Don't Go To Chemist Warehouse Westfield Bondi Junction

This post is going to be pretty incoherent, but that fits with the title. For the past two weeks, ever since the mid-term break began, I've been feeling awful mood-wise. There could be a number of reasons for this:

1. I have properly committed to intuitive eating,

• which in itself is quite distressing due to the loss of structure around food,
• and has caused a tiny amount of visible weight gain (I'm sure it's not noticeable to anyone else, but it's noticeable to me and that's what counts) which has caused my body image to P L U M M E T.

2. Lack of structure given that it's the uni break. But this doesn't make sense because

• I feel much better in the summer and winter holidays
• Going to class uses so much mental energy because it makes me so anxious

So the past 2 weeks have been awful. I've already talked about the weekend of Jack's party, which was in the middle of these two weeks. But I've just been carrying around this exhaustion, and this feeling of doom, and utter despondency everywhere I go.

My head was obsessed with this sort of thing:

(Song:)

This came to a climax the night before last. I don't know what set it off, but I was at the lowest I think I've ever been, or the lowest I can remember. The past few days I'd taken to pacing up and down the halls of my college like a fuckin weirdo to try and cheer up and also because I felt like I hadn't been walking enough (anorexia talking). I tried to do that but it was like the sadness was gravity and kept pulling me down every time I tried to jump into a better mood. I was stuck in bed, unable to do all the study I had to do, bawling. I couldn't even watch videos to try and cheer me up because the Bad would float in between my eyes and the screen. I couldn't get rid of it. I refused to go see my friends or let anyone come over because I didn't have the energy to socialise or even just be around another person. I know, woe is me.

I was so close to overdosing. The only thing stopping me was guilt at the thought of my parents having to come pack up my room at uni. How awful that would be for them emotionally. What would they do with all my stuff? The only other time I've been this close was about 11 months ago, when abusive boy spent hours on speakerphone outside my room (2am-5am) talking about how pathetic I was. 

Anyway, it was at some point here that I had an epiphany. On the Tuesday, I'd gone to the pharmacy to get my next batch of meds because I only had about two days' worth left. It was weirdly cheap but I thought, hey, that must be the beauty of chemist warehouse!:

That insta story, by the way, is a reference to the genius that is Binch City:

I was lying in bed, and then I realised. There are lots of types of Fluoxetine. I have to take a specific one (Lovan, known for working well on young people, according to my doctor). The packaging and the pills were different this time. So I checked, and lo and behold:

My script says "brand substitution not permitted".

The pharmacist had given me a brand substitution - the generic brand Sandoz (that's what the (SZ)) is next to fluoxetine.

So yeah. What the fuck! Just thought it was an interest little latest development in the clusterfuck that is my existence. I feel like I have the "can I speak to your manager" haircut right now:

but shit! I nearly died! 

The upside, now, is that I feel fucking immortal right now. I feel like I beat death. Overdramatic? Maybe. But not dead.