Long story short, don't
believe a goddamned thing that I write.
I may very well be depressed. Two people have placed it at the
top of their differential diagnosis, and I am certainly exhibiting
some of the pernicious signs and symptoms. (Not that I have all
these, but I'll recite them for board review purposes:
anhedoniaâ€â€the inability
to enjoy things that I have previously found enjoyable, feelings of
unremitting sadness, of hopelessness, helplessness, worthlessness,
and excessive and inappropriate guilt. Crying spells. Loss of
appetite. Insomnia.)
There is something incredibly seductive in believing that some
of this might very well be relieved by drugs. I mean, rationally,
even if I am truly clinically depressed, it's not going to solve
any of my problems. On the other hand, if I am truly clinically
depressed, it'll at least take some of this weight off my back, I
think. The way I see it, there's nothing wrong with empirical
treatment.
But I just feel like I have lost my way. I am, for some deranged
reason, afraid to go on in my chosen path. Not because of anything
tangible. It's just this stark feeling of unease, this fear of the
unknown. I mean, this is despite envisioning spending most of my
final year in med school at home in L.A. in a familiar environment.
(I have grown weary of my self-imposed exile in the Midwest, and
shudder at the thought of spending another godforsaken winter out
there.)
Mostly, I am tired. Despite having had an entire week to
decompress and try to regain my bearings, I am still somewhat
paralyzed and afraid to try. As usual, a lot of the hard-won wisdom
I gained this past year has been rendered inaccesible. I just can't
remember. And even if I do, I can't seem to apply it to my
situations.
I suppose this is what I'm really afraid of: If, at this stage
in the game, when my responsibility is still pretty minimal, I'm
already on the verge of cracking, what will happen to me later on?
I can't continue on believing I'm on this razor thin edge,
scrambling for balance. There will be really, really, bad
days ahead, and I cannot afford to let it get to me the way I've
let these last twelve weeks get to me. (Ah yes, I have finally
written down my evil
resident story.)
See, the thing I recognize that makes this perhaps unnecessarily
painful is that I feel like I can't drag anyone down in my madness.
I mean, I know that I have a pretty good support system, in terms
of family and friends, but, I don't know. These past few years, I
just feel like I need to be strong and stand on my own two feet.
Protect those that I care about from my insanity. That sort of
thing.
But right now, I can't hang. I feel beat. But life continues to
run me over.
Oh well. Whatever needs to happen will happen, with or without
me. I just wish I had a little more strength of will. But wishing
won't get me anywhere.
But really. Don't worry
about me. Don't take this too seriously. In a rather sick way, it's
supposed to be amusing. The way that car crashes can make some
people laugh. This too will pass. At least that much I'm
certain.