Girls In The Men's Room

I think on sites that insist on shoving me into the binary, I'll start listing myself as a man. If I *have* to go into a box, I'll admit that the one of a bisexual man is the least confining.

Bleh. Random buzzy brain is random and buzzy.

So, after a meeting with the nurse practioner (who agrees that I definitely have manic highs; I just write instead of spending gobs of cash on junk or going on a bender), I just need to fill out some paperwork and I'll be getting cheap/free Wellbutrin to see how that works--it would be for the depressive swings not the manic, but...yes.

Still nervous, obviously, but having someone agree that what's going right now is not normal or healthy was very nice.

I need a Stephen Fry icon for posts like this...

ETA: I should have an appointment with an actual psychiatrist at 8:30 on November 10th (will need to find out where the building is...)

ETA #2: Looking at the form I have to fill out, of course they ask for my gender. Urgh. Form for anti-depressants making me slightly depressed! That's my life.

ETA #3: *points up* Haters gonna hate

Made an appointment for tomorrow (8:15--almost 3 hours before I'd have to be on campus normally, urrrgh) for depression screening.

Nervous, but too sick to really feel it. However, catching up with another friend and doing the 'yeah, well, I would be doing this but I can't get up the energy, etc' and him going 'yeeeah, that sounds like depression all right' is making me feel...well, hopeful that this apathy is something I can do something about.

ETA: Not sure what it says that, while listening to I Am The Doctor, I'm trying to tell myself 'WTF do I have to be depressed about? I didn't have to kill my entire race to try and save the universe from the Daleks. Hell, even Eleven manages to be pretty cheery, and look and what he went through as Ten and in the finale of this season!'

...dudes, I don't even.

So for a variety of reasons, I had a total freakout to my mom on the phone. Second time in less than two weeks.

A lot of stuff was talked about. But the thing that I'm posting about is the important one, and I'm posting so I can't chicken out of it: due to THINGS, I'm finally going to Student Health Services on Tuesday to see about getting on anti-depressants. Hopefully just short term. I just need something to get me out of the thing that's been going on in my head for the last year that I can't quite name.

Blllleeegh. *goes back to watching Covert Affairs finale*

Dear people who romanticise Vincent Van Gogh's mental disturbances (and those of other artsy folks):

Recently acquitted from the hospital, Van Gogh suffered a severe setback in December 1889. Although he had been troubled by mental illness throughout his life, the episodes became more pronounced during his last few years. In some of these periods he was either unwilling or unable to paint, a factor which added to the mounting frustrations of an artist at the peak of his ability. His depression gradually deepened. On 27 July 1890, aged 37, he walked into a field and shot himself in the chest with a revolver. He survived the impact and managed to walk back to the Ravoux Inn. He died there two days later. Theo rushed to be at his side. Theo reported his brother's last words as "La tristesse durera toujours" (the sadness will last forever)".

That? Not romantic. It feels like, to me, a really pretty way of saying 'even killing myself won't make the pain stop'. And that's just so horrible.

So yes. He saw the world differently partially due to his depression and painted some beautiful things. But that depression often caused him to be unable to do what he loved, and ultimately drove him to a death that, in his eyes, still couldn't save him from suffering.

Mental illness isn't romantic, okay? It sucks. Sometimes we take the suck and turn it into something good, but overall IT JUST SUCKS.

The extent to which his mental illness affected his painting has been a subject of speculation since his death. Despite a widespread tendency to romanticise his ill health, modern critics see an artist deeply frustrated by the inactivity and incoherence brought about by his bouts of sickness. According to art critic Robert Hughes, Van Gogh's late works show an artist at the height of his ability, completely in control and "longing for concision and grace"

...yeah.

*All quotes from the wiki article

So, this NYT piece on how a partner's transition changes you...yeah.

I need to blather on that when I'm not getting ready for classes. But quick hit: Yes. Yes I am horribly afraid of what my transition, however long it ends up lasting, will do to us. I've said this before and I will keep saying it. It's not because I don't trust or believe Girl when she says she'll love me no matter what changes I make to this body. I believe that. It's just...well, as articles like this make clear, it is more complicated than that. Although, I think, it will be more so on MY end as I'm the one who is more openly, fabulously queer.

...yeah, more when I'm actually awake.

Kind of tangentally related to that last post: I realised this before I went over to check Shakesville after lunch but...for the first time probably since July, I'm feeling...good.

I had a meltdown on the phone with my mother yesterday. I'd known this meltdown was in the works for awhile, but really just needed someone to trigger it (this is not an insult to my mother--she knows, as I do, that I can really only fall apart around her and occasionally Girl without feeling horrible about it later).

There's a lot of things that built up to form the mass of unhappy in my head. And not all of them are gone (they probably never will be, and I accept that). But enough of it is cleared out that I can function again without feeling like I'm going to break (believe me, you did NOT want to be in my head these last two weeks. Woooh boy).

So tonight, after reading/school work (providing I get done at a reasonable hour), I'm going to start on my auction fic. It might be a few days late, but I'm sure my recipent will understand.

Tomorrow, providing schedules work, K and I will go to the bank to get transfers done.

By Friday, I should be able to purchase tickets for Christmas.

All will be well, this too shall pass, blah blah blah.

The 'post a picture as you are right now, no makeup etc' meme.



Yes, I need a haircut like woah. WHY THE HELL DO I ALWAYS FORGET A HAIRBRUSH WHEN I MOVE? I have a comb, but a comb will get eaten by that thing right now.

Oh, hai depression, anxiety and pain. Please, take over my life for another week+. I don't need it!

lolsob.

Living off campus but still close is a going to be a good thing for my legs. Have walked to campus twice (and still have to go back again) and into town once (to deposit Girl's check and grab lunch) all before noon, and since I tend to walk a lot at work and today is my long-ish day...woooh.