My friends and family have been supervising me non-stop since I took a turn for the worst. They are flying me back to the hospital in Toronto. Everyone seems to be sold on the idea that I'm going to get better and I don't doubt that to be true. However I'm also acutely aware that I have severe, biological and chronic depression. It keeps getting worse. I see no future happiness. Undoubtedly I'll have bouts of it- maybe even years- but it always comes back to this. It's like coming home to an abusive husband every night, living with constant trepidation and submissiveness. They say it's the disease talking but I'm still me, writing the words. It's still me, breathing my breath and twirling my hair. The disease & I are packaged as one… If I could surgically remove it from myself I would.
I keep trying to explain but it's an argument I have yet to win. It's exhausting.
If I go to the hospital I can't have sex (with someone else) for a long time. For someone who wants to die most of the time, I sure am horny. I shouldn't find it weird that my body would encourage the act of procreation when I'm obviously consumed with devastation, but I do. Clearly humans enjoy sexual activity for reasons beyond reproduction. It's also a social tool. That said, I've taken many anti-depressants that forewarn of sexual dysfunction as a side-effect beyond the fact that the chemicals in my brain are imbalanced. Commonly those who suffer at the hands of manic depression become disinterested in sex by their own fucked up mental deterioration if not by analeptic. Weirdly neither of these facts have affected my libido. If I had to draw a pie chart of my thoughts, the sex and death slices would be close in size. How can I want something that inspires such stimuli while also wanting to be numbed? Two separate lovers of mine say it's because I'm reaching my sexual peak. Way to make a girl feel old.
So maybe sex is saving my life, but what am I to expect after a peak? A decline. There are other joys on this planet that have somehow kept me going. They're hanging like a twisted rope for me to cling to, but I fantasize about hanging myself with it.
Meanwhile I'll keep rubbing out orgasms & crying like a psycho. Get in line, boys. *barfs on self, sighs in dismay*