Coming Out: Pill Popper Edition

Today was Day 2 of my antidepressant, Wellbutrin – a name that tries to subtly imply the well being of its user.

I dry heaved in the shower this morning before my anatomy exam. But if that’s the only side effect, bring it.

I don’t feel much different, especially considering all the change and excitement of the semester ending.

I told Mom and Dad about it. I didn’t really expect to, but I decided that it’s better to not keep secrets. Something about it felt like “coming out” all over again.

I explained my feelings more than ever before. Mom struggled with her inability to do more than listen. Dad struggled with just listening, feeling the need to tell about his own struggles. But they’re trying.

Mom cried. She asked if a lot of my trauma had to do with home. I said no, even though a lot did. Yet, a lot didn’t. There’s been a lot of trauma. Dad told her not to ask that, which I appreciated.

I couldn’t show them my fears. They have no idea how afraid I am that this won’t save me – that it’ll turn out like last time. Or worse.

Being home is already a bit stressful. Mom’s anxiety and emotions are unnecessarily high. Dad’s short fuse is hard to tolerate. I love them, but I have this subtle feeling of apprehension toward coming home in May.

Maybe there is no such thing as a good “roommate.”

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