Hey, listen to this

Cool now that we’re vibing, let’s talk. Last night I couldn’t sleep because I kept waking up from wacky dreams. I kept acting as this pornstar who had lost her child in a mall, and I was desperately clawing through photographers and horny teenagers to find this little kid. I’d wake up, try to remember what the pornstar’s name was, and go back into the mall. I never found the kid, and I never figured out the name.

I’ve been having really vivid dreams every so often over the course of the past 4 years due to my antidepressants. I currently take 40mg of Viibryd every morning, after juggling between Prozac, Cymbalta, Hydroxezine, and whatever else. Viibryd works, but these vivid dreams can get really strange. I spoke to my doctor about this; he said it’s common. One night I wrote an entire album in a dream, showcased it to my dad, felt abysmally sad, and woke up. Another time I lucidly flew through an empty hospital, just flying around white corridors having my emotions reflect off everything like rear view mirrors. Loneliness, happiness, fufillment, suicidal thoughts, grief, it was all shown back at me through mannequins like that one episode of Louie.

Antidepressants are strange. Sometimes I’ll retract from my body and just ask “where the fuck am I, and what decisions did I make to get here?” “Would I have made these decisions without medication?” “What does that make me?” Tumblr posters call these moments something like “out of body experiences.” If I remember, these things happen during moments of extreme stress like rape or suicide. I used to have these before antidepressants too, during self-harm moments and panic attacks while driving. I remember my first girlfriend, along with her dad, used to do taekwondo with me. When we broke up, just driving there would trigger this breathing thing; in out in closing walls blacking greyscale screaming nails scratching the roof of my car break checking red light green u-turn leave. So I was given medication, clonazepam for the panic attacks, whatever else for everything else.

Part of it’s a struggle, but the rest is fulfilling. I feel happy, really happy. I feel strong, really strong. I feel brave, really brave. I feel confident, you get the idea. Yet, there’s something about it that’s not complete. Food tastes greyer, country fried steak my favorite dish doesn’t affect me the same way. Music sounds softer, I get less emotion from piano chords and more structure. I want to dance more, express my body the way my limbs should be just out wiggly like that Squidward gif. I question myself and my thoughts and my actions; everything I do am I me or a drug? This dependency is really one-sided and foreign, but it keeps me productive and alive. Sometimes I just want to flush my pills down the toilet and live knowing I’ll probably cry in my bed all day and watch Mad Men. Other times I’m content and show up on time to things. Gotta run to my Chipotle job brb.