Lady Boohoo

Damn. I lost a follower. Eh.

So I have been pretty fucking sad lately. I don't think going off my medication was the best idea. I wish it could be much smoother, of course, but maybe I have to accept the fact that I may always need to be on an antidepressant.

It's not that I am "just sad." It's as if my brain is trapped inside of a closet and that closet is trapped inside of a sauna and that sauna is trapped inside the foggy city of San Francisco and that city of San Francisco is trapped inside of the Great Depression and that Great Depression is trapped inside of my brain which is locked inside of a drawer inside of a closet.

You know?

So that's how I feel. Or don't feel. Aren't you supposed to start "feeling" again when you go off of antidepressants? Aren't you supposed to awaken from some deep sleep and start seeing the world in color again? Aren't you supposed to suddenly be a creative genius and sexual genius and a genius who doesn't even know they're a genius because the real mark of a genius is being oblivious to the fact that they are, in fact, a genius? Because I am not feeling any of these things. The only things I do seem to feel is quick anger and frustration at the silliest things, like a certain vegan girl that usually only slightly frustrates me and insignificant grammatical errors.

And I'm always tired.

What do I do? I think I am on the verge of giving up-- giving up on a variety of people, things, ideas, and myself. And I don't really care.

FREAK FLAG!!!

I can't stop saying this phrase: LET YOUR FREAK FLAG FLY!

There are variations of it, too. "Am I freakin' you out with my freak flag?" "Let me freak you out with my flag!" "Freaking out with my freak flag flying!"

I don't know why I am saying this. Well, it's probably because I feel so freaky and free these days.

No more bad crazy pills for me. I am free.

(Jack has to deal with me proclaiming all of these... uh, proclamations... so he's a good sport. He also likes sports. A LOT.)

tightrope walking

The body and brain definitely know how to balance themselves out.

After days and days of stimulation, I feel the inevitable crash coming.

I am going to crash. I am going to be tired. I am no longer going to be wired. (And I will no longer rhyme.) I am going to snack on everything in sight. I will forget and stutter and shut my mouth for an extended period of time. I hope I don't become rude and snappy. But who knows. The brain will do what it needs to to restore balance.

So now is my turn. So now I must return balance to my soul. I have a peace somewhere inside of all of my pieces that is just waiting to be put together. And some pieces, like the ever-so-sought-after corner pieces, will be missing. But the core will be there; it has always been there.

What's left to do is cut. Cut through, cut out, cut down. Starting... tomorrow. Tonight I will find shortcuts instead.