Sometimes I feel like my brain is a hand that has no opposable thumb; that it is lacking in the most basic of functions and reasoning.
But other times I wonder if I feel this way because it's easier to just say something is wrong with me.
Every night, for the past 9 months I have listened to various meditations, mantras, motivational speeches. I've used delta waves, repetition, osmosis, you name it. I even tried praying. I don't even believe in God, and if I did I'm not egotistical enough to think he'd take the time to listen to me with all the other shit happening.
I have exercised. I have reflected. I have written. I have sang. And I have cried.
Oh, how I have cried.
I went to the psychiatrist today. I made the appointment 3 weeks ago and have waited anxiously for it since. I wanted help.
He prescribed me pills.
They are not high dosage, they are not intense. We spoke for about 30 minutes, and he never gave me a diagnosis. I had spoken to him of the various ones I'd had.
He prescribed me pills and psychotherapy, because part of my issue was a personality trait. I have been off and on meds since I was 14, and talking about my extensive history of struggling was strange because it has been a very long time since I had said it all aloud. It was like a juvenile's rap sheet, and my conviction was on his prescription pad.
I was ecstatic. I was relieved. I thought "Now I've got the magic elixir, and it will all click in my head and I will be normal". Then I talked to my boyfriend about it.
My boyfriend is the most level headed, pragmatic and emotionally intelligent person I know. He's also a naturalist who prescribes to his own belief that you just "get it" after continuously thinking about how you need to change.
It made me feel like a failure.
The shame is so palpable I can feel its heat vibrating off my chest and now I want to just crawl under a rock or live like a hermit.
I'm a failure.
He didn't mean to make me feel this way. Not once did he criticize my choice, he even told me he was proud of me. But I know. I know there's a "but" somewhere. I know, deep down most likely subconsciously he's lost a little respect for me, as does everyone who finds out I am on medication. There is always the attached "well, she's on meds". It's hard enough being taken seriously as a woman. It is a bookmark. It is a stamp.
It is what keeps me up at night frantically listening to these recordings until I wake up in the morning with palpitations and terror. I am afraid of what I will do or say.
I am afraid that what I accomplish or fail will always be shadowed by this aspect of myself. I fear having people give me that look, the look of pity and the look of fear as if you have something contagious. I have given it to people myself, and I am so, so sorry for it.
Because it is a scar. It is a branding.
It is a scarlet letter.