I can't think of a title

Sorry for the long silence, I just haven't really had anything to talk about. The med situation hasn't changed. My doc (who still can't remember how to pronounce my name after a year and a half of seeing me every month) dismissed any possible notions of antidepressants causing writers' block, and then suggested INCREASING my dosage. 

I've shopped around for other psychiatrists, but there aren't that many nearby covered by my insurance, and I would have to wait another month and a half anyway because I can't afford the co-pay to see another doctor so soon. Also my doc will not question me when I want more xanax, a trait that is getting increasingly difficult to find in doctors.

When I went to see the psychiatrist this past week, there were only two chairs left in the waiting room, so I chose the one that was not beside the smelly dude who looked visibly insane. Ten seconds later, when I actually started listening to the conversation of the five men next to me, I questioned my decision. They were in a deep discussion about their encounters with aliens, how many time they'd been abducted, and apparently one of them had aliens living in a cave in his backyard. That one then started complaining how long it was taking to complete the process to receive his handgun license.

I have managed to write a few more pages of the YA book I've been working on for the last few years, and the book itself is nearly finished. This is due solely to continued harassment from Guitar Teacher demanding that I finish it so he can read it.

There is no emoji to describe my current mood, so I made one.

In other news.........

Last Saturday, I managed to catch Eleven and drive her to her temporary foster home, at a friend-of-a-friend's house. Because Eleven is pregnant and I don't want a load of kittens running around the village potentially getting run over or freezing to death next winter.

Eleven was none too happy about this. That was possibly the most stressful car ride of my life.

I miss my Eleven. :**(

But I am trying to keep reminding myself that this is for the best. She will eventually warm up to her foster mother, her kittens will go to good homes, and Eleven will get her shots, get de-wormed, get spayed, and eventually come home to me, probably inside.*



Now listen to this hilarious video. All the way to the end. 

*Which will be another fun-filled few weeks of getting Harleyquinn and the Simple Cat to get along with her.

-__-

Have you ever wondered why so many crazy people refuse to take their medication?

I have arrived at a dilemma faced by countless writers and artists before me.

I think my medication is causing the writers block.

It set in for the long haul around the same time I started taking antidepressants. And the writing died entirely when they upped my dose. I've also lost the desire to go out and take photos. Now I'm having a harder and harder time coming up with new ideas to illustrate as well.

Never in my life was there a time when I did not have stories bouncing around in my head 24/7. I'm not sure when they stopped, but they have most definitely stopped. Nothing. I used to wonder what normal people thought about all day if their heads weren't constantly occupied with coming up with new fiction stories. Now I want to know how normal people survive this deafening silence.

So what to do? Stop the meds and risk sinking back into suicidal depression and anorexia? I've still got one foot in that particular grave, so I'm kind of nervous as to what will happen if I go off the antidepressants.

At the same time, life is empty and pointless without all the art I used to love creating. Sure the illustrations have sustained me a little, but it's not the same as when I was writing. I feel like a hollow shell of a person. Should I sacrifice a mentally unstable life for a totally lifeless medicated one?

I just don't know. Thoughts? Suggestions? Here's some ridiculous mushrooms: