Like coming off the pill that you take to stay happy

I am a full two weeks back on anti-depressants, and it pisses me off to tell you that they are working.
Goddamn mental stability!
It pisses me off mostly at myself for thinking that I could stop them, when it was a particularly bad time to try to do so. It pisses me off because I feel like I wasted my summer being depressed because I was too stubborn to take medication.
This summer was the longest I've been off anti-depressants since I started taking them over 10 years ago. And I'm not sure that my life will ever be stable enough for me to go off them again....not like I plan on being some vagabond for the rest of my life, but we always have stuff going on that can be hard and it turns out I can't deal.
I have certainly been depressed while on anti-depressants...usually then I just change the meds or change the dose or whatever. But being on anti-depressants doesn't make me happy. I think I have written before about how much I hate it when people call prozac a "happy pill". I am not an especially happy person. I will never be a happy person. Prozac lets me funtion. Depression is a little cocoon for me. It's actually comforting. On anti-depressants I can actually feel myself coming out of my little depression nest....it's like getting out of bed. There are days when being curled up in bed is pleasant and relaxing, and forcing yourself to throw those covers off and expose yourself to the air makes you feel vulnerable. I really feel like I don't have a blanket over me when I'm not depressed.

Anyway, it's making my life a lot better. Things are going better at my job and it feels more manageable. I get less frustrated with my supervisor, and I don't cry every time I am frustrated.

My roommates make me laugh more than anything. Stoner and her dyke friend were having a burping contest yesterday. That was awesome to listen to.

I threw away another empty bag of cheese that someone left in the fridge.

Tomorrow I am buying toilet paper to keep in my room because I have bought a substantial amount-at least 9 rolls-twice in a row. We are now down to the last roll and someone has brought in a single roll of Scott. Fuck that shit. Charmin's in my room, bitches.

Asperger's has these really short shorts she likes to wear around the house. Like you can see the bottom part of her ass when she wears them. But it's getting cold and we don't have heat. Some people, like myself, stop wearing their around-the-house shorts when it gets that cold. But not Asperger's. She apparently can't give up those fucking shorts. The other day she comes barrelling out of her room like she does and she is wearing the short shorts and what could best be described as thigh-high gym socks. The kind with a couple horizontal stripes around the top except the top part is at the top of her thigh instead of, say, the lower part of a calf. So she stomps through the living room with her asperger's gait and it's: short shorts, little bit of ass, and then thigh high gym sock on down.
I laughed as she was walking by. Fortunately her disorder prevents her from paying attention to her surroundings. She and I watched two episodes of the new duggar show today. I have a lot to say about the Duggars, but that is for next time.