Well I'm back. With outstanding predictability, I have failed to update this blog for well over 6 months. I fail at the internet.
I'm here now though and that's what counts, right? The thought being better than the gift and all that? I'm rambling.
I don't really know what to post about. I could tell you, dear non existent readers, all about my recent move onto antidepressants I suppose. Long story short, they're awesome, I am now actually dead inside. Woop.
I could tell you about my failed dates. Without going into too much detail or naming any names, one of them is either totally oblivious to their actions and doesn't realise quite how much they make my brain hurt or is completely insane; the other was potentially perfect but I scared him off by being a complete psycho. (hence the earlier comment about moving onto antidepressants).
Now, I know that may sound a touch bleak, and slightly like I'm now dosing my body with drugs to get over a boy, but that's totally not the case.
Anyone who knows me will struggle to comment on my sunny disposition or positive outlook. Those closest to me would hopefully tell you that I am funny and acerbic, if not a little grim and pessimistic. That does basically stem from my near constant self loathing. For as long as I can remember, I have been "depressed". There is no real cause for it either. My life, whilst not always a fairytale, has never been too hard. My immediate family is supportive and loving, I have a small group of amazing friends and things are generally quite secure, if a little uninspiring.
That being said, there has always been a black cloud hanging over my heart, a bottomless void of misery and emo-angst at the core of my being. Whenever I have a positive thought, the little voice in the back of my mind is quick to argue with it, to quash whatever good feelings I may be having and pull me back down into its darkness. For the last however many years, I have dealt with that voice, that entity that is depression, on my own. I've never really trusted antidepressants as anything other than a temporary cover to much more complicated issues. Recently however, actual analysis of my behaviour has led me to the conclusion that the type of depression I suffer from is best categorised as bi-polar. Type 2 to be really precise.
Reading about manic episodes, followed by downward spirals into deep depression was like reading a study of my own life. Every known symptom and warning sign was something that could be used in an "About You" section of my personal profile. I want help with this, I want CBT, medication and support. In order to do this I need to go through the right channels. Because I am dirt poor, and the NHS is under funded and staffed to such a point that doctors have roughly 4 minutes to see each patient, I am now on antidepressants. This is what the doctor gave me after a 30 second consultation, and these are what I will take until I can prove that they don't work for me and move onto the next stage.
So far, I don't feel much from them, numerous things have upset me since starting on them and I find that I'm still upset, but unable to summon the energy to actually do anything about it. This may be a good thing but I can't see it myself.
I'll be off back to the doctors at some point this week, who knows what their opinion will be.