That bastard is back, it seems...

Yeah, that one. You know which one. He comes to see me occasionally. And when he's around, things get bad. 

Still not sure of who I'm talking about? Here, let me arrange an introduction.

Readers, meet depression. Depression, say hello to all my readers. 

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Or, yanno, don't. That works too.

The last week has just been really bad for me and I don't foresee it getting any better at all. I'm growing increasingly upset and irritated about pretty much everything. I've cried more this week than I have in the last month. 

I'm suddenly struggling a great deal with my feelings for Chris. I practically cry at the mention of him. This is absurd, ridiculous, outrageous. I should not be doing this. Every logical part of me says that I shouldn't. 
Then why is my heart still bleeding for him...

My homesickness is growing at a rapid, unseemly pace. I love my roommates to death but I want my own space. More than anything. I have this... frustration going to family gatherings here because I want MY family. When we went to Easter dinner, her grandma patted me on the shoulder and said "I bet this is really hard for you, isn't it?" You're goddamn right it's hard for me. I wanted to be at home, eating Easter dinner with my family, laughing and joking and having a grand time. Not that I don't appreciate them inviting me to their dinner, but I wanted to be with my own.

I'm struggling with my feelings for Tim too. I really like him and I really want things to work out with us when I feel like I'm ready to give it another go. And yes, there is a spark there. I can feel it. But it's not THE spark. The magical one you feel when you've met someone amazing, like in all the books. One person says that it's just a teenage hormone thing and it's normal to not feel it. Another tells me it is something you will experience no matter what age you are. I felt it with Chris; hell, with him, it wasn't a spark. It was an explosion of fireworks. But I was 19. I'm almost 24 now and a lot more jaded than I was before. I don't know what I should believe. 

I've also found that being sick is the best time to cry quietly. No one suspects the sniffles and nose-blowing and red, puffy eyes. 

I stopped taking my Prozac, cold turkey. I'm finding this to be a mistake. I thought that I was strong enough to deal with everything. I thought that I was getting better. I thought that I didn't need a crutch to help me. I was wrong, apparently. I'm going to call my doctor today and see if she will refill my script until like.. August/September. Just long enough to get me back home so I can see her and have a check up. 

I guess... I just ride it out and wait for it to go away and do the best that I can. It's all I can do.