"I HATE YOU ALL!
I love you all."

I started taking anti-depressants this afternoon in a bid to control my panic attacks. So far I can report that the experience is much like taking a 2-hour nap in the afternoon - I'm completely logy & washed out with no real idea of how or why to do anything. But I have to say, no panic attacks. Then again, there were no attacks on Friday either, except for a couple that I recognised and held off with deep breathing.

Kind of scared about the long-term effects of the pills, not to mention the immediate change in ability. I don't need this. Who would've thought that taking anti-anxiety medication would actually increase my worries?

Did, however, manage to catch The Royal Tenenbaums last night with Dirk before a night of drinking and reminiscing about the old days at (where else?) Ein-stein's. Really fun time. The movie was a completely immaculate experience with a gorgeous soundtrack and art direction. It's been a long time since I've seen something so pretty. The only problem was that the suicide scene was a little much for me in my current state of mind. But that's hardly the movie's fault.

Revisiting the ninestein days was a real trip: we sat around on the shabby couches playing the jukebox, drinking enormous steins of beer and talking about friends, people we used to know and ourselves. It seems like ages since we've been able to hang out, and this was more or less exactly like the old days.

I just wish that I'd had the wisdom to pack it in there, and not chase around town on my own in search of a final experience to cap off my last night before I joined the world of the mood-medicated. I ended up standing sadly by myself at the Garden, waiting to see one familiar face and wondering how I was going to get home. Eventually I gave up & took a cab to Mount Olympus, there to collapse sadly into bed.

On Thursday night, after my appointments with the counsellor and the doctor, the Boy & I met my family for dinner. It was a gathering in honour of Nic's immanent departure for the West Coast, and it went rather well all things considered. Nic was in a fabulous mood, foregoing the usual angry rhetoric and listening with concern to my problems (the quickest way to my heart, of course). My parents were fairly worried about what's going on, so most of my dinnertime was spent answering questions about my experiences and state of mind. Luckily I hadn't much appetite to begin with, so there was lots of time for gabbing between the appetizer and the cheque.

When we got back to the house, my mom & I went off to talk in the livingroom. All my feelings of failure and disappointment started to pour out and I was crying like a baby in no time. Mom was very soothing (pain brings out the best in her, as it does in the Boy), and I felt much better on the way home. It's funny; crying is usually a very constructive activity for me (as is writing), but over the past two weeks those activities have suddenly lost their effectiveness. I've been coping with stress (or rather, not coping with stress) in the same way for over 15 years; when my tools suddenly break it's kind of scary.