Depression, my DVR, RuPaul, and learning to be real.

I went off my antidepressants last year. I just kind of wanted to see what would happen. And it was … fine. It just felt like there were more peaks and valleys.

Well, and as an unmedicated empath, it felt like I was walking around naked. And people would shave my skin off with a cheese slicer, shove their problems into my body, and then try to sort of slap my skin back over it in an “Ehh, good enough” half-assed gesture. But it was fine.

I wrote this big long blog about antidepressants and my experience going off of them and how powerwashing my MIL’s house was the key to getting over the withdrawal zaps and I how needed to be bold and talk about it and things were OK and blah blah blah. Except I never published that blog.

Probably because subconsciously, I knew that things weren’t OK. Shit was building up.

I’m just going to be straight with you. After about seven months, I started crying a lot. And being a royal witch to my husband. And feeling super put out anytime anyone asked me for anything – including paying clients.

And then? Then, our DVR betrayed me.

Our DVR is 97 years old because neither of us can stand the thought of calling DirectTV and haggling to get new equipment or dumping them entirely, only to sign up again next week  so we could get new equipment. DirectTV? Your customer service model leaves a lot to be desired.

So, we have this DVR that’s made out of an old gramophone and some piano wire and probably real cocaine, since it used to be in everything.

And our coked-up, elderly DVR did not record the finale of RuPaul’s Drag Race All Stars Season Three.

My Guy immediately started looking for online alternatives – the Comedy Central app, streaming, all of it. He kept a watchful eye on me, his indignant life partner. I turned away from him. And then I buried my face in the sofa cushions and completely lost my shit.

And that? That was the moment that I knew I needed to go back on an antidepressant.

It’s been a rough few weeks. Once you hit rock bottom, then you have to sit there in the rocky bottomness while a) you procure meds; b) the meds start to kick in; and c) the meds build up enough to have a consistent effect.

I’ve been crying a lot. I’ve had pretty much zero concentration. I feel like I need to apologize to the world for my broken brain and inability to just get over it already.

But, you know, here I am. Still here. Like a motherfucking warrior. So, there’s that.