A/N: I was skimming through the stuff I’ve posted, and I was a little disturbed by the fact that practically everything I’ve written sounds suicidal at one point or another. And I’m probably worrying people. So I’ve written this to reassure all you lovely people out there that I’m feeling better now.

Meds

Two months ago, I stopped taking my pills. Just stopped. Against the doctors orders.

(I told him they weren’t helping, he ignored me, they all ignore me, always)

still, what does he know? Degree and doctorate, but this is my life and he never took exams on how my head works and how my feelings operate.

So I stopped. Not a conscious effort. Just didn’t. woke up one morning

(Afternoon, I’m still sleeping erratically)

went, took the Prozac and Propranolol from the counter, and gulped down a glass of water.

But the pills were still in my hand.

(Great, you’re losing it now, you know)

I don’t know why I didn’t take them. I meant to. But I just didn’t. Maybe it was some subconscious thing

(I’ve heard of a cry for help, but I’ve never heard of a cry for less help)

Stopped seeing my councillor too. Just stopped talking. Because I realised that the more you analyse something, the worse it seems. So I stopped analysing my emotions

(or my not-emotions, because the problem is my feeling numb, isn’t it?)

in favour for actually feeling them.

I’ve felt better in the last two months than I have for years.

They set me up with an online school, and now it’s the holidays I actually miss it.

(I’m missing school, I mean, come on, this is progress)

I even miss my actual school. I miss going there and seeing people.

I’m not so sure I want to spend the rest of my life in bed anymore.

(I’m bugging my best friend about going shopping with her, and it’s her that’s too tired to go instead of me.)

I’ve stopped feeling so tired all the time. I’ve started going to bed before two o’clock in the morning

(Which doesn’t sound like much, but even before I had sleeping problems midnight was fairly early for me)

and I haven’t slept to past ten once this week.

Woke up and didn’t take pills. Did some Art coursework instead.

(It’s coming on well too, and I think I might get a good mark for it)

I couldn’t draw before, my hands wouldn’t work for me. If I’d tried to do any art three months ago, I would have held the pencil loosely in my hand, and stared at the blank paper. If it was a good day, I’d just stay there for half an hour or so, staring, only moving every now and then to check if it was time for my next lot of pills. If it was a bad day, I’d scrawl angry scribbles until the page tore, and keep on doing it, because I wouldn’t even have noticed. If it was a really bad day, I’d have torn up every single page of the sketchbook.

After I did that the first time with my own work, I decided not to risk it with my school work, in case I destroyed the stuff I’d done back when my hands still cooperated with my head.

(My hands were cooperating with my head, but when there is nothing in your head but black frequency, static and metaphorical white noise, there’s nothing for your hands to do. Paper is already black.)

But now my exam preparation is coming on nicely. Kind of proud of it actually.

Finished and rewrote my entire Sociology coursework.

(Fourteen fucking pages, when two months ago I was having trouble churning out a single paragraph)

When my mother came home

(It was my mother, I know it was, my father didn’t come till later, and Mum told him off because he’s not supposed to be working late anymore, and that’s detail, I can remember detail again, and it’s so beautifully mundane)

we watched a Buffy rerun together.

(Actually together, where we discussed it, and joked, I actually was joking about it, instead of before, where I stared at the screen, and she tried to get me to talk)

It was fun. I enjoyed it.

Went into school last week and all. Didn’t even mean too, it was a total accident. I went into school by accident. Just went for a walk to do some drawing

(Yeah, got out of the house, without even a purpose, without any plans to actually go anywhere, just because I wanted to)

and somehow found myself signing into school, and going to classes. It was the first time I had been with all of my form together since I stopped going five months ago. They were pleased to see me.

Two months ago, I stopped taking my pills. Just stopped. I don’t want them anymore. It doesn’t seem important.

That’s not true. Some things do feel important again. I’ve got exams coming up, and they’re important. They feel important. I’m revising for them and everything.

(Because no one ever took exams on my feelings and the way my head works, but I’m tested on it everyday now, do practical experiments with my feelings, and you have no idea how bloody brilliant it is)

Yeah. Feeling things again. Static’s quieter, filled up with noise. My head’s full of ideas that I want to write down, and some of them are even happy ones. My fingers are itching to pick up a pencil and doodle something and my eyes are twitching to start reading again, hell, when I play music I sing along, shit I’m even dancing, hopping about in time.

Me, I’m feeling things again. Without my pills. I don’t need them. Don’t think I ever did. All they ever did was drive home that there was something wrong with me. So time to remind myself that I’m not only not sick, I’m interesting. I want to be around me. You, you’d want to be around me too, because I’m fun to talk to again.

Yeah. It’s bloody brilliant.

A/N: I’m kind of hoping this might be slightly inspirational to anyone who’s been through what I have. It gets better. Honestly.