I'm half a person...

It's not because of my independence that I hate relying on something like that... It's down to my lack of trust in myself 
There's something about them that makes me feel so incomplete. To feel like half of a person. A clone to somebody else. Or the imaginary friend that slowly gets forgotten as the young girl grows up... It's digging away at my soul and pulling away at my life support like a dog playing tug of war
At the beginning it was something so new and exciting to be given medication so definitely made my illness objective and therefore somehow real...  
When I'm without that insignificant substance... Such a irrelevent mixture of chemicals... I get lost so easily in amongst my unstable emotions and unpredictable agitations and it terrifies me. 
Not because of what I'm capable of. I have explored that both completely and dubiously. But because I am such a complex individual that even I cannot understand myself; that even I have failed to master something as simple as my own emotions and yet I  am a successful and ambitious academic student....
There's only one thing worse than the guilt I feel for saying yes to the antidepressants... And that is the withdrawal symptoms.
The shaking- it kills me because a lot of the time I can't notice if it's physical or just in my head. 
The dizziness is inescapable like an aggressively ever present headrush.
And you get this kind of numbness around your face. Sort of like the feeling you get after you eat a giant piece of sickening chocolate cake and your cheeks sort of cease because your body can't take it's sweetness . Only you get this additional tingling in your lips so that you feel as though your mouth is swollen but when your forced  to meet your own face in the mirror there isn't a difference. 
And finally there's this sickness in the pit of your stomach that makes you want to eat for England and yet at the same time makes you want to vomit as you imagine the food touching your lips...
I know things will get better... They keep saying that they will. But as I open the boot of my car to chuck the fifth overnight bag in this week I wonder if it will. Or will I be forever unstable in the way that I feel, in the way that I live, the way that I sleep and the way that I love because that does not sound like the life I wanted to live when I was 7 years old drawing princesses at the top of magical towers and describing their happy ever afters