Months passed. I’m still alive, the pills did nothing, And eventually, the depression they gave me wore off, and I went back to normal. Well, as normal as I can be. So we went back to the doctor, and I receive a referral for a physiatrists. Oh Joy. Turns out, just because you have a referral doesn’t mean its any easier to get in to see one. About 2 months later I finally see one. She’s old, and she talks a lot, but at least I don’t have to talk to much. She prescribes me something, a antidepressant, Lexapro. A week later I’m enjoying my false high from the antidepressants. But I don’t believe there actually helping, just, distracting me some what. But the false high wont last, it only stays for 2/3 of the day, and I get the feeling this side affect wont stay. Two weeks of taking them False high, no longer exists. And I’m feeling pretty crap. My great grandmother died two days ago. I’m not going to the funeral, I don’t know why, something just tells me not to. This guy asked me out, I haven’t really answered him, it’s quite complicated. He’s one of those guys you love, but you hate the fact that you do. Brings a new meaning to love hate relationship, or at least to my dictionary. I feel pretty shit, but the voices have settled down. Leaving my confusion and emptiness to roam free. What can I say. Maybe I was just born to be fucked over