Okay, right off the bat I'd like to reiterate that this is my blog and I can say whatever the heck I want; and I'm saying that anti depressant medication should be made illegal.
The culprit in question was this little cardboard box of poison:
Otherwise known as "lexapro".
I was prescribed this by my GP, a young woman with an uncomfortable disposition, who looks at me with her head cocked to one side when I ask for prescriptions for contraception pills, as if I have no right to be having sex. She's clearly inexperienced and seems to think I should know more about what's good for my health than she ever could. Which is true, since she's clearly forgotten everything she's ever learnt in med school. I've done my research into anti-depressants, and admittedly probably scare mongered myself into believing that they are the devil itself incarnate, and if I eat them I may as well be swallowing a very tiny rotund demon. So, bearing in mind my pre judgement of these little pills, it's not really any wonder I got what I was expecting, and then some.
The first day taking them was fine, I was a bit sweaty and feeling a bit tense, but overall I was grande. No bother. The second day however, oh holy Moses. I was in public when I started to feel faint and had an overwhelming compulsion to burst into tears. So I sat and cried as my body gave way. Within minutes I was stretched out on the pavement reeling and crying. I looked and felt a state, but I couldn't stop. Eventually I started asking strangers for hugs as it was the only thing that alleviated the pain. I couldn't stand, and the only relief I got was lying on the ground, with my head elevated, with someone fanning me. And I know what you're thinking...this sounds like my inner craving to be treated like the queen of Sheba, and you're probably right on some level there, but none the less that's the only relief I got for a solid half an hour.
My body has never felt so weak before. It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. Then, to add fuel to fire, all the embarrassing emotional mush I'd been bottling up for years came cascading out of me like a giant fountain of cringe. I was in floods of tears telling a stranger how much I love everyone, and how I can't stand all the evil in the world, and how I love distant family members I haven't seen in decades, and how I love her, and how I love everyone, and how seeing people in pain causes me pain...and on and on I went. I just kept owning up to my overly kind heart that I wish was a bit more selfish, since I have no idea how to take care of myself, and give all I have away, because my ego is so attached to being the next fucking mother Teresa. If my ego had its way, it would let popes be women and have me up in that pulpit asking Ireland to join the family of the Catholic church last Sunday. Thankfully it doesn't get its way, since my ego is clearly....insane, and I need to keep that shit in check.
Anyway...that was that. Point is I'm now week two into my "recovery", which basically just involves me hiding under a blanket, in the dark, trying to meditate but then getting distracted by my sudden and random suicidal thoughts. Now, when I say I've never had a suicidal thought before, I mean I've never reached a point where I thought "okay...I'm done, I have nothing left to do/say/whatever". Yet now that's how I feel. It's sad and weird, since I've always been such a happy person, even on my darkest days. Yet I've somehow reached a point where if you were to hand me a glass of poison, I'd gingerly gulp it back and then just lie on my bed and wait to die...which in fairness sounds to me like depression, and I'm not accepting it as a "side effect" to taking anti-depressants. As far as I can see these pills are not so much an antidote for depression as they are a symptom inducing frenzy pill that give people with shit self esteem enough of a distraction that they become less self conscious of the world they live in, and therefore encounter less hate, since they're so caught up in the fucked up mindset of the "pill popper". My self esteem is still in the gutter, but now I'm so distracted by my suicidal thoughts and general restlessness that my low self esteem isn't even something my body is bothered with working on anymore. A mere two weeks ago my mind frame was malleable, shifting and evolving, riding the waves of this thing called life; looking forward, and seeing improvement as a very real and changing thing. I can now say that taking those two pills has made my thinking rigid and linear, which is not natural and is far from what I can describe as an improvement.
To summarise, these pills have taught me one thing and one thing only, that I was fine before; that all the thoughts I had before taking the pills were normal and valid; and that the only thing "wrong" in my life was not who I was, but other people's apparant lack of acceptance of who I was. As my old councillor used to tell me to re-itterate: "I am me, and I am okay".
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