Placebo Life

Well... What's to be said? Things aren't exactly great right about now.


I'm currently on three different medications to try and tackle my depression. It seemed for awhile that they were working, but right now I feel as though I'm right back where I was in August of 2009 when I was first given crazy pills, if not worse.


My theatrical career may or may not be kicking off this week. I have an audition this Wednesday for a professional theater's season, and I'm very confident about the work I have to present. Why am I unexcited? I don't know. Perhaps it's the end of a chapter, and I'm in the doldrums of the falling action. I sincerely hope that's what it is. I really can't go on feeling like this for long.


I know I should be feeling refreshed after a week off from school. I had a good time in Williamsburg with my close friend Autumn, yet I feel worse than I did before break. The break was just too short, I suppose, or maybe at this point, no amount of time would allow for full recuperation. 


Yesterday I broke down crying in the passenger seat on the way home from a grocery run with my mother. I told her that I felt like a failure, which has been a constant feeling in my life for a while. My grades are horrid, and I have absolutely no capacity to complete my work. I have no motivation and I get stressed and shut down before I can even begin the work. She said, like she has said before, that I shouldn't label myself a failure because of what I've been through this year. "You are one of the bravest people I know," she said. "It has taken a great amount of courage for you to get up every morning feeling the way that you do. You have endured what most people twice your age would crumble under." I suppose so. I don't want to pat myself on the back. I haven't exactly been strong. If I were an aqueduct, my structure would be cracking and eroding while water spurted out from the weak points. There have been times that I have been able to do a few quick fixes and get myself just strong enough to move along, but ultimately, those mean nothing. Ultimately, I'm not fulfilling my purpose. Ultimately, I have failed. 


Although I'm publishing this on the Internet to be viewed by hundreds, I have never felt more alone than I do at this moment. 


I've found myself relating more and more to Lana Del Rey's Born To Die. "Fate, don't fail me now, take me to the finish line, oh, my heart, it breaks every step that I take... Walkin' through the city streets, is it my mistake of design? I feel so alone on a Friday night..." 


I can't help but think, is this my problem? Was I just born flawed, like a dud toy is accidentally created with damning deficiencies? If so, what does it matter? There isn't a shred of hope for me. The world doesn't stop to fix a broken toy.