I started taking Prozac again. Yep, I did that.
I used to be on Prozac in High School, back when it was cool. Now I’m on it in real life and it sucks, I’ll tell you why. When you’re young your body can handle pretty much anything. Hangovers? Yah, I had a few more than most back in my early 20’s, not that I remember them all that well, I usually just woke up from a night of drinking, ate a cheeseburger and carried on with my day — this was after consuming at least 5 shots of Bacardi 151. Today, give me 2 glasses of wine before bed and I’m up in the middle of the night guzzling orange juice out of the carton to hydrate myself and wiping sweat off my brow (mainly just because I drank the oj too fast). Anyway, back when I was a young punk I took Prozac like it was candy, and it was, pure, sweet, serotonin boosting, endorphin releasing, candy. It didn’t bother me, I was fine, I was tired some of the time, but with my days filled with keeping myself out of detention, who wouldn’t be? Fast forward in time 10 years and I feel like I’m about to die and not just because I want to, any more.
It isn’t just that three hours after I took my first dose I was feeling a full 95% better than the day before when I was at the bottom of a dark, brick well surrounded by spiders, moss and bad smells (mentally); And that 3 days later, I felt like I was back in that same well, only this time there was a shoddy looking rope ladder that I could use to get out depending on how desperate I was feeling (although, by the looks of it, in my brain, it didn’t seem like a very safe option). It’s the way I feel physically. I mean, I took a pregnancy test because I thought I was having morning sickness! Morning sickness that turned into all day sickness combined with dizziness, weakness and, my personal favorite, insomnia. Seriously, insomnia? This stuff is supposed to help that!
I went out with Lindsay last night. Lindsay who is currently going to school to become a Nurse Practitioner and knows all about everything there is to know about medicine, Lindsay. She asked me what’s new and I responded, “I’m back on the ‘Zac.” She made an audible gasp and said, “You must be feeling like shit!” Thank you, Lindsay! Yes, I am feeling like shit, and until you said that, without any prompts or complaints from this end, I thought it was all in my head. Then she said, casually, as if it were no big deal, “Well, you should start feeling better in about 8 weeks.”
EIGHT WEEKS?! What am I, some upper-middle-class white person who tends to her garden for a living!? No! I have a job! How the hell am I supposed to feel this way for EIGHT WEEKS and still be able to afford to pay my rent?! Also, how is making someone who has crippling depression take a medicine that will not only continue to make them feel depressed, but sick, tired and unable to sleep, a good idea? Can’t my doctor just write me a prescription for some pain killers so I can develop a chemical dependency on something that actually makes me feel good? Oh, wait, I/she/we already did that.
I know Prozac works. It worked so well the first time that I thought I could stop because I wasn’t actually depressed, just paying my $10 monthly co-pay to Eli-Lilly. Wrong. Sixteen months off and I’m worse than I ever was. This stuff is so tricky, man. I mean, the first time around it gives me no side effects, makes me feel great and later seduces me into thinking I am a strong enough person to live without its tasty nectar coursing through my veins. The second time around, after finally convincing myself that being on drugs for the rest of my life is something I am just going to have to accept, it gives me the cold shoulder, not to mention weakness, nausea or insomnia, and makes me wait.
“Look, Prozac, I’m sorry I doubted you, but you’re the one who made me feel like I wasn’t depressed anymore. What did you want me to do, continue our love under false pretenses? I had to find out, for myself, how truly miserable I was without you! Take me back! Take me back and I’ll do whatever you want!”
I have been having that conversation with my pill bottle on a nightly basis for the past 4 nights.*
Only 7 weeks and three days to go!
*Prozac also forces me to sound as if I’m in an abusive relationship when I’m talking to myself
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