You worthless drug addict

Take more medication. It will help. Take more than prescribed, it will help. They don’t get what this feels like, they would do the same. They don’t know the burden.

Fuck off. Medications have seemed so right lately. I’m not taking more. It’d make it tempting to take meds when feeling  down, when feeling a bit off.

But yesterday, not awful, but difficult. Many thoughts about wanting to die, thirty, maybe fifty. Life, worthless and pointless.

Take more. 

No.

Do you want another yesterday? Take just a quarter more, it’s 62.5 milligrams added to the 250mg prescribed. It isn’t much. Take more. It will help.

No.

Take more.

And then I rushed to the pill bottle, split one into quarters and swallowed it quickly. Relief. The stress of the debate was over. Will my mood improve? Likely. I’ll feel more alive for several hours. And what worthless drug dependent shitty fag depressive doesn’t deserve that?

Me.

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You worthless drug addict

My hero

Yes, I just titled a post that. Yes, I stand by it. No one would accuse me of being the romantic type. But I have the most wonderful partner.

Before I dive into this post I must say, to those who don’t have a family member or friend backing you up, I can’t imagine the strength. 

Tonight I began feeling real anxious. Everything became stressful. What if I have a bad day at work tomorrow? What if I get fired? What if Dan gets overwhelmed and leaves me? What if…

After a little while of this spiraling I told Dan I was suddenly feeling anxious and lonely. I laid down in our bed. 

“Get up. We are going on a walk,” Dan wasn’t going to watch me sulk. 

I resisted some, but within a few minutes we were wandering around our neighborhood. I told him all the stressful thoughts that popped into my head, he pointed out these times pass.  We both agreed that this was likely caused by my second dose of Nuvigil. I only took three-quarters of my dose because yesterday I experience intense anxiety. This was definitely less intense but still rendered me useless.

We walked for about a half hour, it seemed to have faded some. Getting home I realized some of the tension, the racing thoughts, the fear remained. I shuffled off to the bed to wait it out. It usually ends after an hour or so, it seems most tense six hours into my second Nuvigil dose.

Dan followed me to bed. Without saying a word he laid down and held tightly onto me, keeping me in this world, less in my mind. Dan is very busy at work, he already has too much to do, yet he laid there and comforted me. It was another twenty minutes or so before the anxiety actually faded. Dan then left me to rest and made us dinner.

This last year or so, absolute hell. Especially hell for Dan. I can’t imagine, I’d never choose this, choose to be present or near the endless negativity, fear and hopelessness I fight everyday. Dan could walk away. He could say enough. Instead, he holds on tight until the fear subsides. He is strong even when I’m not.

I’m eager to have a solid medication cocktail, to stabilize (working on it), to fall into a more routine and normal life.

I’m eager to turn my attention from fighting my demons to fighting to be the man Dan deserves. Someday, someday soon.

Current Medication: Nuvigil 250mg, Memantine 10mg (new), Lamictal 200mg, Pristiq 100mg, Strattera 80mg, Seroquel XR 300

My hero

I hate being gay

Do I? It sounds so dramatic. I’m just being one of those dramatic homos. 

I don’t. I’m comfortable being gay, have been for a few years. I used to hate being gay,I think that is a part of my anxiety.

Anxiety, anxiety is another issue.

For so long I used Adderall to mask and hide my anxiety. Now? Now, I reach for a caffeine pill or a beer. 

I’m so disappointed in myself. I’m sitting here drinking my second beer of the night, I took Seroquel XR with a swig of beer, ignoring the yellow “Do not consume with alcohol” label. 

The last few days I have toyed with my Seroquel XR dose, it makes me so tired, I thought less would help. Now I am not sure. I seem more anxious.

God. I need to just start being strong enough. Instead of thinking medication will get better, I’ll just reach for a beer until we get the meds right. What if the medication is already right? 

I’m setting myself up for new addictions. New ways to sooth the real problem — I fucking hate myself.

I hate myself. I hate that I have some bullshit mid-level job doing nothing. I hate that I am gay. I mean, I don’t. Like, I am fine with being gay and all that. But being gay changed everything.

I grew up very conservative and religious. I didn’t give up on God curing me and come out until twenty-three. At thirteen I knew I was damned.

I knew what I was. Fagot. Evil. Pervert. Pedophile. Yes.

My religion taught that homosexuals can be cured with enough faith. I tried. I really tried. Never did I have enough faith. At thirteen I started praying morning and night and many times in between. I begged God to fix me or kill me. I didn’t want my apostasy to hurt my family’s chance of glory in the afterlife. I read the scriptures and offered my life to Christ. Every flight I took I prayed for God to bring the plane down so I wouldn’t have to live broken. Yet I remained ruined, broken, gay.

Yes, I accept that I am gay. Also, I know that there is nothing morally wrong with being a homosexual. At times, I do resent what this has taken from me, socially, I blocked myself from my family and my peers, I didn’t want to corrupt them until I was clean, social isolation. 

Complete social isolation. I didn’t come out to my parents until my junior year of college, until I knew I’d be alright if they cut off contact with me.

My guilt about my sexuality is gone, but it wasn’t replaced by confidence or pride or social apptitude.  

The carnage remains. I am smarter than what I do. It eats at me. My intellect might not be reflected in my writing, I’m dyslexic, always have liked numbers more than letters. Regardless, if I wasn’t gay, if I had more confidence, if conflict didn’t cripple me, maybe I could be in a profession where I feel challenged, where I feel like I am contributing.

Every meeting I am the smartest person in the room. Yeah, I sound like a dick bag, but I’m right. Every meeting at work, everyone, I clearly have a superior intellect. And yet, it doesn’t matter, because no one expects someone as capable as me to have this job. Also, less capable people assume everyone works at their capacity, they don’t demand more than what they themselves would accomplish.

Again, I’m nothing. I’m sitting there, ready to contribute and realize nobody wants or expects what I have to contribute. I finally have the guts to be me, to offer up what I have, but it is too late.

I spent the last decades hoping I’d have the balls to kill myself if God didn’t fix me, cure my homosexuality. I finally am comfortable with myself that I can inch out of my shell and contribute. And yet, here I am, stuck with the life I built as a broken young man wishing I had the courage to opt out, to guarantee the world had one less fag.

*God. This is a convoluted mess. I should edit this. Instead I’ll hit post and help myself to another beer. Fuck. I hate me. Fuck.

I hate being gay