July 22, 2003
fifty milligrams now
Yes, world, my Zoloft dosage is now up from 25 mg. Freaking joy in a pill.
Not that it seems to have made much difference. Really, all I can tell is that it makes me feel numb when I should be feeling sad or angry. And that itself frustrates me a little, because I want to feel like I'm in control of things and not some little tablet messing about with my brain chemistry. Although the fact that after the last couple of days I merely want to stare at the wall until the paint falls off as opposed to wanting to slit whatever vein kills me fastest is an improvement.
See, my mom came in and out of nowhere pesters me about Sorcha. Her theory is that she's making me gay. Sorcha. The heterosexual.
This wasn't enough, and she proceeded to blow up at me for about ten minutes about how the very thought of "what two women do" makes her sick to her stomach, and how that kind of love is just wrong and disgusting, and no matter what I think she knows I'm not lesbian.
Later my dad came in and talked to me about how he, too, knew I wasn't gay and I'm just confused, and if I only tried hard enough I could change, but my parents simply weren't going to financially support me if I chose to live that lifestyle and become enmeshed in that culture.
The next day, I woke up feeling sick. So I moped around the house a bit and went to take a nap.
Then they decide to TAG-TEAM on me and proceeded to talk at me for about an hour straight about how I need to try to change:
(a) my dress habits-- apparently I'm trying to look butch (and this is also Sorcha's fault, apparently) so I need to give more thought to my appearance; proof was presented in the form of my laziness about shaving my armpits, since "that's what lesbians do, they don't shave and you want to be like them."
(b) my attitude-- if I can't just be happy, I need to fake it.
(c) my associations. I need to remove myself from situations which present temptations.
I can't stand this. They always do it in twos. They tell me how much they love me in between long tirades about the evil of homosexuality and how I need to stop labeling myself something I'm not, and picking apart all my faults and inventing new ones. They don't care what some "psychobabble professional" says, they're not going to be like those parents that just say "whatever makes you happy," they have higher standards. My mom sprung a new one on me last night-- "I thought losing my father was bad, but at least we were losing him to heaven, and I just refuse to lose you to this-- muck!" Muck being the lesbian lifestyle, of course.
Her daughter's homosexuality is worse than her father's death.
Thanks, Mom.
And they keep at it, for an hour or two, and eventually I break down crying and then they keep going until I'll agree to anything, trying to change, wearing different clothes, anything to make them stop hurting me.
I can't talk to anyone; whenever Sorcha calls, my mom gives me the phone like it's a dead rat and glares at me until I hang up, and I know that if I called anyone else she would get suspicious. I can't get on the computer as much because that's seen as rebellion and the Internet is where evil lesbians tell me sin is okay and there's no right or wrong; I had to wait until she was asleep to write this.
I'm just afraid of what might happen next. I don't think I can take another session alone with my parents. I don't know what I'll do, even with the Zoloft in my system. And what hurts the most is that they're doing it all because they love me and think what they're doing is right, and I can't do anything to change their mind, so they'll never let up, ever.
I never wanted school to start so much in my life.
Not that it seems to have made much difference. Really, all I can tell is that it makes me feel numb when I should be feeling sad or angry. And that itself frustrates me a little, because I want to feel like I'm in control of things and not some little tablet messing about with my brain chemistry. Although the fact that after the last couple of days I merely want to stare at the wall until the paint falls off as opposed to wanting to slit whatever vein kills me fastest is an improvement.
See, my mom came in and out of nowhere pesters me about Sorcha. Her theory is that she's making me gay. Sorcha. The heterosexual.
This wasn't enough, and she proceeded to blow up at me for about ten minutes about how the very thought of "what two women do" makes her sick to her stomach, and how that kind of love is just wrong and disgusting, and no matter what I think she knows I'm not lesbian.
Later my dad came in and talked to me about how he, too, knew I wasn't gay and I'm just confused, and if I only tried hard enough I could change, but my parents simply weren't going to financially support me if I chose to live that lifestyle and become enmeshed in that culture.
The next day, I woke up feeling sick. So I moped around the house a bit and went to take a nap.
Then they decide to TAG-TEAM on me and proceeded to talk at me for about an hour straight about how I need to try to change:
(a) my dress habits-- apparently I'm trying to look butch (and this is also Sorcha's fault, apparently) so I need to give more thought to my appearance; proof was presented in the form of my laziness about shaving my armpits, since "that's what lesbians do, they don't shave and you want to be like them."
(b) my attitude-- if I can't just be happy, I need to fake it.
(c) my associations. I need to remove myself from situations which present temptations.
I can't stand this. They always do it in twos. They tell me how much they love me in between long tirades about the evil of homosexuality and how I need to stop labeling myself something I'm not, and picking apart all my faults and inventing new ones. They don't care what some "psychobabble professional" says, they're not going to be like those parents that just say "whatever makes you happy," they have higher standards. My mom sprung a new one on me last night-- "I thought losing my father was bad, but at least we were losing him to heaven, and I just refuse to lose you to this-- muck!" Muck being the lesbian lifestyle, of course.
Her daughter's homosexuality is worse than her father's death.
Thanks, Mom.
And they keep at it, for an hour or two, and eventually I break down crying and then they keep going until I'll agree to anything, trying to change, wearing different clothes, anything to make them stop hurting me.
I can't talk to anyone; whenever Sorcha calls, my mom gives me the phone like it's a dead rat and glares at me until I hang up, and I know that if I called anyone else she would get suspicious. I can't get on the computer as much because that's seen as rebellion and the Internet is where evil lesbians tell me sin is okay and there's no right or wrong; I had to wait until she was asleep to write this.
I'm just afraid of what might happen next. I don't think I can take another session alone with my parents. I don't know what I'll do, even with the Zoloft in my system. And what hurts the most is that they're doing it all because they love me and think what they're doing is right, and I can't do anything to change their mind, so they'll never let up, ever.
I never wanted school to start so much in my life.
Labels: family, friends, meds, Teh Gay
# posted by Liadan @ 11:32 PM 
