ashleekm
Pills to be Happy?
Aug 07, 2012
Oh, btw... if you don't like people who curse or are offended by them, you'd do well to move onto another page right now. Just sayin, I grew up not being able to curse and now, I find it extremely effective for a lot of different points. Not that I'm gonna go all 2Pac up in here, but if you get offended easily, spare us both and move on.So basically, I am the queen of unfulfilled promises.
Tomorrow, I'm gonna get up and put on my sneakers and go for a walk. And then drink water! And eat good shit!
That's me. Every night.
And then I wake up the next morning, cursing my own existence and trying to pry myself off of my bed. I beg my bed, I plead with it. I get mad at it sometimes. "Our relationship is over. You're taking advantage of me. I will live forever in the land of the sleepless. Call me Edward Cullen, you'll never see me again." And yet, ten minutes after I've managed to stagger out of my emotionally-abusive bed like a wounded baby deer and stumble in my best Johnny Depp-as-Jack-Sparrow impression to the bathroom, I am sitting back in it's clutches. It's like a black hole. Or a venus fly trap.
So I never walk. Ever. I've exercised since my surgery, but never for long periods of time. Treadmills give me the urge to nibble on a block of salt like a hamster, ellipticals are just way too bad-ass for me. (Seriously, though. You SEEN the chicks that work out on those things? It's like Lara Croft: Elliptical Master), stair-steppers are too intimidating and bikes just make me FEEL like the fat person at the gym. So I figured I'd rebel against the gym, right? Go for walks like those cool people you see with Body Buggs and Under Armor and you think to yourself, "Ooo... this person is to be taken seriously."
Except today, when I went out of my front door for the first time in two days since I was... ahem... *fired* at work on Friday, (long story), I got about ten steps to the mailbox before I started to feel strange and unmotivated and generally pissed off about having to walk two hundred feet to the mailboxes. Maybe that's why I don't get out and walk in the morning. (Or it might be because I'm posting this blog at 5 AM. But you know, just taking guesses).
Can depression really have such a bearing on everything? And if so, maybe it's time for me to cop to the fact that I'll never be one of those normal people who can walk out the front door every day and miraculously be a functioning member of society WITHOUT a pill. I've been fighting this since I, in a flourish of defiance, flushed my antidepressants down the toilet, (literally), when I turned eighteen. It's something no one wants to admit.
HEY. I'M NOT LIKE YOU. I NEED A PILL TO BE HAPPY.
Just thought you should know.
