Homework is done for the week. Another econ test on Tuesday. Why did I decide to go back to school, again?

Ah yes, because it’s a neat benefit.

But only one class next quarter, OK?

Time to do some writing out on the balcony and clean up the house a bit. Have I mentioned how much I love having my own place? One of the things I was really concerned about, living on my own, was getting caught up in that nasty cycle of living-by-myself depression that I sunk into in South Africa.

I took a lot of precautions this time around. Taking classes was one of those strategies, as was having a balcony, a tv that’s constantly playing old movies, Buffy episodes, and Carnivale, a WoW account, over a hundred unread books, magazines on hand, a gym two block up the street, a new gym ball and workout book, and a kitchen full of recipes. There’s also those French lessons I should get back into.

Oddly enough, ever since I was diagnosed with the diabetes and got it under control, those black depressed days I used to have have pretty much gone away. Sure, I get stressed and tired, and when I was job hunting here and slowly running out of money, I was feeling low, but it wasn’t black depression. It wasn’t “God I want to kill myself I hate myself I hate everyone die die die” depression.

When my sugar’s out of control, I can feel it clawing back at me. It makes me wonder how long my sugar was out of wack. Was I always processing/producing insulin inefficiently? If I had kept up my teenaged lifestyle I likely would have had type 2 at 45 or so, with my genetics. How long were things wacky?

I don’t get sick as often. I was sick all the time in Alaska and Chicago (I never got sick in Durban, but I sure was depressed a lot; living alone in a foreign country with no money can do that).

I’ve told people that I understand a little bit what it’s like to be crazy because I know how I get when my sugar’s out of wack. When I’m low, I want everyone to die and want to crush in their heads. When I’m high, I’m tired and dopey all the time and make sluggish, ill-formed decisions. The sorts of decisions you make without really thinking about consequences. The sorts of decisions that really knifed up my life and the people I cared about in Chicago.

The more stable I am, sugar-wise, the saner I am. I’ve been remarkably surprised at my sanity the last year or so. It helps that I have a job I love, I’m down to one credit card (big as it may be), I have health insurance, a book contract, and a roof over my head.

That shit isn’t anything to sneeze at either.

But you know, having been chemically depressed for three years when I was on the pill (and again for a few months when I went back on it at 25, realized what was causing it, and ditched it for good), I know what the fuzzy of that feels like, and it’s weird to be black depressed free for such a long period of time. I’d like to think that some of this is also because I’ve been working very hard to curb my litany of self-hate, that crap I’ve been carrying around since I was a kid. Confidence doesn’t hurt either, but you know… I think a lot of it is being chemically stable.

Severe depression is about wacky brain hormone levels. Keeping my sugar balanced and stable keeps my brain balanced and stable too.

It’s pretty awesome.

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