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Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck
Oct. 31st, 2001 09:37 amGoddamnit.
Okay, we're doing this Alcoholics Anonymous style.
Hi, my name is Romie, and I'm a clinical depressive. Or at least dysthymic. I don't take medication, because I think that's crap -- I don't even take asprin, for fuck's sake. I don't see a therapist because I don't trust them, I find them superfluous when one has friends, and they mostly just piss me off. Aside from which, I have a strong enough background in abnormal psychology to be quite familiar with my own delusions, thank you very much.
I am happy most of the time, because I choose to be. While I often seem to be short-tempered, it is mainly for the entertainment value.
However, I sometimes become miserably unhappy, know that I'm doing it, know that it's irrational, and couldn't stop it with a thousand canons. Often, this is triggered by milk and milk products, which I avoid scrupulously. It may also be linked to wheat, which I have great difficulty eschewing; I clearly need to lock down on this, as I suspect it has some effect on my present condition.
Very fortunately, I always remain composed even in the worst of it, to the extent that very few people can ever tell that there's anything wrong. I'm an actor, after all, and I've had years of practice in playing myself. I say "fortunately" because I don't like being babied, or pitied, or patted on the head and apologized for. I also hate to inconvenience people; my problems are my problems and not theirs. I've had too many people ask me to fix their lives to ever put that burden on others.
In short, I don't get suicidal, I don't lose any self-confidence or self-worth, and I rationally know that I have a pretty good deal going on. I self-medicate with nail polish and raspberry ginger ale.
The chief upshot is that I get very paranoid. I become convinced that everyone dislikes me, or is annoyed with me. They are judging my actions, and everything they say is a personal attack. This may or may not be a self-fulfilling prophesy, because I suspect that I am actually less likeable when in one of these periods.
Also, when I say "everyone," I don't mean aquaintances, who sometimes like me better. As I've mentioned before, stress makes me much kinder to people I don't know and much crueler to my friends.
I could say that this is a disclaimer, or a warning, but that would be a casting off of responsibility. If I hurt somebody, it's not okay, even if I am somewhat insensible at the time, and they shouldn't put up with it.
I need to get my head together. I am stronger than my biology.
Okay, we're doing this Alcoholics Anonymous style.
Hi, my name is Romie, and I'm a clinical depressive. Or at least dysthymic. I don't take medication, because I think that's crap -- I don't even take asprin, for fuck's sake. I don't see a therapist because I don't trust them, I find them superfluous when one has friends, and they mostly just piss me off. Aside from which, I have a strong enough background in abnormal psychology to be quite familiar with my own delusions, thank you very much.
I am happy most of the time, because I choose to be. While I often seem to be short-tempered, it is mainly for the entertainment value.
However, I sometimes become miserably unhappy, know that I'm doing it, know that it's irrational, and couldn't stop it with a thousand canons. Often, this is triggered by milk and milk products, which I avoid scrupulously. It may also be linked to wheat, which I have great difficulty eschewing; I clearly need to lock down on this, as I suspect it has some effect on my present condition.
Very fortunately, I always remain composed even in the worst of it, to the extent that very few people can ever tell that there's anything wrong. I'm an actor, after all, and I've had years of practice in playing myself. I say "fortunately" because I don't like being babied, or pitied, or patted on the head and apologized for. I also hate to inconvenience people; my problems are my problems and not theirs. I've had too many people ask me to fix their lives to ever put that burden on others.
In short, I don't get suicidal, I don't lose any self-confidence or self-worth, and I rationally know that I have a pretty good deal going on. I self-medicate with nail polish and raspberry ginger ale.
The chief upshot is that I get very paranoid. I become convinced that everyone dislikes me, or is annoyed with me. They are judging my actions, and everything they say is a personal attack. This may or may not be a self-fulfilling prophesy, because I suspect that I am actually less likeable when in one of these periods.
Also, when I say "everyone," I don't mean aquaintances, who sometimes like me better. As I've mentioned before, stress makes me much kinder to people I don't know and much crueler to my friends.
I could say that this is a disclaimer, or a warning, but that would be a casting off of responsibility. If I hurt somebody, it's not okay, even if I am somewhat insensible at the time, and they shouldn't put up with it.
I need to get my head together. I am stronger than my biology.
