I've been on Wellbutrin XL for about 3 weeks now, following two weeks on Prozac which did nothing (and may have triggered a short hypomanic episode--not entirely sure whether I'm bipolar. Or BPD for that matter, thought my therapist/psychiatrist seem to indicate they think it's these two). It's my first time trying meds. I also happen to be on break now from college.

And things are...better. Like, much better. I don't know whether to accredit it to the meds or to the lack of academic stress, but I'm doing much better than the end of this semester, when there were days when I couldn't get out of bed, or walked around like a ghost, unable to concentrate, and was so depressed I was literally non-functional. I've been enjoying (mostly) time with friends, I've been getting some work done and planning for the future. Sure, I've self-harmed a couple of times, but not nearly at the same frequency as in school; and I've had 2-3 days when I've felt extremely depressed, but it's not nearly as debilitating as it was back in school.

But I still want to self-destruct, even though it makes no sense. I want the depression back even though I know how terrible it makes me feel. I'm annoyed that I'm not getting nearly as many suicidal thoughts. I have no idea why. It's like there's still a part of me that wants to destroy myself, but the rational part of me is keeping it down using meds, and now that part is trying to get back out. It's this twisted nostalgia for madness, for the desire to die, for totally incapacitating depression. I feel like I'm having all the thoughts I used to, just without the same intensity, without the drive to action, and that feels illegitimate somehow. Even though I'm not as depressed, I still want to die.

And so every time I look at my meds in the morning, I face this conundrum: should I take them or not? Take them, and maybe I'll be on the way to defeating the last remnants of this monster; don't take them, and let myself be destroyed. And today, I decided not to take them.