You Don’t Deserve to Feel so Sad

I had it all. The long blonde hair,

the toned and flexible body,

the boyfriend of 4 years,

the lab internship as a college freshman.

 

And I was desolate.

 

Now I could tell you the story that I’m sure 98% of you have heard about a person who keeps things bottled up till everything falls apart.

The what you expected: the eventual dumping of the guy because, get real, high school sweethearts ever rarely work out. The loss of muscle and subtle pudge replacement in her body… because food and alcohol.

Or the shocking truth: the having her social media accounts hacked and tormented, the endless police calls on the creep for a neighbor, the terror of the bigotry unleashed after Trump, the sleepless nights that turned into weeks, the aching body that pain killers did not let cease, the numbness, the look in the mirror that began the breakdown, the phone call no parent wants to receive. Especially when she is living on her own 3 hours away.

 

Because things REALLY did fall apart.

 

Or…

 

I could tell you I’m not superwoman.

 

I could tell you about how the friend I looked up to, who inspired me on the daily, whose charisma lit up a room, confided in me that she wasn’t superwoman either. She had a Prozac sidekick.

 

Prozac…

Anti-depressants

I could tell you about how weak that word used to make me feel. How I tried everything from meditation to melatonin to avoid it.

I could tell you about my rad doctor who took one look at me and sensed my fear.

And I can tell you the phrase she said that changed my life,

“It is my job to help you feel better. If this is what works for you, it’s what works. Screw what pride people put in themselves for not needing this type of help, YOU don’t deserve to feel so sad.”

 

Huh?

?

I don’t deserve to feel so sad?

Oh.

Well.

I’m going to take this pill.

 

…Well now I feel a little disoriented… but that’s ok. It’s a sidefffect in the beginning.

 

A week in…

 

…Ya know hey, I feel like cutting my hair again. Because I don’t care if some boys don’t like it. I like it…

 

Several weeks in…

 

…Crap! I didn’t do that thing I was going to do, but that’s ok I can do it better at this time…

 

…Darn, I didn’t do that right. Hey that’s ok. I can work on that..

 

A couple months in…

 

…Hey, I haven’t talked to this person in a while, I should plan something with them…

 

..I’m really listening to what my friend is saying, I’m in the present and not in my head…

 

Half a year…

 

…Woah, I just smiled, and I really meant it…

 

Nearly a year…

 

…Laughing feels good.

 

…I can really make you laugh now too.

 

…Let’s try this! I might suck at it, or hate it, but why not?!?

 

Hey…

I’m not settling.

 

I’m living a life I want to live.

 

I would like to emphasize these are not happy pills. I worked my ass off to get where I am today, whether it was learning when I needed to take a breather for a night in, taking a walk by the lake or woods, chocolate, calling mom, making sure I was hanging out with the right type of people, or finding my muse in photography, sketching, and this blog.

 

But I do see two different people looking back. The irritable ghost of a girl, and the now silly-ass giggly doofus I always was deep down and always will be.

“You are not your mental illness, you are so much more than it. You CAN be louder, you CAN be in control, You CAN be stronger.”

-Zoe Sugg

 

Fuck, maybe I am superwoman!

 

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