Happily Ever After.

I’m a sucker for a book with a happy ending. I prefer it when things work out the way they’re supposed to, and by supposed to I mean the main character gets what they want and all problems and challenges are resolved. You just know life goes on for the characters in a happy and uncomplicated way after the last page is turned. I know that it’s fantasy; I don’t care. I like the way I feel when everything turns out all right…

Tired of looking for the win.

Female athletes running towards finish line on track field

I’m tired of celebrating small achievements. It gets old. It feels pathetic.
I feel pathetic.
Yes, I know I shouldn’t and yes, I know that’s one of the ways depression takes you down but seriously, I’ve started to hate positive self-talk. I’m not interested in telling myself I’m doing well. Because seriously, compared to my former life, my achievement bar is set pretty low. I now give myself props for the smallest of things: You got dressed; good for you. Congrats on washing your face. You brushed your teeth before 2 p.m. – kudos. And look at you, wearing make-up. Good job.
It feels so patronizing and pathetic at times…

Sometimes I skip a dose.

I take antidepressants three times a day, every day. Twenty milligrams of Trintellix and twenty of Latuda. The latter is a bit of a misery. It locks up the muscles in my face and causes tongue twitches. Really. It’s why I pushed dinner back to eight o’clock. I take the drugs with food, so if I can eat late, I only have to be awake with the side effects for a short while.
Sometimes, I skip a dose…