By The Wiz
Go ahead. Call me weak. Tell me that if I had exercised harder, ate better, or prayed more, than my brain would be functioning correctly. Bring it on. Because seriously, folks, you can’t tell me anything that I haven’t told myself.
Tell me that depression is only real when it’s post partum. Go on. I know you think it. How can anybody be depressed when there isn’t a newborn screaming and hormones raging? THEN it’s real! Screw Tom Cruise!! Go Brooke Shields! But if there aren’t any hormones to blame….well, then, pull yourself together. Think more positively or something. Eat some food. Get your lazy butt to the gym.
I’m getting the drugs. And I’m looking forward to it. So is my husband. And once my serotonin levels are sorted out, well then, maybe I won’t shut down when I dial a wrong number. Maybe my brain won’t dial those wrong numbers so often, and maybe I’ll be able to do simple addition and subtraction again. Maybe food will actually have a taste to it, and possibly I will be able to get through the day without tears at some point.
Tell me how therapy is lame. ESPECIALLY if you’ve never been! GO ON!! I want to hear how you are so cool and strong that you would never have to stoop to such levels. EVER. No matter how long you live, no matter what life throws at you. Because YOU know what therapy is like, and know that it’s not for you. Really? What therapy-like experience did you have that was so traumatic? Marriage and family class at church was boring and less than helpful? Well, that’s exactly what ALL therapy is like!!! Good thing you know it won’t work!!! I’m so pleased for you. I hope you never feel this way. I wish I could be as strong as you. But I’m getting the drugs. Try and stop me.