There had always been this thing inside me that wanted to prove myself. In everything- in school, at work, at home. Everything in life, I’ve always wanted to do, and do it well. I’m very bad about validating myself on these kind of things. Because of this, I was always telling myself that I didn’t need my meds.
After almost a month off of them, I can safely tell you that I need them. Badly.
I hate, hate, hate thinking that I’m dependent, per se, on my meds. Not addicted, or anything. Just knowing that I’m not as strong as I told myself I would be. Meds aren’t helpful, they’re necessary.
So, I mostly stopped taking my meds because I didn’t want to refill my prescription after I lost them. (Long story.) But, there was also that added benefit of the adventure of seeing how long I could go without them. I just wanted to know. I’d always wanted to stop taking them and see if anyone would notice.
They did.
And I think the thing I hate the most about this is that people did notice. They so noticed, and they worried. I had a panic attack in Powells room. Powells room! I have just been reliving that memory since it happened because I feel horrible. I thought I had a handle on this. I can’t believe I lost control like that.
I am a big kid. I can take care of myself.
I’m sorry.
Today's rating: 8.0
Listening to: Bad Kids- Black Lips
Currently reading: The Silmarillion- JRR Tolkien
Mostly Played iTunes Song: Little Lion Man- Mumford & Sons
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