I know that a lot of you have been telling me this from day one, but please believe me when I say it was something I needed to figure out on my own:

My brain? It ain’t right.

I’ve made the decision to go back on my anti-depression medication. Yesterday when I was at the doctor getting a refill of my anti-baby and anti-Ronaldo pills, I had the random doctor (I really need to find a doctor of my own instead of just using the walk-in clinics) write me a prescription for 75mg of EFFEXXX0R!!@#!!@!1. So, I’m back on it. Now, let the good times roll!

As obviously smart and charming and beautiful as I am, for some reason I still feel a huge stigma (stigmata? now that would be something to write to Ma about) against being on medication for being sad. I KNOW that’s not what it’s about. I KNOW it’s a chemical imbalance, and I KNOW there is no shame in fixing what’s wrong. For every other person out there on medication for depression, I applaud them mightily for taking the steps to have a better life. It’s awesome. Good for you!

Then there’s me, and I think I am a giant failure for needing brain pills to get through the day.

How much sense does that make? None, that’s how much. I can be a right bloody idiot sometimes, and this is definitely one of those times.

I know I had some of you up in arms about my decision to take myself off the crazy pills, but I really did need to see if I could do it. I think I needed to see what my life was like before the medication; remind myself that while things may suck right now, you wouldn’t believe how much worse they could get. I spent about 3 months off the medication, and things were .. not good. When I wasn’t angry, I felt dead inside. When I wasn’t a zombie, I was thinking about bus tires. Last weekend, when things were as bad as they’ve ever been, I came to the conclusion that the only reason I couldn’t kill myself right then and there was because I had dinner reservations on the 18th. That’s alarming for two reasons: that I’d started to think about offing myself again, and that wow, I really have no life the only “good” thing I could think of was that I had reservations for dinner. That isn’t normal. That isn’t me. Why the hell would I want to kill myself? I have a SCOOTER, for christ’s sake. Ain’t never seen no zombies riding around on scooters, snacking on the living.

So, things were bad. I am hoping they get better soon. I only started taking the medication again last night, so it’s a little early for me to start breaking out into song with every step – except this morning I woke up in a good mood, something that hasn’t happened in .. months. It’s quite possibly psychosomatic, but I’ll take it. Bus tires are dirty, and it’s wet out there.

*cheese*