The Obscure

I was wondering why I was so depressed today, and then I remembered that I forgot to take my lithium. So I took it, I figure in about a half an hour I should begin to feel alright, maybe. I really want to up the dosage, but I can't do that without the psych-med woman's approval, and I need bloodwork done before I can get that. I am too much of a procrastinator, so who knows if that will ever happen.
My mother often tells me that a writer writes, always. I guess I could consider myself a writer then, seeing as that is all I ever really do with my time. I have countless journals, and of course this horrible website that I can't rid myself of. I would say that I write the equivalent of four or five pages a day. If only I could take my obsession with writing and use it for some constructive purpose, perhaps I might produce something worthwhile. I do not think that that will be happening anytime soon, I have made a lot of progress with my depression, but not enough to be able to have "motivation", not enough to be able to accomplish anything but splattering my thoughts onto this screen or onto the pages of my many journals.
I say that I am a writer, but I do not say that I am a good writer. I wish I could be, but I think it takes something more than an obsession with the written word to become such a person. It takes perserverance and vision, neither of which I have.
They say fire purifies, perhaps if I said my brain aflame it would be purged of the evils that plague it. Who knows? But I haven't the courage to undertake such a gamble.
I came here because I needed to write something. I think I have written all that I can. My head continues to hurt very badly, but I am just so bored that I continue to come to this computer when instead I should just take some sleeping pills and knock myself out. That's really my last ditch effort to fight against the headaches. I only hope that I feel well enough to go to work tomorrow, but I doubt that that will be the case. I don't think they can get along without me, though. Maybe they can, I showed Hillary how to box the eBay cookies, and the other cookies we have would be easy work for anyone with even a remote knowledge of packaging, and that is really all I am good for. I will probably call in, tomorrow. This pain is a new and terrifying thing to me, it is more powerful and overwhelming than any cluster I have experienced before, and it does not seem to be stopping. I need to go to the doctor, to tell him that the prescription he gave me isn't enough, that I need more or something different if I am to survive.
I contemplated going on disability, just quitting my job and sending in the disability paperwork. But because of my age, my work experience, and the fact that I live in my parents' house, I wouldn't get enough money to get by. So I need a job, that much I know. Working is just so impossible for me without a significant amount of pain medication, and my doctor seems unwilling to produce that. I'm going to have to be frank with him, I'm going to have to tell him exactly what I am going through, and exactly what I think I need. He is going to have to overcome his fear of creating a narcotics addict, I get no joy from the pills I take, I get no pleasure from them. Perhaps if I am frank with him he will understand that. Perhaps we can come to an understanding, and I can get enough relief to live a life worth living.
Perhaps.