Life Unknown

First, two years ago, it was depression. I couldn't think, couldn't write, couldn't work, couldn't hold myself together. I couldn't function. For months I fought it, tried to ignore it and work through the pain. That tack didn't work. Finally, my life hung in the balance.

I went on the Prozac, was messed up in a different way, still felt powerless, but at least could see the light of day again. Even if it was just mist and gray.

A year and a half later, I'm sick of suffering immobility and barren melancholy. I quit the Prozac, and I think I might be okay. This has yet to be determined. [By the end of this post, I'll think better of this.]

But at hand are still my old procrastination, my inability to work, my lack of focus. I still can't move myself. I can't write. I can't even sleep. On talking to my counselor last, she wonders if I have ADD.

ADD. A new name for what I've felt for so long. Or is it? What if we've been wrong all along, as I had once hoped and now dread? Some things can't be explained by it: social phobia, crying for no reason. But other things can be explained better: lack of motivation, procrastination, my sister's charges of laziness.

I'm back to feeling powerless again. As if unknown forces are labeling and controlling my life, and I'm just a toy, a puppet to make miserable. So much for her dreams, her aspirations--we'll let her fight, and push, and fail.

Some days, it's only friends that get me through. Some days it's just the mercy of the universe.

What if, in the end, nothing can get me through far enough?