Baby, Did You Forget To Take Your Meds?

A couple of weeks back I went to a counselor for the first time. I wasn't feeling like myself and Chelsea had noticed a sharp increase in my ability to belittle and degrade myself lower than usual. This goes beyond my usual moodiness (if you know me, you know I can flip emotions in a heartbeat). But Chelsea stated that this was different and it appeared that I was attempting to sabotage any successes that were coming to me. She stated that she wanted me to see someone about it, so I did.

We sat. We talked. I talked more. He listened. He said some stuff. I listened. We shook hands. I left.

Depression. Depressed. No danger to myself or others. Yay for me!

I refused to go to the local drugstore to pick up some meds that were supposed to help balance the off-kiltered chemicals in my brain. But instead, I threw it out.

It was cool to talk to someone who wouldn't pass judgement. I didn't open up too much, just enough to know that I wasn't an over-worrier but never told him about the Japanese man who lives in my head and tells me to burn things... a nice even balance of "knows-right-from-wrong" and "collects-his-own-feces." The idea of chemically altering my personality scares me because it takes away who I am. Even if I don't have control of my emotions as much as the next guy, the emotions are still my own and I would like to keep it that way. It is the only thing that is true.