Withdrawal

It’s been a while since I wrote down my thoughts, and I think it’s about bloody time. I shouldn’t bottle as much as I do.

The last week, I’ve had a very interesting experience. I stopped taking my antidepressants for five days (long story, but it wasn’t deliberate or purposeful). Now I’ve been on these things since April 2012. That’s a very long time in drug land. At this point, my body has stopped producing serotonin and other happy brain chemicals by itself. So for five days I lived life with no happy buzz, no hormones to help me deal. And fuck me, did it change my perspective on life. Having lived in a drug induced haze, helped along by alcohol for a REALLY long time, it was terrifying and exhilarating to live without it. Mostly terrifying. Like really terrifying. I spent every day crying and having panic attacks and wanting to die, but for the first time in years I could also think fucking clearly. Reality slapped me in the face and rode me up and down the street like a rodeo bull. It said LOOK AT YOUR LIFE. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHY ARE YOU DOING IT? The last three months I’ve just been bumbling along doing the bare minimum I need to get by. eating just enough, sleeping just enough (or not enough mostly), drinking more than I should, smoking like a coal powered power station and doing the absolute least work for university that I could manage.

And I needed that reality check. I needed the screaming down my ear of complete reality unhindered by hormones and drugs to get my shit sorted. It said, why are you at university if you’re not working? Why pay £9000 a fucking year to be lazy? Why drink for no reason when hal the time you don’t even enjoy it? It also said a lot of painful and unnecessary things, so don’t get me wrong, I would NEVER EVER recommend someone going cold turkey off their medication (and I didn’t intend to do so either!). That reality also told me that I was worthless, fat, ugly, stupid, slutty, bitchy, selfish and a million and one unhelpful things.

So, whilst I’m glad to now be back on drug buffered life, that experience has changed my attitude, because by god did it need changing. Don’t ever for a minute take your own life for granted people. Life is so incredible and precious, so I need to stop wasting it. As do half the rest of the world.

Debbimouse, over and out.

Fuck the system.

Here’s a little background information on me to help explain this post. I have issues with violence and anger management, linked to my anxiety and depression. When I feel trapped or cornered I hit things and people until everything backs off. Up until recently I have been on medication to reduce my anxiety and therefore avert violent episodes.
I came off those medications a few weeks ago.
I am angry now. I am full of mood swings and I want to stamp my foot, I’ve started shouting again when something pisses me off. Pretty soon I’ll start hitting stuff again. And you know what everyone says is the solution? “GO BACK ON THE MEDS”.
You know what? I don’t fucking want to. I don’t want who and what I am to be determined by pills and potions and doctors orders. Fuck that shit right up it’s hairy miserable ass crack. I am this. I am this person.
I’ve always struggled to control my temper, and being on the meds I just didn’t have a temper. I don’t want that. I WANT to get angry sometimes. I want to feel things. I want the chance to learn to control these emotions myself and sometimes I think my anger is goddamn justified.
Society tells us what is and what isn’t acceptable and I just could not give a flying monkeys anymore what society says. I can get angry sometimes I should be allowed to. Coming off of the pills has been like a slow wake up. I nearly drowned myself in mediocrity and normality.
I don’t want to fit in with the prescribed normal. That was never what I wanted.
I’ve let everything walk all over me. I’ve let society tell me that I’m quiet and reasonable and cool headed and passionless. But since I’ve been on the meds, I’ve hardly written anything (poetry, stories, etc) I’ve hardly picked up a paintbrush and lost myself in the joy of creating. I haven’t danced. I lost MYSELF all for the sake of fitting in and being normal. I could still see those things in myself but it was like looking through a glass wall. Now I just want to smash that wall down.
My passion and my drive comes at a price. It comes at the price of a temper and an irrationality,  a pirce of a little bit of selfishness and judgemental attributes. But you know what I’ve realised?
It’s fucking worth it.
I’ll be myself if it kills me. I will write and paint and dance and laugh. I will be myself again to the most that I can be. NOTHING and NOONE will stop be. Forget the system, forget normality, fuck it all. I’ll fight for the things I care about instead of the things that are “supposed” to matter. Because they don’t matter. They don’t make me happy. They just drown me.
Debbimouse, over and fucking out.