I want my body back.
I want what little physical pleasure I used to experience. I want my sex drive, even if it’s the muted dying battery of a sex drive i was clinging to on the old meds. I want my eyesight not fucked up. I want to eat. I want to *want* to eat.
Maybe I’ll never get my mind in control, but God, give me back my body.
Fuck venlafaxine, basically.
Why can’t I breathe why do I have such a hard time literally just breathing wtf
Various things have made me realize just how dead some parts of my brain are.
I don’t feel much joy in food, nor compulsion to indulge. (Everyone at work expressed hyperbolic surprise that I gave away samples of cheesecake for hours without eating any.) Shopping makes me anxious and regretful. I just stare at my creative supplies and lament over not using them.
Other people must feel so much more pleasure in everyday things, so much more unhampered compulsion to do things they love. I don’t even know what I love… I like uninhibited long hugs from good friends. I like pretty girls. I like sips of tea that keep me centered. My love of foods is so dampened right now but I love raised donuts and French fries and truffle cheese and pickled plums and pho and I wish i could get back into my brain and body for long enough to enjoy those.
Had to convince my therapist I would not kill myself in order for her to not be bound by duty to call 911 and have me hospitalized.
I guess my coping methods for suicidal ideation are not as mild as I thought