addicted to unhappiness

Today is the first time in nearly a year that I’ve felt good about myself in an overall sense: beautiful, smart, confident, all of that gushy stuff.

That’s not to say I haven’t had moments where I’ve felt awesome in some area. Switching jobs made me feel good. Seeing my baby sisters made me feel good. Getting my voice again made me feel good.

At my psych appointment yesterday, I told her that I don’t want to take one of my medications anymore because it is making me gain weight. She didn’t believe me so she weighed me. I told her that feeling fat causes my BDD to become unmanageable, regardless of how much Zoloft I take.

She asked me why the first psychiatrist put me on that and I told her it was his kneejerk reaction (I assume) to the way I was feeling when I first came in and he was just trying to pull me out of the suicide ditch I’d made for myself.

That anniversary is up next but today I feel good and it had become such an unfamiliar feeling that I kept trying to figure out what was wrong. After taking inventory of my life and emotions, I concluded that nothing is wrong, that this is what happy feels like.

My first selfie on this blog in a while, or anywhere else public. Showered with some leftover eye makeup (need better makeup remover wipes!)


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