a break from reality

Escape, the six-letter promise I keep breaking. I'm more fragmented than usual; my alpha self keeps pinching the rest of me to forestall the encroaching tide of apathy, inappropriate urges and daydreams. It doesn't always work. I'm having trouble being polite in public, so I write rules for everything. Back to basics, like washing my hair at least every other day, making the maximum number of yoga classes possible per week, keeping to a calorie limits and other concrete things. I'm trying not to let too many commitments slide, but it's so hard when I feel like I'm slipping away with them. This is the worst break from reality I've ever been on. My shrink (ex-shrink now, I think) hit the nail on the head when he described his emotions during his semester off as "dead." It's like I'm haunting my possible lives.

I hate this maudlin nonsense. I literally need to get my meds adjusted, but the effort required is daunting. Like, they've succeeded in dulling my misery, but the subsequent blandness, dry mouth, nausea, insomnia, exhaustion and complete disconnect from emotion are not really an acceptable substitute. I'm going to run through the samples Dr. C gave me in a few days, and the chances of me filling the scrip are about as low as the chances of me making back into the Clinic. I feel completely unconcerned about the potential outcomes, no way that's a good sign.

There's got to be a way out of this, but right now I have to try so hard just to keep up appearances. I've formed a shell-life from the small actions usually taken for granted, like getting out of bed in the morning. I am so stereotypically depressed, ew. I hate talking about any of this to anyone, but I've confessed a little to Emma and Erica and Katherine. And of course, they all say variations of the same thing: wait til you're back at Smith. I'm so scared though, what if my time away changes me so much I don't fit into my old place when I finally find my way back?