Depression is annoying.

Even when life is pretty dang awesome, depression kinda lurks in the corner. Sometimes it gets tired of being ignored, so it tries to convince you to feel bad for no real reason.

So you feel bad, because it told you to.

Obviously, this is pretty frustrating. I've never been particularly good at ignoring my feelings and pretending to feel a different way, which makes it hard to say, "Heck no depression, you're stupid. Go away." But I think I'm getting better at it. For me, finding positive ways to distract myself help me remember that I'm not unhappy, even though my body thinks I should be. Going on walks and reading and not eating brownies for breakfast are a good start. And I always cheer up when I watch the misadventures of the Bluth family. Seriously, watching Arrested Development should probably be considered an antidepressant. Although the FDA would have to include a warning on the box that you'll get addicted within five minutes of watching.

Guess I have brain problems!

When I was in elementary school, my dad created little slips of paper for my teacher to fill out that would reward or punish me depending on whether or not I focused in class. Apparently, I tended to drift off and make random noises while the teacher was talking.

I have since come to learn that I wasn't just a strange child who didn't care about school. I have ADD.

I recognized my problem the first time I saw the list of symptoms. High on the list were forgetting what I was doing, fidgeting a lot, getting easily distracted, and walking away while people are talking to you.

When I finally got diagnosed and started treatment, my focus improved drastically.

On the other hand, even after trying several medications, I still struggle with the side effects. The medicine that I'm currently using, although so far the best option I've tried, gives me one of the worst possible side effects a busy premed could have right now: anxiety.

Within a half hour after taking my morning pill, I start to feel like my life is going to transform into a whirlwind of chaos and destruction if I don't do everything exactly right every second.

Sometimes I feel this deep sense of dread, like something fatally terrible is about to happen.

Usually, I manage to convince myself that everything is going to be okay, and I can handle my anxiety.

Some days, however, my anxiety becomes so unbearable that I drown completely. A tidal wave of nervousness breaks over me and washes away, leaving an empty void of apathy in its wake.

On these days, I begin to understand how Dria feels. Nothing is exciting anymore. I don't feel like being productive, but I can't even stand the thought of wasting time with temporary diversions that would help relieve stress in normal situations.

I get irritable, cynical, obstinate, and passive-aggressive. I hate everyone (even though I know I really don't).

Today has been one of those days. Fortunately, listening to fun. and drawing these silly pictures has helped my mood a bit. I think I'm gonna try a different medicine, though.

This will probably make you sad

I've been taking a lot of risks lately. I've written about things that are personal to me, things that I don't really talk about with people. I have a fear that no one will understand, or that they simply won't care. But as I've shared these thoughts with others, I've discovered that there are other people out there just like me; people with questions, people with heartache. I'm going to take another huge risk and talk about something that only Jordan, God, and a few assorted doctors know about. The purpose of this post isn't to ask for sympathy. I feel like I need to put my experience out there, so other people won't feel so alone.

In December, I had a miscarriage.

It happened during finals week. Well, probably. I'm still not sure when exactly it happened, which was why it was such a shock--there wasn't any warning. My body acted like the pregnancy was going along as it should. But when we went to the doctor for an ultrasound, he told us the worst possible news. There was no baby. It had somehow stopped growing.

I couldn't believe it. It seemed unreal. How could the baby that we had already named and already loved just be gone? Why would God give us the green light to have a baby and then let it die? Had it ever even been alive, anyway? Was it ever a person, or just a clump of cells that never grew properly?

So instead of sharing the exciting news with our families as we had planned, we were left with nothing. The holiday passed in a daze, and we returned to our empty, lonely apartment, not understanding why life had been so cruel, or how we were supposed to survive the next few weeks. We had to pick up the broken pieces of our hopes and dreams and simply press forward, fervently clinging to the hope that things would be okay, someday.

I don't feel as sad about it as I used to. It's hard to be surrounded by babies and pregnant women in Provo, but I still like babies so it's not so bad. I know I'll get to be a mother someday, whether it's through having my own children or adoption. But I think a small part of me will always miss the baby that I never got to have, and wonder if it was ever really a person, and if I'll ever get to meet him.