Long Story Short.

So I think my medicine isn't working as well as it's supposed to. My reasons? I feel like shit. Friday morning I woke up with a completely flat affect.
(Dictionary.com defines affect as 1.)feeling or emotion; 2.)an expressed or observed emotional response: Restricted, flat, or blunted affect may be a symptom of mental illness, especially schizophrenia.)
This lasted all day. All day I was a zombie. There is no worse random ass symptom of depression to manifest itself than a flat affect. I had no other issues, Felt fine, just flat and numb. Not even tired. THAT IS SO FRUSTRATING! I kept taking naps becuase I couldn't do much else. I wasn't tired so it was basically just laying there.
Saturday and Sunday were both small explosion days. I felt kind of like shit, and on both days something stupid made me lose it and almost start crying.
Monday should really be in the category of Saturday and Sunday, but something big happened. Kyle called me. Long story short, It's not a brain tumor, it's something that is or is very similar to MS. Or that's what they think right now. They're not sure. He said that it was good to hear my voice. He said he loved me. He said he was writing something based on what we did. He said that a lot of people visited him in the hospital. Apparently that changed him. He said he had to make amends, and be on good terms with me. I mentioned how i stopped being in school again, and how i wrote a play, and my tattoos. Friendly, friendly conversation.
No. It can't be this way. We can't be friends. He almost killed me and now he needs me and I'm supposed to fall back in line, give him the love he needs from me?
I know he doesn't want it to be the same. It can't be. I've got a new, better boyfriend who I wouldn't trade for anything.
It seems like the powers that be are testing me. Trying to see if I'm a hypocrite, or if I can walk my talk. I keep saying that I love everyone, so the one person I don't want to love waltzes back into my life. And calls a truce. It would be a lot easier if I hated him. But when I wrote that play it all came out and onto the page. A feww weeks, maybe even a month ago, I had this half-crisis where I realized that I don't stop loving. Anyone. I still love him. That love has changed, and been commuted, but I keep all of the love I have for any given person safe when they leave. And if they come back, it's waiting.
Does he not deserve all of the love I have for him? Who am I to tell him he can't have it? If I do that, I fail.
And that turned into a big old panic attack. stumbling down the streets to get to my apartment in hope that someone, anyone had drugs. No one did. I suffered through it, got sick (because I always get sick), and eventually came back out.
This kind of sucks.