Feed on

Loony Pills

Reminder to self:

You go to a counsellor for a while, until the burden of co-pays gets too onerous. She diagnoses dysthemia and suggests I talk to my doctor about Sarafem.

My head spins around a few rotations, as I never thought the phrase “talk to your doctor about X-Drug” would ever be applied to me or my life. Then again, I managed to deny for a good 4-5 years that I was depressed. I should probably have “talked to my doctor” about medicating my sorry ass up to the gills (now there is an anatomical conondrum for ya!) a long time ago.

Anyway. Counsellor confirms, yep, Ornery-Chick, yer nuttier than a Payday Bar. (never mind that peanuts are legumes or some damn pedantic vegetable thingy)

Doctor says, “Sure thing, we can medicate you. Oh how we can medicate you. What was your insurance number again?”

I get a bottle of wee, shiny, sky-blue Fluoxetine pills, one of which I am to take daily.

You would think, what with the counsellor determining that I am chemically imbalanced, and my doctor giving her blessing to dope me up, that I would agree, yeah, it ain't half a bad idea to see if this shit won't sort out my malfunctioning brains a little bit, so I can stop stressing, and worrying, and tormenting myself, and crying all the time.

Problem is, occasionally, I will forget to take my loony pills for a couple of days, and BOOOOOM, my not so shiny, and not at all happy depression comes back and kicks me in the ass. Right now, my ass is so thoroughly kicked.

So folks, if you suspect you have depression, get it checked out. If your doc suggests medication, and you're cool with this idea, then get medicated. And if you get medication, take it as directed. It is so not worth the misery of relapsing. Because going back to being depressed after a couple of good months makes you realize exactly how much depression fucks with you.

Leave a Reply