going, going

i hate being on an antidepressant. what's the point? you can't live happily on your own so you rely on something artificial to put you in that good place. without it i'm miserable. why. i want to know what went wrong and where and when.. how. some days i feel perfect; high almost- other days frighteningly existential- other days irritable.. and other days almost as anxious as before. it helps but it's not a miracle pill. i've been trying to do other things, and incorporate other ideas into the day-to-day but the more new things i try the less i feel like myself. which leads me to question my last post; do i really know who i am? i seem to figure it out on the weekends when i'm home but when faced with stress during the week it just falls apart.. i missed a dose yesterday and i feel like i could just walk away from everything right now; stress management has deteriorated. so irritable; can't sleep, don't want to do anything. all my shit's a mess and all i want to do is lay down. i'm going to write a book. i feel like it could be decent- it's something easy to say but guaranteed i won't finish because i'll have no idea where to start, or i'll start writing and i'll hate it. i'd like to be good at something; i'd like to be able to produce something beautiful. words are my best shot i think (you may think differently from these posts, and i don't blame you) -- i really don't like writing in a stylistically sound manner on here... people would find it lame, so it'll get saved for the book. i've had the urge to throw something all day. i want to throw something or break something but there is a childhood memory/value i have saved that links breaking things to wastefulness and being a brat; so i refuse to break things. but that's what i want to do. stomping on 20 light bulbs is what i'm thinking. i don't understand why i feel this way. so many 'i's in this post, but that's what happens during a vent. these are things i mention but don't like to bring up day-to-day because they aren't great conversation starters and i hope that if i ignore them, they'll go away. they do sometimes, but they always come back. i still ask: why. why is this defining me? nobody fucking wants this and it's not fucking normal. i'm losing it