But that’s not really what this post is about. Or maybe it is? I’ve already taken tonight’s dose of Seroquel, so my ability to analyze themes is currently sub-optimal.
Speaking of medication, I have taken my morning meds really late for the past two days. At first, this surprisingly had little effect on me. But then I realized that my anxiety was worse than usual. And when I found out about Carrie Fisher, I knew that the extent of my reaction was almost certainly a result of my “neurochemical shit” getting “fucked up”, to use the technical terms.
I really like Carrie Fisher. I realized this earlier in the year when I watched her interview with Stephen Colbert. She was such a fucking badass, and everything I hope to be one day. Carrie was confident and funny, and she took shit from nobody. This is probably dramatic and self-absorbed, but I saw a better version of myself in her. I feel like, if Carrie and I had ever met, she would have understood me on a deep level. Reading her quotes, which are now scattered across my Facebook feed, I have learned that she gave the world honest insight into mental illness. This only confirms my belief that we are similar.
I didn’t think much about Carrie until she had a heart attack on the 23rd. I was sad-drunk when I found out, and told my friend I would need to go to psych emerg if she died. I attributed this extreme reaction to the alcohol at the time, but I obsessively checked google over the next few days for updates on Ms. Fisher’s health. And when I learned of her passing today, I was devastated. I can’t tell whether my emotions surrounding this event are largely chemical, or if this is just the way I feel.
I always judge people who get upset by celebrity deaths. You didn’t know Whitney Houston. You didn’t give a shit about Michael Jackson when he was alive. You’re making this about you when you aren’t remotely connected to it. Of course, I felt differently with Robin Williams, as the way he died was particularly upsetting.
But Carrie Fisher didn’t die the way Robin Williams died. And yet, I find myself thinking that I don’t want to live in a world without her. That she was the last genuine person left on this planet, and that there is no hope for us now.
But again, this post probably isn’t about Carrie Fisher. I think it’s about my failure to take my medication on time, and the dramatic emotions I experienced afterwards.
This evening, I watched this Vox video summarizing the year 2016:
Maybe I should have known this video would upset me. And maybe to some extent, I did. But I didn’t think it would lead to suicidal thinking. I did not expect that a reminder of the election and the war in Syria and the Orlando shooting and the Standing Rock would leave me feeling so hopeless.
But here I am, feeling this way, unsure whether these thoughts are even my own or if they belong to the brief decrease of Effexor in my system. I feel like political corruption runs so deep, and the system favours the powerful to such a great extent, that nothing can be done to achieve fairness and equality. I feel like people are inherently bad, and that nothing can be done to change this fact. I feel like a world without Carrie Fisher is boring and pointless and hollow. I think that’s what this post it about.
I apologize if my writing is incoherent; again, I have already taken my Seroquel tonight. But that’s what I am thinking. So there it is.