~A Bitter Swallow~

  I told myself (and a couple others) that I wasn't going to write on this anymore.  I knew when I said it I was lying.  My pants were so on fire.  I can't just stop.  The magma of my mind needs to spew every once in awhile.  This is (one of the places) where I spew it.  I have come to the conclusion that, although sometimes knowing of people who read what I have to say here might make me uncomfortable, they still read it and they still talk to me.  So, that has to count for something. 

  Yesterday I was talking to my boyfriend about my depression.  It's hard on those around you.  They tend to view something amiss in themselves that someone they love should feel so utterly hopeless.  They think they are doing something wrong, or that they in and of themselves are the worthless one.  It's very  difficult to explain that sometimes they are the one ray of sunshine in an otherwise bleak world.   

  While trying to convey this to him yesterday it dawned on me why this last bout of depression was so overwhelming, and worse than other times before.  Every other time my depression got bad, I got medicated.   This time, I did not.  Before, I always had my anti-depressant / anti-anxiety med to help ease the burden a bit.  The darkness was still there, just not as thick or oppressive.  

Upon realizing this, I started to think that maybe going back on my meds was the way to go.  But then I thought, but I beat it this time.  All. By. My. Self.   Well, I wouldn't have without the love and support of my friends and family, but still.  Pill Free.   That made me feel pretty damn good.  But wait, there's more!!  Then I thought... well, but what if next time it's even worse, and I don't beat it.  What if it wins?  

Shit.

So, the debate still battles within my mind:  Medicate?  Or no?