Elan Morgan is a writer and web designer who works from Elan.Works, a designer and editor at GenderAvenger, and a speaker who has spoken across North America. They believe in and work to grow both personal and professional quality, genuine community, and meaningful content online.

#627: OH INTERNETS, YOU ARE MY SHINY-ARMOURED KNIGHT

Something Leahpeah wrote keeps scratching its way into my thoughts. She wrote:

...if I have more than 2 bad days in a row a month, I would seriously look at it. Especially if it went on for a few months. A few bad days a month I expect and can handle. Five days or a week or more: no. I’m not prepared to lose that much time out of every 30 days of my life...

I keep going back to that, because until I read it ten days ago, I hadn't realized how bad things were for me. I have stopped counting the days, plotting the graph in my mind that showed the tally. I have grown so used to feelings of anxiety and depression that it has become a matter of course to have to shut myself inside the apartment to recover from such normal things as going to work or grocery shopping or having coffee with friends. The world has come to feel like an aggressor to me, a villain, and I hold off its attacks as much as I can until I can go home and recuperate from its innumerous offenses. And so, I've read and re-read Leahpeah's words, because they remind that I, too, am not prepared to lose that much time to this arcane dysphoria.

Still, I waited another ten days, half-heartedly continuing to buy into the belief that this was a mood, a passing post-holidays phase, but then I had an e-mail conversation with Blackbird, who mentioned meds in relation to me and possible future babies. I mentioned that there was no way I would curse a child of mine with a mother who hummed over a dolly in the corner, and a little thought went off in my head that said Why save the child and not yourself?

The thing that cemented my decision to seek help happened immediately after that e-mail exchange. I popped over to Raising Frolic to see what she was up to, and I learned that I am "...hilarious (yet gloomy)". Gina, I have to thank you for that, in all seriousness. It inspired me to troll through the last two or three months of my archives, and I was surprised by how much gloom was hiding behind even my humour.

Over the last ten days, I have begun realize that I have come up against a wall emotionally. My brain doesn't even know what it's doing anymore. If I'm not depressed or anxious for one hour out of the day, I think it's been a good day, and now that I can see that, now that the fine folks of the internet have helped to point that out to me, I can no longer put a positive spin on the one good hour that I get to experience out of every few days.

So, I have gone ahead and made a doctor's appointment. It is this afternoon at 2:20 pm, and I'm nervous as all hell about it. How am I supposed to say what's up with me? Hello. Doc. My brain has been malfunctioning since I was two. I am sometimes depressed, and sometimes I'm anxious. Sometimes, I am anxiously depressed, and at others I am depressingly anxious. I am in the market for something in a pill, unless medical marijuana is indicated for this sort of thing. Is it?

Aside from the nervousness, I am feeling a strong sense of relief, because I don't even know what it is like to feel okay anymore, and I am looking forward to finding that again. Okay sounds pretty goddammed awesome right about now.

Wish me luck.