Because I am so good with the drama, I chose New Year’s Eve to do that whole hitting the rock bottom thing. For the past couple of months, I’ve been metaphorically skating on metaphorical thin ice, making excuses to myself about my various states of mind, like “oh, it’s just the post holiday blues” or “oh it’s such and such at work” or “oh, it’s blah blah blah” but the truth is of course that oh, it’s me. So I’m resolving to go back on antidepressants, because it just hurts too much with the way things are right now in my head. I need the noise to quieten up for a while.
I also might try to lay off the drinking too, because I think I have way overfilled my quota of tearful crying and freaking people out for the year. Yeah I managed that in less than 24 hours. Nice one. And now just as the ALAC ads promised I am full of remorse and just sheer fucking embarrassment about the way I acted, and now I want to hide in my bed and not face the people I was with last night ever again. Which is going to make it hard to find out if I left my camera at the house in Aro.
Thanks John Kirwan! Now is the hardest part while I wait to get an appointment with a doctor, and then go over my mental history, and blah blah blah. I think I want celepram again, which means dizziness and dry mouth, and curtailed orgasms at first, and then panic if I run out of a prescription. But it is still better than feeling like this.
My other resolution is to make sure I donate at least 1% of my income to charity. If we want the country to be all about the .7% of GDP then we gots to do our bit too. And yet I know that 1% is a pittance. I also resolve to cut country clubs back to one every two months, and to find something new and challenging to do. Specific huh?