There is no pill for loneliness.

About a year ago, I broke down and sought help.

No.

Sometime last year, I happened to break down in a nurse's office and was told that I needed help.  I'd recognized that fact for a while. I'd been screaming for help internally for several months or more, but ASKING aloud was a hurdle I hadn't yet cleared.

So.

No therapy, just a happy little pink pill. Really, it has helped. I can function. I can be nice, and smile, and get out of bed. I almost can't recognize the person I was last year, the behaviors--how frustrated and out of control, how angry, how depressed. How helpless, even as my brain is telling me: this is crazy! All you have to do is stop. Say sorry. Get out of bed. Go outside. DO SOMETHING.

It was hard to say yes to medication. It felt like, still feels like, a cop-out. And I'd taken pills before--a little blue one--that made me numb, and I didn't want to be numb. But this one's better. I can still feel. I still have desire, whether it's answered or not. I still get sad, but the pill files down the corners, fills in the pits so I don't sink down too low. It might be rounding off the highs, too. I don't know that I ever feel really happy, but I do feel good. Just sometimes I sense an underlying panic that time is going by and I'm not doing anything with it, because really I'm not. The rounding of corners also seems to take away my motivation. There's a busy little person inside my brain who has a running list of things she'd like to do--crafts, books, trips, exercise, etc.--but for the life of me, I can't make myself actually do any of these things. I'm not depressed, but I'm curled up in a little ball--killing time with mindless games on the phone, endless television, or just immobile, wondering what it will take to get me up and going, as I get rounder and older and less comfortable in my clothing and appearance. Is it the little pill? Is it the new job forcing me to be extroverted and public when I am very much an introvert? A combination of these and more?

As my mood has evened out in the past year, I've taken stock of the introversion, my relationships and interactions with other people. I think there is something that keeps me distant from everyone. Like a clear gel layer. I used to describe my depression like a gel layer--like the Japanese food konnyaku--cold, grey, almost opaque. It's clear now, sun can come in, and I can see you, but it keeps anyone from getting close to me. Do I have my arms out, pushing people away? Is there a dullness that repels? People that I consider my best friends obviously have much closer relationships with others. There's a politeness and formality that close friends don't bother with. And small talk with strangers, acquaintances are full of awkwardness, and in a room full of strangers, I'm aware of new connections forming as I remain outside, aloof.

And, oh my god, if I meet my idols? I've given up on that. I've met Amanda Palmer twice, the second time actually had a conversation piece prepared (I had submitted a piece of fabric that ended up on a kimono she was wearing. She was sitting on it as I spoke to her, but so flustered after two hours in line I forgot about it, basically apologized for the long evening and it wasn't until I got out the door and that I remembered and broke into tears. I didn't even chance the line when I went to hear The Bloggess read. And I no longer have regrets about the time I sold Robin Hitchcock a postcard and said not one word about what I fan I was. Because saying nothing means there's nothing TO regret).

Maybe it's my imagination, a function of the introversion and anxiety, but honestly I don't think so. Something missing from my brain? I feel empathy, almost too much sometimes, but I don't offer anything of myself, maybe. I don't know.

Where's the rainbow-colored pill for personality?

Inertia

I'm experiencing a severe, fatalistic case of procrastination. Library Thing must have sensed this, because it has, yet again, gone down. That should be a sign that I should get to it, write this damn essay so that I can start in on the term paper, a rough draft of which needs to be in on Friday. HELL.

What am I going to do?! Well, I'm going to write the thing, eventually. Probably tonight (better be tonight). I know that all I need to do is to bring NeoOffice back up (actually it's up...in the background, with a paragraph of text...waiting). A mere act of will and responsibility, but can I do it? Yeah, probably...but there's a pile of panic to hurdle over first, or face, or bed down. The latter would be the most sensible thing to do...it's not like it's a monumental task before me. I just don't want to do it. I am not so inclined. There are no words.

It's Father's Day, which is always sort of weird. I should send a note or something to my dad, but I never do. But then I rarely hear from him either, and I fear that acknowledging this holiday would either cause puzzlement or guilt. I purchased a library card for my stepdad, a surprising spark of inspiration on my part, I think. I don't know....the whole day makes me a little uncomfortable.

I think I hear the cave calling. I feel a dull ache coming for my head. I feel inertia setting in. I must try to shake it off.