getting to be a bit debilitating. Sidenote: The HBO series Girls is awesome and a perfect anecdote to the hatred for Carrie Bradshaw that found a comfortable home in my heart.

So, I bit the bullet and went to see my old, I’m-Getting-a-Divorce therapist. The good thing about seeing her is that she knows me. She’s seen me tell funny stories about men with nicknames. She’s seen me angry and distressed over interactions with my ex or my sister. She knows what passionate Marie looks like. Today she saw depressed Marie and she could see the difference immediately . This is comforting because it means I’m not going crazy and my self-diagnosis is right. So, now we try to figure it out.

Is it hormones? Should I try anti-depressants again? I don’t know. I’m scared to go down that road again, but I’m more scared of feeling like this anymore. I gotta get my shit together and I can’t do it if the monster is living with me trying to convince me that I’m a piece of shit. That’s what my enemies are for.

Meanwhile, I’m going to Jersualem. I started a separate blog for friends and family to follow my short trip. I’ll write funny stories about packing badly and weird people I meet in the airport. I’ll post photos and say how beautiful the mosaics on the Dome of the Rock are. But here, I get to write the real shit. Here, I’ll get to write about having a depressive episode in the holiest place in the world. Here, I’ll get to tell you about crying on the Via Delarosa.

It’s going to be awesome. Wish me luck and stay tuned. BTW: This is the most accurate portrayal of depression:  Hyperbole and a Half: Adventures in Depression I’m seriously thinking about tattooing that little stick figure girl on my body.


*I’ve shamefully stolen this drawing from Hyperbole and a Half, violating all copyright honor. Which is a crime because I’m a huge fan of her work.


From → Rantings

  1. 1. Do NOT tattoo the stick-figure
    2. I completely relate so thank you for sharing.
    3. …Real shit is ALWAYS better then the fake shit…so thanks again 🙂

  2. Kitten permalink

    I’m so gonna get that tattoo. lol
    Thanks for commenting.

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