This is Why There are Warnings on Meds, Kids

Today, tonight, rather, is Friday - and on Saturday past, I had a seizure.
The first seizure that I know of having. I say that because, as an ex-addict, it's more than likely that I've had at least one seizure before. Especially given which drug I was addicted to.
This was the first time I was at all aware of having had the seizure, though. I went to bed last Friday night feeling very... off. I don't know how else to put it. I woke up feeling just as strange, if not worse.I woke up Saturday and as the day wore on, quickly might I add, I started feeling notably not good. I was having a hard time staying awake sat on my couch, I felt nauseous, my head felt unbelievably cloudly... I just wasn't right. Eventually, I completely blacked out - which my boyfriend tells me was the seizure. Apparently, my eyes rolled back into my head, I was foaming at the mouth, I was convulsing, and I started off incredibly warm and by the end was shivering. When I came out of it, I couldn't find words and was speaking gibberish, and was incredibly nauseous. I actually puked twice, the last time being late Saturday night, closer to Sunday morning.
The next day, my boyfriend had me call my therapist, and when I ran into her on Tuesday, she told me to see my family doctor. So I did that, which resulted in another repeat of what happened followed by my being taken off of the Wellbutrin I'd come to love, having blood taken, and having to pee in a cup.
Yesterday - Thursday - I saw my psychiatrist, and he offered me two options: A) Stay off the Wellbutrin and just... see how things go, or B) get on something new right away.
Well, I wasn't happy about being off the only antidepressant to ever do much of anything for me, so I chose the latter option. My psychiatrist put me on Prozac, promising the possibility of weight gain was slim. I picked it up today, and I start it tomorrow morning.
I know there are going to be side effects, probably nausea. I just hope I'm able to go to temple - class and ritual - tomorrow, I missed last week because of the seizure, and it's something I look forward to every week.
I still don't know why I had a seizure. I haven't been purging - I think the last time would've been January at the earliest; and June marked my sixth year clean.
I'm still feeling residually tired and worn out.
Hopefully Prozac works out well for me.

I Hate to Bring This Up

I really do hate to bring up the awful combination of mental illness - illnesses, in my case - and a serious romantic relationship.
For the most part, my partner is understanding, supportive, helpful, just wonderful.
... But then, days like today happen.
Days where we end up in a fight because I can't do my share of things like household chores; my schoolwork suffers; my social life goes down the drain; my financial contributions are at an all time low... and that's just scratching the surface. Days where threats are thrown verbally because I can't function like a regular person. I can't function like a normal girlfriend. I can't be that.
I'm a little caught up with suicidal thoughts that bombard me, making it a feat to get out of bed, brush my teeth, take my meds, and look presentable. Let alone think about the groceries, or what needs to be cleaned, or the fact that the laundry is starting to pile up - again.
Usually my lovely partner can understand the 'whys' of all these things, but lately things haven't been easy on him, either. He has an injury that makes it very painful for him to walk, so going to work has become that much more stressful for him.. and more stress equals less patience. Which makes absolute sense... it just makes my life a little messier, because his tolerance for my limitations and affectations goes way down.
This is something I'm sure we (those of us 'blessed' with mental illness) all have to face at times, that is, if we're able to find a partner and hold down a relationship long enough to have those 'living together' disputes. I don't envy those of you going it alone - having someone to lean on is by far the superior option in my opinion, if possible -  but I feel like.. it must be nice, sometimes.. to not have to worry about what that other person expects of you.
I wouldn't trade my partner for anything, but I know how hard it is to try to be a Good and Normal Girlfriend when you're also Mentally Ill.

Mini Update of Sorts?

I think I'm doing a little better. Coping a little better, maybe, is the best way to describe it.
I've been waking up early - for me - which is anywhere between 7:30 and 9:30, and just automatically getting dressed, putting on some makeup... doing what I would do to get myself ready for something. This is good. I'm getting ready every morning.. for the day. So I wake up, get ready, and either make a coffee or a smoothie. Then I read (leisure) for about a half hour, until I decide I should at least attempt to be productive in my coursework.
Today, I got one more lesson in my book done. There are five lessons in four books, and I've just started this course - which I'm told is a "really heavy course"... but the book I have to read and barely analyse is Stephen King's The Body. It's not even technically a book. It's a novella. It's in a compilation of his other short stories. And it's written for twelve-year-olds.
That's enough of my griping. I got the end of lesson assignment done today, which made me feel accomplished. Like I'd done something productive and was therefore allowed to do as I please.
My best friend* is getting home from Hollywood on Saturday, and we made plans for Monday. I'm actually really excited to - leave the house - and see her. We're meeting at this local hipster coffeehouse down the street from my apartment, and then coming back to my apartment to watch bad horror movies. .... And she's said she has presents for me... which I feel guilty for getting excited about.
DBT group is going well... I made a friend.. I think. She's older and LGBTQIA and a Buddhist, former Wiccan... a few weeks ago we ended up talking about crystals. Long story short, this Tuesday we've planned to go to this crystal shop together. I'm nervous and excited.
Another thing with DBT group.. every week before homework we do a mindfulness exercise. I 'volunteered' to lead it this coming Tuesday, and I'm anxious about it. However, I came up with what I think is a decent idea. I found a container we never use, and went to the dollar store and bought a pack of decorative seashells. When I get to the CPC - Community Psychiatry Centre - before group, I'm just going to duck into a bathroom and fill the container with some water. The shells will be immersed in the water. The logic is that water as an element represents emotions, feeling, healing, cleansing.. all good things for folks in a DBT group. I'm going to explain the significance of this, and ask that everyone take a shell from the 'pond'. It'll be an 'observe and describe' mindfulness, because the shells are all the same type of shell, but there are always tiny abnormalities and differences. So, I'm going to give everyone about five minutes or so, to feel the moist shell, touch it, feel it, and think about how it's just that little bit different. ...... I really hope this isn't a terrible idea.
On top of all that positivity, I get to start violin lessons on Wednesday. My boyfriend and his boss are in charge of scheduling, so my time slot isn't absolute yet. He did tell me it will probably be in the evening, though, which is nice; what I wanted. I'm so excited to get back into actively learning and playing an instrument. It's therapeutic in the way that horseback riding is. Plus, my individual therapist is loving the music idea.
Overall, I'm just trying to enjoy what rays of sunshine the Gods are sending me for the time that they are sent. I know the dark will fall again, and that's a looming fear, but it's summer, and I'm just trying to be a 'normal' girl as much as I can.


----------------------------------------------------------------
* This best friend is the 'new' one.

Illuminated by Forty-Nine Candles

It's been two days, going on three, so I feel like I can safely say - without 'jinxing' anything - that I'm feeling better than usual. I'm feeling better than I have in months. I'm feeling better than I have since 2014, probably earlier.

I haven't cried since Monday. I haven't felt so anxious or depressed that it was overwhelming since Monday. 

I feel productive. I feel good about school - I feel like I'm doing well and that there actually is some 'light at the end of the tunnel' that is my 'high school' career. I want to get up in the morning. I don't feel sleep-deprived. I have energy. I'm enjoying things. 

I feel like, at least for now, I'm out of 'crazy mode'. I feel like I can switch to 'girlfriend mode' and do all the things I want to do with my boyfriend. Or to 'student mode' and work harder at school. It's nice. I know that this spell of feeling better can't last - it never does -, but I feel so good. I don't even feel that good. I don't even feel happy.. but I'm actually experiencing positive emotions and I can't remember the last time I've felt.. normal. Above my baseline, at least.. low as it is. I don't know how to feel what I'm feeling, though. I feel like this, feeling good, doesn't belong to me. Like I don't deserve it. I feel guilty for feeling good. I feel bad for feeling good, because I just don't know how to handle that.

It doesn't matter, though. I'll take it. I know this won't last, so I'm just.. trying not to think about it. I'm trying to just live it, this period of feeling good, and allow myself a break from the stress of literally always being in a low mood, almost completely unable to feel anything positive for more than thirty seconds. It's nice. It feels.. smooth. Like ice, but comfortable. Warm. Like a water slide at a public pool, all warm and cleansing and bright and easy and happy.

I know I'm going to have to face up in May, but I'm trying my best to ignore that inevitability.*

I'm trying my best to feel the sun. I'm feeling good about so many things, without even trying. School. I've been making progress, and I'm finally almost at the end of the booklets for my philosophy course. Therapy. I feel like I'm learning about myself and accepting so much, and I feel really good about my individual therapist. My boyfriend. He's been just as stressed as I have - in completely different ways. I'm just feeling good about things, like I'm accepting things. I've been reading and playing video games, and I've been eating. I've been able to eat more normally than I think I have in a long time. I feel good about being awake. I want to be awake. Clearly, I'm still in a state of surprise about this.

With this Saturday being Beltane, I'm feeling like the way I'm feeling isn't coincidence. Well, it probably is... but with this being an auspicious time, religiously, I feel like the Goddess - and maybe the God, too - has something to do with it. Like somehow maybe this is a reward of sorts for beginning my foray into Wicca.

I'm just feeling good, and I'm trying just live it, not dissect it. I'm treading uncharted waters.

----------

*My diagnosis of PTSD is related to a trauma that happened in May.

Post-Birthday Update

My birthday came and passed, and I'm still alive. I'm not sure exactly how I feel about that, but I'm trying to see things in a less (completely) negative light.
My boyfriend bought me this really nice metal travel mug that I know was expensive as hell, and he's giving me a bunch of money to see Andrew Jackson Jihad on the 24th, which is too nice of him.. so it's a good present(s).
I had plans to go out with my mother to get coffee and get our nails done. I really thought about cancelling because I hadn't voluntarily seen her in probably a year or more, but I ended up going. It was... awkward, initially, but we started talking, just casual light catch-up stuff. She gave me a book for my birthday - 9-11 by Noam Chomsky - which was really sweet, because I`m pretty sure I`ve only ever mentioned liking his stuff once or twice, and that was while I was still living with her.
We got our nails done, which was nice. We got to talk but nothing of real weight because, well, very public. Afterward we went to go get another coffee, and ended up talking until around 9:30pm. We caught up on years. It was really good. I feel like it`s safe to have her in my life again. She`s doing really well, and knowing what she`s gone through - and having gone through it myself - I feel rather proud of her. I`m just really glad I can be in regular contact with her again. I really did miss her.. I just didn`t realise the extent until we talked.
I`m alive. I didn`t feel the need to drink heavily, or feel the urge to attempt any more than I usually do. Less so, even.
I`m not sure if being off school for a week will be helpful in terms of mental rest, but at least I have the ability to take time to rest. I have, however, been doing some schoolwork. I got more work for the break, in case I finish the book I`m on and want to do more work.
My dad told me that he and my step-mom are probably coming down to visit next weekend - they were going to come for my birthday, but my dad planned it so last minute that they couldn`t make it. They live about five or six hours north of me. When I do see them, though, it will probably include some sort of family gathering - I don`t have a big family, just grandparents and two sets of aunts and uncles and cousins. It`ll be nice, though, because my dad will probably have my birthday present. He ordered it online and it didn`t come in time. Plus, seeing extended family so soon after my birthday almost guarantees birthday money. That would be infinitely helpful in getting started with Wicca.
This week is going to be okay. I`m going to make it okay. I have CBT group on Thursday, and I have my one-on-one with my new DBT therapist on Friday. I`m going to read a lot, rest my mind, and just try to live.

You'd Think by Now I'd Know How to Cope

Things started getting progressively worse yesterday.
It started off slow, and then hit me all at once. I was crying and incoherent and actively suicidal - though that part I did downplay for the sake of my boyfriend's sanity - and I was feeling. Feeling everything all at once and also not at all.
That carried into today. Once again, the day started off all right... well, less 'all right' than yesterday morning. This morning I started getting ready, putting on makeup, etc. and just found myself wandering back to bed. I sat on the bed beside where he was sleeping, covered him with an extra blanket, and tried to coax a sleepy agreement out of him. Even half-asleep, it didn't work, which is probably for the best. I managed to get myself to school by around 9:20, and got more work done than I'd expected of myself given my current state. As the afternoon rolled around I started feeling worse. At first, I felt like it was manageable. Just a little more depression than usual. No big deal.
By the time I was leaving to catch a bus, I was already a lot worse. I had to stop at a school water fountain to take a Valium - not exactly a confident moment. It took longer than usual to get home, because of the snowstorm we had,
When I did get home, or rather got off the (second) bus that stops on my block, I was already crying. I was completely numb but also hyper-sensitive. This is still the case. When I got in, my boyfriend was in a work call, so I peeled off my wet clothes and put on flannel pyjama pants and my 'sad sweater'.* He had to leave for work almost right after taking calls, so we talked for a few minutes, and he kissed me goodbye a few times, plus one of most comforting hugs known to humankind. (Probably just me, but hey.) I tried to convince him I was okay, but I know he didn't believe it. He's seen me at my worst, and knows what constitutes 'okay'.
When he left, I figured it would be a bad idea to sit around doing nothing, because all that would accomplish would be lingering and possibly worsening negativity. So I made some tea. Harmless. I thought a couple of pieces of shortbread (a comfort food... blame it on my ancestry) might be nice. They sat on the coffee table all of two minutes before my ED shouted "NO" and I had to put them away. That was a moment when things started to really get worse. I couldn't look at them. I felt disgusting just holding them. So, I resolved to simply drink my tea and work on my chords. I tried that, but my hands were so shaky that it took an abnormal amount of time to not get fret buzz or have ... finger issues, for lack of better phrase. I had an 8tracks playlist playing in the background. I don't know why, but I snapped. Every built up negative emotion I'd repressed all day came out. Accordingly, my depression spiraled. My depressive instincts quickly followed suit.
After getting a message on my Tumblr blog from a concerned follower, I decided to take their advice, and do something nice for myself - they suggested a hot bath, but with my ED and PTSD, lying naked in a tub of semi-clear water isn't exactly a good idea. I resolved to do some of the things that work.
Yesterday, I did my nails, and tried to focus on watching movies, but I couldn't shut it all out.
So I thought, amp it up a bit. I was already in my comfy clothes, and I always have my favorite blue blanket on the couch in case I need it (I'm always cold, and a lot of the time, having something soft and warm can be calming or grounding), and I had my tea and a box of tissues (I cry... a lot). I went to the bedroom, grabbed the stuffed Hello Kitty my boyfriend gave me - he also sprayed it with his cologne, which is remarkably comforting - and my kitty ears. The ears (probably seems odd, but as I've said before, I'm a submissive, so this can be comforting to me) pin to my hair and stay put. I went to the kitchen, as quickly as possible, to get a bottle of ice water. As a finishing, and distracting, touch, I decided Disney movies were in order, Horror movies are my favorite, but with my psychosis and paranoia, especially if I'm in a low mood can be a recipe for disaster. I remembered I've never seen any of the Toy Story movies. I found streaming links easily, and that's what I'll be doing upon finishing this post.
What's really prevalent in my mind right now are the very convincing and appealing thoughts, commands, demands, of attempting again.
I texted my boyfriend, who I know is at work, but I know that when I'm feeling this bad it's okay to let him know - and it also forces me to 'promise' to keep myself safe to the best of my ability.
I don't know what the 'message' or the 'take away' from this is, but it's probably close to yesterday's. I'm here. I'm alive because he stopped me more than once, and I've kept it that way because of him, and what I want with him, for us. My writing is a close second. Although I have actually asked close people to publish something I've written in the event that I die before I manage to be a published poet, that's something I want to accomplish. The big something.
So... yes. I'm feeling worse than I have in over a month, and I have 'plans' in mind, but I'm fighting them as hard as I can.


*The 'sad sweater' is a pink and blue Puma hoodie the boy bought from Costco. It's nothing special, but the first time I had to stay a while in emergency pysch at the hospital, I was wearing that sweater. For whatever reason, when I was feeling that badly, that sweater seemed like a good option. So it's oddly comforting.

It's March

Just a heads up, lovelies, this post  is pretty bleak. It may be triggering, and it may be disconcerting, but I promise you all that I have more than one safety plan in place in the case that I should need it. And I have people who will force me to be safe when I'm refusing as hard as I can. So please, please don't worry that any of this will likely come to fruition.

It's March 1 and after a couple weeks of starting to feel (just the smallest bit) better, I can feel myself spiraling again.
I'm (more) suicidal. I don't even want to bother with trying to numb the feeling with drugs, or booze, or cutting, or anything self destructive. I just want this to be over. I feel like I'm done.
My birthday is on the fourteenth, and for some reason, that's making me feel worse. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because, when I was fifteen I swore to my closest friends that I wouldn't make it past, or even to, nineteen. I feel like now, now I'm formulating a new plan. A death plan B. I keep entertaining the idea of killing myself on my twenty-seventh birthday. Five years. I can use those five years to write - to get serious and actually write something worthy of publication. That's really the only 'goal' I have in life. To be a published poet. Sure, I want to see the world, and I want to own a horse, but when I think about successfully attempting, those things don't matter. Writing does, to some extent - I have attempted multiple times, with every intention of being successful. I hadn't written anything of consequence then.
I'm crying every day, more than once a day. It's really hard, because for the past couple weeks I've been trying to hold myself together just enough so as to not add any more stress to my boyfriend. (Who is normally fully able and willing to deal with me and help me, but he's having problems in work, with his car, with the people who run our apartment building - and I feel that I'm enough of a burden on him on a good day, so.. I've been trying to at least appear less badly than I am.) But with the advent of the month and the looming birthday, plus this is still in my 'bad' part of the year - usually November to April, maximum - I just can't contain myself anymore.
I don't feel hunger. It doesn't register in my brain until I force myself to eat something that my body was hungry. I'm in a constant state of dizziness, shakes, headaches, stomach distress. My body is reacting to my mental state.
I wish that I could be writing a post about how I'm doing better, how treatment is working wonders, how I'm starting to have the ability to feel positive moods, but I can't. This is where I'm at. Everything feels completely transitory and therefore pointless. Yeah, I'm getting mid-90s in class. Yeah, my family and friends are being incredibly supportive. Yeah, I'm getting back into a hobby I've always loved. Yeah, I'm actually making new friends and trying to socialize. None of that matters. It's not enough.
I wake up every morning and go through the motions all day. It's the same structure every day. The same patterns at the same times and the same constant state of mind.
I'm trying. I'm trying harder than I want to, than I believe is worth it. I do things to try to make myself feel less terrible, even for a short period of time. I've been trying to do as much self-care as possible. All of this therapy, friends, family, boyfriend, trying to write, making myself pretty and playing video games and watching happy animated kids' movies to try to decrease the severity of my mood - it's not working.
I keep telling myself that I have things to look forward to. My first appointment with my new therapist the day before my birthday. Going to see Andrew Jackson Jihad ten days after my birthday with one of my best friends. Getting birthday money and presents, and being able to buy myself nice things online, or get another tattoo. Finally starting the DBT program I've been waiting to get into since December of 2013. Summer break, when I'm out of school and my boyfriend isn't teaching, and we can go to the beach, or the zoo, or just go on 2AM drives to drink Tim Hortons tea and talk for hours under the stars. Those things help, temporarily. They remind me that I do care about some things, that some things are exciting enough to make me consider sticking around. That's the positive. I try so hard to focus on those little things. I have so many people rooting for me, but I feel completely alone. Because no one can make my head stop. No one can silence the voices or stop the memories or convince me with certainty that everything really is okay.
But I'm here. I'm trying to stay. I want to want to. For my boyfriend, the one person I'm not afraid to commit to, the first person I've had a healthy romantic relationship with, my rock, my gentle giant, my almost everything. For the poems I haven't written, that haven't been published yet. When it comes down to it, those are my only reasons - but honestly, it's an improvement. Not even six months ago, my boyfriend was my only reason, and the foundation for him being that only reason wasn't as great as it is today.
I suppose a message I can take away from this... public musing... is that... things.. can take what feels like a very long time to get minutely better.. but those tiny additions are important. I wouldn't have realised that writing is one of my reasons to live if I weren't alive. I wouldn't have realised how much I love my boyfriend, how much I want with him, how much a heart can mend and grow, if I weren't alive.
So maybe that's all I've got. I can accept the truly abhorrent nature of my mind at present as the beast that it is. I can try to do that, and try to, every hour, convince myself to make it through to the next hour.

The Promised 'About Me'

I'm never sure how to go about describing myself, so I'll just.. dive in.

My name is Jess, and this is my recovery blog.
I'm 21, and I'm a student - finishing up high school credits to get into journalism school.
I'm very passionate about social issues and politics. I'm a Marxist feminist, a white cis woman, and I identify as pansexual. I have a cis male partner whom I love dearly, we've been together a few years now. Our age difference is generally a topic of conversation at first - he's 20 years older than me. I'll get it out there right now that my relationship is non-traditional in that it's a BDSM relationship. I'm a submissive, and that feels like a big part of 'who I am' most of the time. (However, that isn't the focus of this blog, though I'm sure it'll pop up from time to time. I just didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable.)
I love literature, and I do write - mostly poetry, but I'd like to try my hand at a novella. I love music, and am currently focusing on guitar. My first instrument was trombone, and I was in my school's orchestra. I was first chair. My first and likely strongest love is horses. I've been in the saddle since I was about two years old, and I grew up lucky enough to have family with horses. I had a pony to ride through childhood, and now, the mare that I ride is a roughly 15hh Appaloosa. My second great love is travel. I love roadtrips, hopping a plane, train, or greyhound in the spur of the moment. It works wonders for my creative process.
I spend an inordinate amount of time on Tumblr. It's embarrassing, actually.
And, as you may well know, I have a handful of mental illnesses, and I'm also a recovered drug addict (five years!). I don't hide those things about myself, but I'm not one to share, either.
That's about all I've got at the moment, but feel free to ask away (though I'm not sure if Blogger has an inbox in the way that Tumblr does..)

Sending good vibes.

Preface

I'm new to proper blogging - I hail from the land of Tumblr, so I'll do the best I can.

I've had 'issues' for as long as I can recall. My teens were a figurative disaster area, and it's been a rollercoaster of sorts since. To really give the best preface possible, I should explain. I was a teenage drug addict. I lived an incredibly high-risk lifestyle, and I'm lucky I got out okay. I've been clean for five years now, six this coming June.
After I got clean, things got a little easier, but my mental health only improved in the addiction regard. Looking back, the warning signs were clear, in terms of mental illness.
It wasn't until about October of 2013 that my mental health started interfering with my life - rather, my ability to hold a part-time job. I was, however, already on anti-psychotics for a mental illness no doctor could put their finger on. Before that time, though, I was.. functioning. I got by.

It was around that time that my restricting got worse, I started self-harming again, and I made a few unsuccessful suicide attempts.
My memory of my first visit to the emergency psych ward at the hospital is a little fuzzy. I was dazed, and was at my worst point yet. It wasn't until my second time there that the doctor and nurses referred me to treatment. They referred me to a six week DBT program, because they speculated that I might have BPD (borderline personality disorder).
I got into the program quickly after being referred, and after being officially diagnosed with BPD, started both group and one-on-one therapy. It was at this time that my other diagnoses were.. examined. I had already been diagnosed with anorexia - purge subtype, as well as dysthymia. After a.. screening, for lack of better word, I was diagnosed with PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder). I was also diagnosed with social anxiety, though meeting the criteria didn't involve quite as many questions.
The psychiatrist assigned to me found a combination of medications that fit together, fit me, and also wouldn't be a trigger (my psychiatrist made sure that every medication she put me on was not what she called "a weight gainer"). The program was time-limited, so at the end of the six weeks I was referred to a much more intensive DBT program, which I was told could be at least a year long depending upon my progress. The waiting list for this program was approximately eighteen months. In the meantime, my therapist referred me to a short CBT program for social anxiety/phobias. I also started attending a self harm support group, and on January 19 of 2014, I stopped self-harming. I can proudly say that I haven't relapsed - though the temptation is always there.

It was a while before I got into the CBT program, and when it did, I didn't find it to be very helpful. Even so, I went every week, did all the homework, and just tried.
After that program ended, my depression was peaking again, so my CBT therapist found me another CBT program, for mood disorders (mostly anxiety and depression). I'm in that program now, and today was session five of twelve.

A little over a week ago, I got the call I'd been waiting for. The head of the DBT program had found me a (female) therapist, which meant that I'll be able to have my first appointment with her (March 13, the day before my birthday) and start one-on-one. From what I'm told, a few weeks into that, I'll be able to start group therapy, and I'll have a psychiatrist to manage my psych medications.

Now, at present, my mental health is on the decline again. I work really hard to eat every day, at least once, and ideally something small while I'm at school. My depression is spiking again, and I do have very self-destructive thoughts. Some of them are suicidal ideations. My psychosis is rearing its ugly head again - for the past three days, I've been in and out of dissociating, and constantly derealized. My anxiety, like my depression, is a constant, something I just.. live with.

All that said, I'm doing the best I can.
I'm trying to do things to feel.. not happy, but at least lessen the bad thoughts for a time. I've picked up playing guitar again, after over a year of not playing out of depression. I play games on my 3DS all the time. I'm writing my poetry again (it's not my best work, but at least I'm producing).
I may not be ready to 'recover' right now, but I'm taking baby steps.
This blog will be primarily about my treatment, but I'm sure some other personal things will slip in somehow.
I'll probably make a (much shorter) post as a kind of 'about me'.

Sending good vibes.