There Are Good Days

 Not all days are bad.  There are good days like today.  I wake up and feel good about where I am.  I laugh instead of cry.  I make eye contact and talk to people without hesitation.  I focus on the task at hand instead of survival tactics.  I joke around with people and dance like no one is watching.  I live life how I think it is supposed to be for me.  The good days are enjoyable and productive days.  I feel like I have my life back.  I don't feel like I am walking through fire just to get to hell.

 I haven't started taking the antidepressant that prescribed to me.  For the first time in my life, I am worried about the side effects.  I never really worried about side effects because I knew the medication was temporary.  10 days and I would be moving on.  This medication could be something I have to take for months, years, or even the rest of my life.  I read through 30+ pages of clinical trials.  I reached out to friends that are pharmacists.  I called the doctor and asked for alternative treatments or medications with a longer proven track record.  I know I am taking a risk by not taking the medication.  I know there is a risk that the next depressive episode is right around the corner and I won't be prepared.

 On good days, I wake up and make my bed without hesitation.  On bad days, I negotiate with myself.  I tell myself that I have to get out of bed or people will know I am sick.  I tell myself that I have to make my bed so I start the day with an accomplishment.  Washing my face is an accomplishment.  Brushing my teeth is an accomplishment.  Getting dressed is an accomplishment.  Making it to work with less than three melt downs is an accomplishment.  Commercials make me cry because they somehow remind me of something else and then I spiral.  I sob uncontrollably for a couple minutes and then it passes.  I feel tortured in those moments.  I feel like there is no way out and to some extent, there isn't.  I am medicated to not feel this way, but I still do.  I don't know how long I'll be medicated, but I hope it isn't forever.  I hate the fact that Ming has to ask if I took my medication.  It hurts a little more each time she asks, but I know she is asking out of love.

 Some people treat me differently now that they know what I am going through.  Some people avoid me entirely.  This is what I was afraid of, but I knew there were very real consequences of sharing my experience.  To be sure, this type of treatment is rare.  My closest friends offer their support and are generally just more aware.  They know that the ticking time-bomb of my personality has been diffused to some extent.  Now that people know I hear voices, they talk to me like English is my second language.  Slow and deliberate.  Like talking to a child.  I know it's not intentional, probably just a subconscious response.  People know they are talking to someone that is always toeing the line between sanity and going off the deep end.