caspar milquetoast

I donapos;t know how many people Iapos;ve mentioned it to, but here it is (again). Just over two weeks ago I went to the doctor and told her all about my year and she told me sheapos;d ultimately like to put me on a mental health plan (meaning regular visits to a psych), but because I canapos;t afford two $200/hr visits a week, she felt the more appropriate option would be to put me on a course of anti-depressants. To start with Iapos;m on only half a tablet, once a day. But Iapos;m ashamed to say Iapos;m incredibly sensitive to even half a tablet. My motivation is slumbering, my body is numb (physically), and while I couldnapos;t care about some things, others still get under my skin. Iapos;m not laughing as much, but I havenapos;t cried, either. Iapos;m still lonely, but Iapos;m not acknowledging it so often. I forget things even more (who knew it could happen?) and while Iapos;m inspired by things I see, I find myself unable to create.

Iapos;m afraid.
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