My creativity has been insulated by the anti depressants I have to take every day for the rest of my life. I didn’t really grasp the concept of living with a chronic illness when my doctor initially wrote a script for the first of ten different medications I’ve been prescribed over the last fifteen years. The idea that I have to choose to be slightly less than myself because the alternative is fairly heinous makes me feel like I am failing to overcome the disorder others believe is “all in my head” and that I should “be able to control”. I have become resentful of my situation. In order for society to accept me, I have to take meds which make me feel like I am less creative, less active, less sexual, less humorous, less emotional, less alive, less angry, less frustrated, less crazy. Is it worth it? I miss rainbows and lightning and storm clouds. I don’t like this overcast existence.

(truth is that I’m a little afraid of real weather)