Pony Fugue

I couldn't really tell you where the line was or where it began, that fine line between when I was just unsatisfied, but hopeful, about life and when I became maddeningly, mystifyingly, illogically despondent. Where many of my peers had either failed out of higher education and/or hated their jobs, I had just graduated from a prestigious engineering school and started a promising career with a great company. At a time when a couple otherwise great friends of mine were struggling to improve their love lives, I had a wonderful live-in girlfriend who was quite possibly wife material. Many of my former classmates were getting crushed by their student loan debt, while I was living in a modest, but comfortable, apartment in the trendy part of the city. To put it bluntly, my adult life was off to a pretty fucking great start.

So...

Why couldn't I shake off the feeling that there was something terribly wrong? It'd be one thing if I knew what the problem was, or even what the problem was *with*, but instead I lived my daily life under a constantly-lingering cloud of vague impending doom.

---

"Andy? Hey... Andy, oh god please be ok..."

I snapped back to reality as I felt someone shaking my shoulders violently. Bleary-eyed, I looked around my dimly lit living room. Everything looked pretty normal as far as I could tell.

TV on, but muted? Check.

Empty boxes of left-over take-out scattered around my floor? Check.

Pants? Ch- Nope. Oh yeah, I couldn't be fucked to wear anything but boxers today. Fuck it. Check.

Smoking hot blonde girlfriend with a mixed expression that says "I love you, and I'm worried about you, but this shit is getting old." Huh. That one is new...

Rubbing my eyes, I pull myself to my feet, stumbling.

"Andy, are you drunk? You know you're not supposed to drink while you're on that anti-depressant."

"Nah, no," I replied, waving my hand, "Not drunk, honey. You know I haven't had a drop since I started this stuff..."

Kara raised an eyebrow. "So, explain why I found you passed out, eyes open, in your boxer shorts? Did you even go to work today?"

I shrugged. "Dunno bout the first two, but as for the last one, I could barely get out of bed this morning and I just couldn't give enough of a shit to get dressed. Wasn't sure if I was dreaming or if I just felt like shit."

Kara's gaze softened a bit, becoming more worried than angry. "Can you describe what you were feeling? You know you're supposed to call your doctor, or hell, at least me, if you have any crashes!"

I flopped back down on to the couch with a sigh. "It was nothing, Kara, don't worry about it."

Kara sat down as well, and pulled me into a hug. "Andy, I'm worried about you. Your boss called me, he's worried too. You're lucky he's willing to support you through this crap, he went ahead and put you down as taking a sick day."

I pulled back and laughed weakly. "He knows that office would fall apart without me..."

Kara pulled out her phone. "Be that as it may, you know you can't keep doing this. I know I'm still just in medical school, but don't think I don't recognize the symptoms of dissociation. I'm going to call your doctor..."

I reached up and grabbed her shoulder. "No, just, give the new meds another week..."

"Andy, it's for your own good."

I snatched the phone from her hand. "No. I don't need to go back, I just need to let the meds work."

Kara facepalmed, and grabbed her phone back. "God damn it Andy, the medication isn't working! Look at you, you skipped work again, and this time you weren't even capable of calling in sick. Your friends haven't seen you outside of your office or apartment in weeks, and god knows you haven't had a boner hard enough to properly fuck me since you started this new medication."

She knelt down in front of me, her eyes misting up. "Andy... YOU. NEED. HELP."

Deep down, I knew she was right. But I couldn't shake the feeling that if I admitted I wasn't well, then the disease won. I thought I could fight my depression but clearly... Well, I guess I was a failure. Why even bother then? I could only sit there as I felt the weighty pressure on my chest increase with every heartbeat and shallow breath.

---

As soon as I finished those words, he was gone again. He was just sitting there, a dull listless look on his face. I loved Andy. Really, I did. But, unless he proved to be a threat to himself, and he wasn't, (at least in the short term), or went voluntarily, (fat chance), there's no way he'd set foot in a mental hospital. That's really where he needed to be. I knew he loved his job, and any healthy person could handle the stress, but all it did for him was bring out and exacerbate his latent emotional problems.

Once I felt like he'd be ok for the night, I retreated to the "office" that he and I had set up for me to study in. Honestly, I had a ton of work to do and more than one exam to prepare for, but I just wanted to zone out and try to forget about Andy's depression for a while.

I shut the door, and switched on my desk lamp, faintly illuminating the stacks and piles of scattered papers and study materials. I found that I couldn't sit still, so I instead began pacing around the room, letting my mind wander.

"Andy's been on 5 different types of medication, and none of them seem to work for more than a few months..."

I stumbled on a stack of paper. As I stood up, I lightly kicked it aside so I could continue walking.

"He won't go to therapy, but he's not yet ill enough for me to Baker Act him. I hate the idea of institutionalizing him but... No, I don't even want to think about that. I'm not his doctor, anyway."

I paced silently for a few more minutes. "But I am his girlfriend. And I love him. So... I'd do anything to make him happy again... God I feel so powerless, what the fuck can I do?!"

Next thing I know, my face became very intimate with the carpet, courtesy of yet another one of my piles of disorganized notes. One paper in particular stuck out to me, an ad for some sort of drug trial.

"Do you, or someone you know, suffer from Major Depression? Do your symptoms last for more than 4 weeks? If you have not responded well to other forms of treatment, The University Psychiatry Dept. is conducting a human trial of a promising new therapy for treating depression... Holy shit, how did I miss this? Maybe I can get him in this study... Pn-E, huh? Can't say I've heard of that drug though."

I sat down at my desk, a feeling of hope welling up inside.

"Looks like I'll be making a trip to that campus tomorrow... Wait, wasn't that the school who had an outbreak of some sort of 'pony transformation' virus? Always knew those kids were fucking weird..."

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