When I hit a row of days when I don’t want to go anywhere, do anything, or talk to anyone, I become worried.

I am really hard on myself. I should be in a good mood, motivated to do things, cordial to other people, and not crawl into my own little world.

Maybe the antidepressants are starting to falter. Again.

I struggle to dig myself out of that hole, just so I can reassure myself that the medication is still working. I am human after all, and life is difficult. It’s not easy being a happy camper when I don’t feel well, which is about 97.5% of the time.

When I begin the cycle of isolating, I do this thing that might seem disturbing to some people.

I think about wanting to die.

If the idea doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest, I deem myself good to go.

If the idea does appeal to me, then I am in trouble.

I call this “The Suicide Test.” I even told my therapist about it. She liked the idea.

“I have to stay forever diligent,” I explained.

I also have to stay honest, and never stop talking about it even though it often makes people uneasy.

quote-by-telling-my-own-story-i-hope-to-help-remove-the-stigma-it-never-should-be-something-richard-dreyfuss-62-42-09
Richard Dreyfuss fully embraces his mental illness. He is my new hero.

No matter how well a medication works, I will always have a certain melancholy. It’s part of my genetic code. It makes me who I am. I need to accept this fate. It’s the reason why I can spend hours reading about morbid things, then go take a nap.

Maybe I am somehow related to Edgar Allen Poe. I don’t know of any other family member who is like me.

It’s okay to hide away from the world for a few days.

Life is difficult.

But I passed the suicide test. As far as I am concerned, I am golden.

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