Drugs

I don’t think everything can be solved with drugs, or that 1 out of every 10 kids in the United States should be on aderol. I don’t think everyone should be on depression medication, and in my best medical opinion someone shouldn’t assign a manic-depressive-suicidal-multiple-personality-schizophrenic-sociopath diagnosis to someone who is mourning the death of their beloved cat. But, in the same sense, sometimes you need help in life. You can’t really name the reason, but sometimes you don’t want to get out of bed in the morning. You can’t really name the reason, but you want to wear the baggy shirt so no one will see your fat poking through. And for some reason, you find yourself crying yourself to sleep and hope you’ll never wake up again. So here’s where my dilemma comes in, I think. Sometimes, all I can think is that I’m pretty retarded to get bogged down in all of it, you know? And, I hope other people feel the same way. That maybe it’s okay that a crush doesn’t return the feelings, or the calls. Maybe it’s okay that your ex uses you like a toy, and also uses you for relationship advice with his current girlfriend. No one is dieing from cancer. No one is dieing from AIDS or HIV, and no puppies were harmed. Yet, I still feel like my stomach has been stomped flat and my heart has been shot with a rifle. It’s so fucking weird sometimes, going from happy and laughing to crying and feeling as if you’ve got no support system. It’s weird, because you know you can’t really tell anyone or else they’ll just think you’re either emo or blood is raging out of your vagina. So, here’s where my dilemma comes in, I think. I’m suppose to be taking these pills, to make everything better, to make me see through rose tinted glasses. And I took them for about 2 weeks. And you know what? They made it so I didn’t want to cry, I didn’t want to punch the crap out of a wall, or anything like that. They made me a normal girl, where I didn’t feel disappointed if the guy I wanted to return my call didn’t, or if my plans got dropped I didn’t mind. And you know what? I stopped taking them. Because, for some reason, I feel like beating the shit out of that life-sized care bear I have because some stupid fucking guy won’t talk to me. Or I feel like crying just because, what the hell, I don’t even know why. Maybe that makes me crazy, weird, abnormal, whatever. I just don’t think everything can be solved with drugs. Especially being human.