I refilled my prescription for my antidepressant yesterday and swallowed that bitter little pill before bed last night. Apparently, I must have needed it, for it knocked me out till 10:30 this a.m. I scrambled to get dressed for work, then spent half an hour trying to "mend my face"--cover the deep dark circles under my eyes with half a tube of concealer stick,  draw my eyebrows on in such a way that I won't look like Joan Crawford or someone who just spotted a large rat running across the floor. Next comes pink blusher to try to hide the fact that I am deathly pale. Lord how I hate having to go through this routine every day to hide the obvious physical manifestations of grief! But if I didn't, I would go to work looking like a zombie in nurses scrubs. And not only do I resemble a zombie, but after my antidepressant gets its " second wind" about halfway through my workday, I FEEL like a zombie. Quite numb, actually, to everything EXCEPT what I took that jagged little pill for:  my grief.  Yep, can still feel that, loud and clear!  So why do I keep taking it?  I don't know. Wishful thinking...hoping that just maybe something will finally take the edge off the grief, even if a little. I want so bad to smile again and really mean it...