I do not like pills. I’d rather put up with most anything than take a pill. Also, they mess with me. I have various allergies to all kinds of prescription stuff, and the ones that I don’t have allergies to? Well, they just do weird things to me or work TOO well.
I’ve been taking myself off an antidepressant/antianxiety thing for FOREVER. This was a highly organized process because it was extremely addictive and “time release” so you can’t just reduce your dose each day – you instead have to increase the intervals between which you take the stupid pills. I kept track of it in a note on my phone. The last interval between these stupid pills was 9 1/2 DAYS. After 9 1/2 days, that familiar swishing headache came back that would only intensify if I didn’t give in and take the stupid pill and record a new entry in my phone.
But as the intervals increased, and i was so close to being almost off it and totally ‘clean’ — the depression and anxiety stuff was worse. I should have seen that coming. I know. But… notsomuch. I couldn’t POSSIBLY take the kids to chick-fil-a when I said I would because it was “too crowded.” (this was before the whole gay for/against thing. Our chick-fil-a’s are just busy at lunchtime anyway.) The sight of all those cars and people made me lose my breath. No way.
Ethan-12yr understands this about me. It’s not an issue that he shares, but I think I told him about it when he was debilitated by a scar on his knee and he wouldn’t wear shorts for a year. He saw my panicked look and addressed it with a surprising amount of grace.
Instead, we went to a deserted faux-Italian place and ALL three boys accidentally dropped cold noodles on me at one point or another. Seth-6yr sat next to me and kept sniffing me. And Ethan-12yr explained that his deodorant was scented like chocolate and they should sniff HIM. It turned out to be a product I definitely didn’t buy, because it was Axe (ew) and also because I do not agree with the concept of scenting oneself in a way that mimics edible flavors. For any reason.
(You’re at the top of the food chain. God made you inedible. Embrace that truth. It’s a simple one. Don’t shmear on some vanilla cupcake lotion, ladies, or use that strawberry shampoo because it’s just. not. RIGHT. It denies a basic component of your esteemed place in creation.*)
It turned out that the deodorant was a scent called “dark temptation” and Ethan-12yr, being a wonderfully sheltered 12 year old, could only translate that to mean chocolate. Even though it didn’t smell like chocolate. Isn’t that ADORABLE? Ha!
(Take that, Axe! And also, Axe, i hate your marketing. HATE. It’s a strong word. I hate it. if young men shmear on your product, women will not lost control and throw themselves at them, and that’s just irresponsible to keep suggesting otherwise. and also? creepy.)
The lovely therapist lady had pointed out that PERHAPS this is not the best time to get off that pill. She cited a few… reasons. None of which had anything to do with a worrying lack of continuity in this blog entry or an overexcited use of parenthetical asides.
So I went back to the same doctor who has been trying me on ALL KINDS OF THESE THINGS since last year and she came in and was all, “Hey! How’s the divorce?” And I shook my head and said it was still going on and she said, “WHAT? I mean, Tom and Katie were done LIKE THAT!” And she snapped her fingers and I was all, “I! KNOW?! RIGHT????!!!”
And then she put me on Prozac.
I’m a mental health cliche straight from the 1990s.
She said that she thinks I’m “sensitive.” I nodded, depressed as I was, and said that was definitely a problem with me. She clarified that she meant my system was sensitive to drugs and so this one might be a good option. OH, my SYSTEM. Yeah, that too.
HOWEVER. It’s only been a week, and I do see the difference. More energy. Less freaking out around crowds. The highly social act of checking on y’all’s blogs is not too scary anymore. (I’m working up to that.) I could SO handle chick-fil-a. If I wanted to. In another week maybe. And there are black widows in the garage that do not freak me out (okay, this may not be a good thing) and scorpions in the house and… eh. Whatever. My feet aren’t that big – the chances of stomping one accidentally aren’t that high. Live and let live.
Maybe the 90s aren’t so bad.
* actually, i just don’t like ANY of that stuff, and this is the reason I’ve invented for why. sounds awesome and totally biblical though, right?!