To be (insane) or not to be? That is the question.

I told you I have a cycle. And in that cycle I go through phases. So what phase am I in now? I'm in the one where I take a step back and really look at my life. How it's going, what I'm doing with it, asking myself if I'm satisfied or happy.

I have to say, honestly, no, I'm not satisfied. I'm not happy. I'm not even entirely myself. Sure with my meds my anger has gone way way down. But what about everything else? I never had anxiety so bad in my life before. Yeah I was always morbidly afraid of death. And I even believed that in the black space of my apartment at night there were ghosts lingering. But never did I think the train was going to tip over, or that a drunk driver would come from nowhere and run into me. I wasn't afraid someone would blow the subway up or that a plane would spontaneously fall onto my building. Life was manageable, I think. I know my coping wasn't the best. I've got scars that I had to explain to my boyfriend when we were still getting to know each other. And probably one day I'll have to explain them to my children. How am I going to do that?

I use to be an angry girl, yes. I hurt my cat. I broke everything around me. I hurt myself. I turned red, and screamed 'till it hurt. But I had something. I had creativity. There's a quote that says creativity is a mental illness. Aren't all the creative geniuses at least a little mad? I use to write poetry a couple of times a week. I use to come up with these ideas, and create things. I made up a board game, I wrote short stories, and I even started on a novel at one point. I had a happy place. My own LaLa land. I haven't written a poem since I've been on meds. I haven't created anything, and my LaLa land is just not as vivid as it used to be. I use to love the rush as the train passed by me. I liked to feel the wind. It gave me adrenaline. I use to wake up at 9AM and be out of my house by 1. If it was 3:00 and I was still home, it felt like my whole day was over. Summers of drinking quarter waters, sitting on the steps with my best friend and clowning around, screaming, not giving a damn about how anyone perceived me. That was the LIFE.

I know - I just know - It's the meds. Prozac, Seroquel, Depakote, Lexapro, Welbutrin, Abilify, they've all silenced me. Sucked out all the creative juices and dried them up. I know. I know, just get off the meds, right? Not so fast buddy. I mentioned to my psychiatrist that I wanted to get off, and she said "No. Absolutely not. That's out of the question. No." So I have this little plan; I'm weaning myself off dear old Lexa little by little. I complained enough about Abilify (it silenced the voices but I was having panic attacks every time I boarded the subway) that she took me off of it. So it's just me and fifty mg's of Lex. (That's because I've cut 'em in half with my trusty dusty pill cutter) I should be cutting that fifty in half soon, taking it for another month, until finally I'm taking nothing. If my psychiatrist finds out, she will have me committed.

No more shivering on the train out of fear, no more throwing on just any outfit (I use to put myself together VERY nicely down to the rings, earrings, and cute little belts. My hair had to match the outfit too, or it was all screwed up). No more fucking waking up at four in the afternoon and doing literally nothing all day long.

I have to take back my life. I'd rather be insane and happy than subdued and sleeping all day long, getting nothing done, hating myself, and pretty much not living. I want to go out and look at something incredible and rush home to create my own little masterpiece. I want to have Ideas flowing through my mind knocking so loud that I can't sleep, that I just have to turn on the light and write out the entire plan. I fucking miss that, you know? I'm fully prepared to deal with the down side - new symptoms like hearing shit that's not there, and fighting the temptation to cut, to smoke. All that other stuff. I'm willing to just learn how to live with it, isn't that why I'm in therapy?

People in my life think because I'm tiny and don't make any sense that they have to take over for me and make decisions for me. But I'm perfectly capable. I know when I need help, I know when to ask for that help. No, if I ever want to move out of mami's house and raise a family, I've got to start taking control right now.

It's your life, kid. What are you gonna do?