Wednesday, March 02, 2011


It's a bit of a misnomer for me, I think, because I do not feel all that well on Wellbutrin.  There is this depressing, self-deprecating voice looming in the recesses of my brain.  Perhaps this is because Rite-Aid switched up on the generic version of Wellbutrin they've been using, and it's not quite as effective.  It's doubtful though, because I feel like this has been creeping up on me since prior to picking up my last refill.  Maybe it's time to increase the dose?  Or maybe it's not the meds at all.  Maybe the meds were only able to help me escape my personal demons temporarily.  Maybe it's just time to face these imps head on.  All I know for sure is that what I hear inside me - what I feel inside me - is very, very familiar.  It's the stench of hating myself because I am convinced in some deep area of my soul that I am not enough, that I am ugly, that I will be utterly alone and destitute because something is wrong with me.  What is wrong with me, I don't know - I've never known.  But I know that something is, because right now I feel very, very alone. 

At work, I am surrounded by people, but I feel so alone.  No one really gives a shit about me here.  My voice means nothing.  I've just taken to becoming a yes man.  I do whatever I'm told without question.  God forbid I try to explain why something makes me unhappy, because I'm dismissed as being "negative" and "complaining too much."  So I don't make suggestions anymore (I am, thankfully, not the only employee who has consigned themselves to accepting the status quo - so at least I know I'm not crazy here).  I turn my lights out, close my door, and do my work.  I can't even bare to be here sometimes.  The solitariness is utterly dispiriting.

I wish I could just leave this place, and go home to a place where I can be in communion.  But even at home, I feel alone.  I can't even tell you why that is.  It seems like an ever-widening gap between me and the whole world.  I fall deeper into myself, increasingly feeling the need to erect the walls and keep unsafe humanity at bay.  And then I'm left with the myriad voices in my own head: the quiet optimist, the boisterous pessimist, the reserved speaker of good self-esteem, the obnoxious speaker of self-hatred, the "you-can-do-it!" promulgator, the "why-the-hell-bother?" projector.  And somewhere in the mix...the voice of God?  Or the devil?  Or is it all just me?  Is it all just the God of my imagination, and the devil of my creation?

I want to not be here... like this... anymore...

I can only hope that this is all for my good.  Maybe it's time to go back and visit Lance for a bit.