Back at my parents' house, and I just don't feel the way I expected to. I don't want to wallow in it; I want it to go away. I thought this was gone. It's not bad now, not like it used to be, but still, this kind of... I feel like I'm not going anywhere. Like I can't really move, and even if I do, it doesn't mean anything.

Have you had any suicidal thoughts? he asked. The psychiatrist I saw today, who wrote me a prescription for two months' worth of Zoloft and told me to come back in June. Do you have a method or a plan? How's your appetite? How are you sleeping? What's your energy level like? Do you have feelings of guilt? And over and over again, I had to go back and think about what things were like before I started taking the pills, when it was really bad. And I had to explain it all to him, this unsympathetic man whose eyes lit up when I told him the worst things, who told me antidepressants are basically all the same and I could have stayed on Celexa after all, he could have given me enough free sample packs of it to keep me at 10mg a day for six months. It's no mystery why I feel bad tonight. Which makes it better... knowing it's not just me falling apart. Not that I really feel like I'm falling apart. Just uncomfortable.

The azaleas are all in bloom and tomorrow I'm going to the store with my dad... he needs to buy dressy clothes for a couple big events at work and I get to be his fashion consultant.

I'm going to go play Bejeweled and then watch Curtis's Eva music video thingy, if it ever finishes downloading. And that's about as far ahead as I have things planned.