#depression cw

so I haven't been doing well. I'm really not in a good place and, as of last night, I'm finally admitting that to myself. I'm trying to get in touch with my doctor about a med change, but that honestly might not be until the end of July. until then, and until I find something that works and my mood stabilizes, idk how much or what all I'll be getting done here and in just general. I'm struggling, and things are not bringing me joy, but I don't want to just drop everything because of it. I'm hopeful that I'll get muse again for most things once I'm feeling better, but until then, I'm most likely going to focus just on a few specific threads. you can still reply to stuff, I'd still love to see it, I just can't promise the same in return right now.

if you're not okay with the wait, I understand and wish you the best. soft block me if you need to, do what's best for you and all that. but I do hope to see you all on the other side of this.

I'm still always around to talk ooc, if you ever want to chat about whatever, I just might be quiet sometimes.

don't worry about me though. I have a good support system, both here and irl, and I'm not thinking dangerous thoughts. I'm not okay right now, but I will be eventually, and I can't wait to get back into the swing of things once I am.

Enjolras arches an eyebrow. “And yet that’s never stopped you before.”

“Fair.” Grantaire twirls his spoon between his fingers before pronouncing, like the well-worn, inside joke it had become, “I am wild.”

Almost certainly despite himself, Enjolras smiles, just slightly. “Yeah, you are,” he agrees. “But you’re also not painting.”

Grantaire’s answering smile fades. “Could be,” he says, a little sullenly. “It’s not like you’re around enough to know.”

It’s a low blow and he knows it, but Enjolras doesn’t flinch. “Maybe not but we live in a late capitalist surveillance state so I have my ways of finding out.”

“Well, well, well, typical white man, complaining about the system except for when it directly benefits you.”

“Yep,” Enjolras says. “Are you going to keep deflecting? Because I can do this all day.”

For a moment, Grantaire’s tempted to take him up on it, to see just how long he’ll actually allow this to drag on. It’d almost certainly be good fun, and it isn’t like Grantaire’s got anything better to do.

But he can also see that Enjolras is genuinely worried, can see it in the tightness of his shoulders and the lines at the corners of his eyes that he tries to claim aren’t crow’s feet because he’s not old enough to have crow’s feet. And considering Grantaire’s previous point about all of the other things that are almost certainly more worth Enjolras’s worry, he supposes he owes him at least a semblance of the truth.

“Yes, I haven’t been painting,” he says, dipping his spoon in his bowl of cereal and stirring it, mostly to give himself something to do with his hands. “No, you shouldn’t be worried.”

Enjolras nods like he didn’t really expect a different answer. “Are you depressed again?”

Enjolras’s bluntness, characteristic though it may be, still startles a laugh from Grantaire. He sighs and looks down at his cereal bowl. “There’s not really a way to say this that won’t worry you.”

When he sneaks a glance at him, Enjolras meets his eyes evenly. “Try me.”

Grantaire jerks a shrug. “I’ve never really not been depressed,” he admits, which isn’t really a dirty secret so he’s not entirely sure why he’s saying it like it is.

Maybe because he really doesn’t want Enjolras to worry. They don’t talk about this, really, other than for Enjolras to reiterate more times than Grantaire can count that he’s always there to listen if ever Grantaire wants or needs to talk.

He knows that Grantaire’s in therapy, and takes meds, and had some very low lows previously, but Grantaire’s never felt the need to fill him in on the specifics.

It was depressing enough living it the first time.

He made that joke, such as it was, to his therapist, who didn’t laugh. “Do you frequently feel like you’re a burden to your loved ones?” she asked in response.

Of course Grantaire does, but again, he won’t tell Enjolras that.

Enjolras taps his fingers on the table, the way he does when he’s deciding on the best plan of attack or how to most effectively dismantle whatever asinine argument Grantaire’s brought up. “I thought you were doing better,” he says hesitantly after a moment.

He doesn’t pitch it as a question but Grantaire still nods. “I was.”

“What happened?” Enjolras asks, before pausing and asking, “Did something happen?”

Grantaire sighs and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “It doesn’t always work that way,” he says. “It’s not always triggered by something happening.”

Enjolras’s brow furrows. “Right,” he says shortly, something like disappointment flitting across his expression.

It took Grantaire a very long time when they got together to realize that this kind of disappointment isn’t aimed at him, but at a problem Enjolras can’t fix, an enemy he can’t fight.

At least, not directly.

He clears his throat. “But in this case, I think probably everything over the past few months played at least a contributory role, shall we say.”

True though it is, he mostly says it for Enjolras’s sake. Enjolras just nods slowly. “Are you not painting because your depression is bad again?”

Grantaire exhales sharply. “I’ve painted a lot while depressed.”

Enjolras’s expression doesn’t shift. “Another excellent deflection.”

Grantaire barks a laugh and scrubs both hands across his face. “You know me too fucking well.”

“Or just well enough.”

Grantaire lowers his hands and sighs again. He doesn’t quite meet Enjolras’s eyes as he says, “Every time I go try to paint…it’s like I can’t see it anymore, you know?” Enjolras almost certainly doesn’t know, but he’s struggling to put it into words in a way he can understand. “Like I can’t picture it in my mind, how I want it to look, or how to get there. It’s– it’s like trying to paint in fog.”

It’s not an exact metaphor, but it’ll do.

Enjolras nods slowly. “But I don’t need to be worried.”

“No,” Grantaire says, before wrinkling his nose. “Yes? I never know what the correct response is.” Enjolras just gives him a look, and Grantaire tells him, “No, you don’t need to be worried.” He pauses, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth before telling Enjolras with an almost tired conviction, “It’ll come back. It always has.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire cracks a smile. “Then you can worry.”

Enjolras takes a deep breath. “Ok,” he says simply.

Grantaire eyes him resignedly. “You’re going to worry anyway, aren’t you?”

A smile twitches at the corners of Enjolras’s mouth. “Newsflash, asshole, I’ve been worried this whole time,” he says dryly, and Grantaire’s smile widens at the quote.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Enjolras’s smile disappears.

“What? Why?”

Grantaire shakes his head, mostly because he knows Enjolras won’t like his explanation. “Because you shouldn’t have to—”

Sure enough, Enjolras cuts him off with a scowl, though his voice is gentle as he tells him, “That ship I’m pretty sure sailed when I fell in love with you. Or, frankly, probably a good deal sooner than that.”

There are so many things that Grantaire wants to say that, but he can’t bring himself to. Instead, he stretches his hand across the table and tells Enjolras, sincerely, “I love you.”

Enjolras takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. “I know,” he says softly. “I love you, too.” He squeezes Grantaire’s hand before adding, “I hope it comes back soon.”

like i understand what's going on. i tapered off abilify in may and started taking latuda instead, which turned on the creativity drive for a bit (which is why i drew 14 pages of a comic in a few weeks, when i'd been in a creative slump basically since i started taking it) but also turned off my ability to not be horribly depressed. and sure, we added wellbutrin to the mix, but that hasn't done much to help anything either. right now i'm in this sort of in between state where we figure out dosages and if the meds are helping or not and what to change them to if not.

i will also say, there's a lot of Stuff going on too. my house has got some issues, there are money issues, my dad got his foot amputated, and i know my sister is struggling too. i keep worrying that the cats are going to die, since we lost three cats to cancer in the span of one year not that long ago, but they're fine and healthy, for the most part.

anyway, i can't be on abilify again because it made me suddenly gain 30 lbs and get diabetes, which is more dangerous than depression (looks at my dad who keeps having to get more and more of his feet removed with each passing year). thankfully, though, treating the diabetes aggressively and going off the abilify saw me lose the 30 lbs again and not be diabetic anymore. which is great and all, but it did help with the depression, even if it made me stagnate creatively.