A Little Conceited
When I was 11, I was diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. I was too weak to attend school at the time, so I spent my time at home. Over the years it turned from a little loneliness to situational depression. Took a while. I didn't agree to go on anti-depressants until I started having thoughts of stabbing my brother with a knife, and I've been on various meds for six months now. I feel like a deathly breeze went through me and left only a hollow shell. While I understand the treatment was necessary to prevent me from harming myself or someone else, I still feel cheated. Like I'm not real. During the day this doesn't bother me much; since, I've been able to go to school somewhat regularly, I have some friends, I keep myself busy. But it comes back at night time.
I feel very lonely. I have only two very good friends; one of them is my cat, and the other is a girl I met a long time ago whom I am impossibly grateful for.
I have a third friend, I guess, if you count myself. My medicated self. I don't fully know what I am like unmedicated, but I know it is a different person than this. If only a little.
I want to be able to like someone again. In "that" way.
I want my uncensored emotions back, including the bad ones. Especially the bad ones, so I can take them head on and make progress in my life.
Most of all, I want whatever withered and sickly part of myself to have room to grow again.
It has now been 23 hours and 27 minutes since my last dosage of medication from this post. I am beginning to twitch a little (that's my anti-anxiety meds wearing off).
It has taken me over two hours to write this.