I saw my therapist on Thursday and she wants my doctor to increase my antidepressant dosage. I’m a little concerned; that means that I’m deteriorating, that I’m not getting better as expected. It also means that this journey of “recovery” may be a lot longer than I’m willing to travel. I’m already quite sedated and I’m afraid of the medication making me a complete zombie. But, perhaps, and this would be the optimistic view, it will improve my mind, giving me motivation and concentration skills I’ve been sorely lacking.

Maybe there is no hope for me and I’ll have to return to my previous assumption that my destiny lies only in depression, a dark tunnel without light that I will wander down endlessly, moping and sulking, scratching myself on its rough walls.

I slept at 9pm last night. I woke up at 8:15am exhausted and aching. I went downtown to meet my swimming team. It was a good time and I didn’t have to go in the water. Luckily, my team mates have accepted that I’m quiet so I didn’t have to aggrandise the details of my summer. One girl on my team got engaged over the summer. Jesus.

My Shakespeare class turned out quite nicely, so I’ve finalised my schedule at last. We’re reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream right now, which I love. I wish I could get lost in my own little faerie world in the forest and fall in love. But I’d stay in the woods and sleep in the trees with mischievous faerie children for companions and honey to eat.

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