The internal struggle

I have my meds. I carry them in my purse. I haven't started taking them again yet. I know I should because for days now I have been on the verge of crying. Being in this house is making me feel restless and insane and I don't care what I'm doing, or who is with me- I just feel like I gotta do something. Get the fuck out of this house and do anything other than just sit here.

I'm going to do some laundry today- and then spend more time by the pool, reading my newest book Shampoo Planet. I'm not sure if I'm into the plot line, I haven't found it yet- but the language is great.

"I like hotels because in a hotel room you have no history, you only have an essence. You feel like you're all potential, waiting to be rewritten, like a crisp, blank sheet of 8 1/2 by 11-inch white bond paper. There is no past."

I was reading this and wishing I had such insight on such things. However, with limited experiences- I can only write about what I know.
And really, what the hell do I know??

I know that I am better when I'm on my meds. I know that I am less annoyed by the state of my life. The voices are quieted. I can live with the situation as it stands. Considering the decision I've made, then perhaps it's right to keep sucking down the "quiet down, girl" pills and heading down the path of least resistance. It makes it all more tolerable, sort of numbs me and even allows me to have a sense of humor about it. Without, I am restless and intolerant and impatient and dying to make a change. Acutely aware of my loveless, sexless marriage, so much so that I almost cringe when he touches me.

So what's worse?