Nobody call 911
So, turns out, there is nothing that inspires long-distance phone calls like typing the word, “suicide” into one’s blog. I thought I had been pretty clear that my thoughts that night were kind of blase and apathetic in the sense that I couldn’t even be bothered to get up for water. I’m not even sure if that’s the right way to describe it, but you get my point. I am NOT suicidal. I am fucking depressed. And I mean, in the hole deep, depressed.
Why didn’t you get groceries like you said you would?
I don’t know.
Why haven’t you been finding a better job?
I don’t know.
Why aren’t you writing your book?
I don’t know.
I don’t fucking know.
I do know that I’m sad. Fucking sad. And I know I should never have stopped taking that Zoloft. But there is a part of me that knows that taking Zoloft that was prescribed by my GP, is not a solution. It is another way of repressing and just putting off going through whatever it is that I need to face before I can move on with my life without all this pre-historic bullshit weighing me down. (Oh Oprah! Come and teach me to how to live in the now!) So I decided that I wanted to finally just get down to wading through all of my issues, dealing with my shit and getting on with things. The problem with that came when I went off Zoloft before finding a therapist to help with the depression. That’s the thing with Zoloft … it makes you think you’re way more in control than you actually are. Tricky little pills.
Speaking of pills, I was watching the latest Intervention about Danielle & Her Percocet, and I finally realized why I love that show so much. I always thought it was because I enjoy cheering on an underdog and there’s just nothing like watching the addict of the hour accept the help they’re being offered and reading at the end that they made it through their treatment program and haven’t relapsed and are productive and reunited with their families and YIPPEE! But, no. I don’t care nearly as much about their recovery as I do about the fact that they’re going to rehab! Oh would I love me some rehab. Know why? Group therapy. Oh, Smoking Baby on my mantel, would I love go to group therapy. In a sick way I would much rather receive an intervention and win a free trip to A Place of Hope instead of winning both packages on the Showcase Showdown.
Ok. Gotta run. I’ve got work but first I’m heading out to do a quick photo shoot with an artist who wants to see if she can capture that je ne sais quoi she sees in me.
If only she knew.
PS. For the record. NOT suicidal. NOT. Not even a little.
July 29th, 2009 at 1:14 pm
I’m really glad you decided to take this route over the Band-Aid/Zoloft approach.
If things ever get too bad, call me and I’ll meet you for sushi in Ramsey, NJ to help you gain a little perspective. Remember: No matter how bad you think you life is, it’s never as bad a Ramsey, NJ sushi.
July 30th, 2009 at 11:46 am
Ramsey, New Jersey — the only place in the world where your sushi comes with cream sauce and Long John Silver’s crumblies.
July 30th, 2009 at 10:04 pm
at least Ramsey HAS a sushi restaurant