The show’s doing alright for itself, at the moment.

My first essay at my new university got a first (that’s like an A). I mean it was barely a first (A) but it was one. It only took me 2 weeks of panicking and 4 afternoons of lying on the floor sobbing for several hours a day, to pull that particular rabbit out of my tophat.

I tried coming off my meds, about 2 weeks ago (after all the above happened). I’d have to say, that was (as it always is) a mistake. I’m back on them, now… how is it that anti-depressants take away the high-highs, but leave me with fairly low-lows?

The person I am most in love with (notice the use of the modifier “most”, if you will–I’m not saying I bear no responsibility for this state of affairs, and by the way, “affairs” is an intentional word choice as well) does not feel the same way I do. This is a thing for which I absolutely need psych meds, in order to cope (grammatically correct sentence? so clunky, though). When he forgets he’s not madly in love with me, though… *sigh* Good times, great times, and then, whoosh! I’m falling off a cliff and it feels like flying, right until I land.

When I eventually kill myself–

I mean, if I ever lose the battle and kill myself, I will go headfirst off a cliff. For once in my life, I won’t be scared of something new; it will feel exactly like something I’ve done a hundred times before.