I used to be precisely afraid of becoming a lab rat.

Let’s see if this works:

bupropion,

escitalopram,

lorazepam,

sertraline,

hydroxyzine,

trazodone,

desvenlafaxine,

clonazepam.

I never wanted to be involved in this science project.

A perfectly healthy body would have existed had I not viciously fucked it up molecule by molecule with poor choice after poor choice.

How have I reached the point of being reduced to C17H17Cl2N isn’t working and C19H22ClN5O makes me feel like absolute shit so, shot in the dark, but maybe C16H25NO2 will work and in the meantime, if you freak out, here’s some C15H10ClN3O3

I did this to myself. 

Let’s see if this works instead; just eat how much and when I’m supposed to. Try that for more than a couple days at a time. Just be normal. Why is that so hard?

I did this to myself. 

I am a clothing size bigger just from eating to hunger more often than not for 3 weeks. From choosing to be with my children instead of the gym. From choosing sleep over burning calories. But this is honoring my body! Honoring my values! It’s what I want! Isn’t it? Isn’t this what I’m working for? Why does it feel so terrible?

In a bigger body, I am crueler to myself. I am a plump lab rat with an uncertain future. Maybe the chemicals will help, maybe they won’t. Maybe they’ll cause a seizure I can’t recover from, reducing my molecules to ashes on the rocky mountains.

If every 3 weeks=1 clothing size, I cannot continue. Of course, I need to trust everyone telling me to use my logical brain, trust the professionals: they won’t let that happen. That’s not going to happen. In all their years of experience, trust us, it won’t happen.

But I tell myself I’m fucking special and they are all wrong. My body wants vengeance for everything I’ve let happen to it. And of course, the best way to threaten me is with millions of C55H98O6 (lipids) molecules.

I will probably drive to the pharmacy drive-thru, where I am now practically known by name and where I am sure the pharmacist and techs are thinking poor kids in the back seat whose mother is clearly losing her mind. Then I will read the pamphlet with dozens of side effects, and turn to Google to tell me even more. I will spend the rest of the day wavering back and forth on whether any of this is worth it, whether I am worth it, whether I have imagined and exaggerated to myself the seriousness of all of this.

And I don’t know for sure what I will decide.

I do know that feeling like I’m trapped in this body and mind is so depressing. Maybe I will decide based on the fact that even if I do become the 0.1% brought to their demise via antidepressants, resting forever in the mountains seems better than the alternative.

Maybe I will stop altogether because there’s no solid way to know if medication will help me in the way they need to.

Maybe everyone is wrong and I am not meant to figure all of this out.

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