Six Months? Really?
It's been since June I posted here?
That can't be right.
I think of witty things to post here all the time.
I dream interesting writings, I do.
How can it be that I don't actually type them out?
I won't bore you all with the tragic reasons why I don't write much (at all) anymore.
Some of you know them.
For the rest of you, the Prosaic isn't working like my Doctor promised. I didn't want anti-depressants, because I don't think I'm depressed. I wanted anti-anxiety meds because my life is fucked up beyond my control.
I am fine, the shit around me is messed up.
The reasons I can't sleep all night isn't me, it's the madman I'm married to.
My stress isn't internal, it's him.
My anxiety isn't chemical, it's him.
Although I will say in the 2 months that I've been on the Prosaic pills, that I have gotten up every morning, I am usually showered, I go to work when schedualed, and I haven't killed anyone. Yet.
My problems are my husband's alcohol consumption, and how he behaves after a fifth of whiskey. I am not sure how medicating me, fixes him.
Please note that I have not shaved my head, or cut myself before or since being medicated. So maybe it's working.
I have anxiety, I have stress, but I don't think it's me.
I don't write because everything I have to say is a big bummer.
I don't call becasuse I have no good news.
I have no happy funny stories to tell.
I laugh, but only because I want to cry, all the time.
( actually I think the meds might be helping with the "crying all the time" thing)
And with all this, Katie is gonna grow up, and leave me, and have a wonderful life.
I want to raise her all over again.
I would do it again.
I enjoyed her so much.
Time flies doesn't it?