A Means Of Survival
Saturday, June 27th, 2009My experience with Prozac thus far is a love-hate sort of relationship.
I wish from the bottom of my soul that I could live life as a “normal” human being without the help of a daily pharmaceutical drug. I hate that in order for me to function, to get out of bed, to take care of my kids, and to leave my house I am dependent on an antidepressant.
But then there’s the flip side.
Last night, we took the kids to a pool party/movie night at the YMCA. A couple hundred kids splashing, screaming, throwing beach balls around, and the loud volume of the Jungle Book would have been impossible for me to tolerate pre-happy-pills. I couldn’t handle that kind of chaos and noise without panicking and struggling to breathe. In fact, I never would have even considered going to an event like that if I was still living in my previous mental state.
Loud, busy social situations are still a little difficult for me on occasion, but not because I still have anxiety attacks every time I leave the house. It’s just a lot of stimulation and I have to be in the right mood for it.
Some days are easier than others. If I’m exhausted or feeling under the weather, I can’t handle loud, crazy places. I need my “down time” regularly to feel healthy, just as most “normal”, non-happy-pill-takers do.
While I wish that I could do this without my Prozac, I am forever grateful that it exists and that I had the strength to force myself to take it. And of course, I am so thankful that I have a husband who supported me and held me in his arms every step of the way.
The 6-week adjustment period of taking an SSRI drug was a roller coaster, but the long-term effects are a boat ride on a calm ocean at sunrise. A few waves and bumps to keep it exciting, but a pleasant experience full of promises and attainable dreams.
I went from the crunchy-granola-girl who believed that there was something “natural” that could get me out of the shark-infested waters, to a believer that anti-depressants are not an evil way for the medical world to control my brain. That transition was not an easy one, but it was a necessity for me to continue to be here for my family. The natural remedies just simply didn’t work. They weren’t powerful enough, and believe me, I tried.
Now for a confession that you probably didn’t know: I haven’t told my parents about this.
They know I have struggled with depression my whole life, but they are the reason I grew up believing that therapy and medication were a BAD thing. They scoff at counseling, think psychiatrists and therapists are all quacks, and taught me that anti-depressants were just a way to drug you up and turn you into a zombie. If I ever wondered where my problems with paranoia stem from, my answer *most likely* lies within that last sentence.
I am not sure when they came up with the ideas, but if the time should ever come (like if my book should ever be published), I will be ready to tell them the truth. They know I had to see a therapist to help with the depression, but their reaction was so negative and “oh-my-gawd-pity-me-I-fucked-up-my-kid-now-they-need-therapy” that I stopped there. Come on, I had to get my fabulous genes somewhere. Did I really think they might have a positive, rational, non-selfish reaction? No. But I hoped they would.
But here *is* the truth, for those who have doubted. Like me.
Antidepressants? When prescribed correctly, they breath life and clarity into the zombie. They clear the fog from their head and dispel the haze from their eyes. They have helped me avoid becoming an agoraphobic nutcase who eventually killed herself because of her inability to function in society.
Therapists? They’re not out to control you. They are there to help, to teach you communication strategies, and to point you in the right direction to make healthy decisions for yourself.
Psychiatrists? Okay, I’ll admit… all the ones I’ve met are a bit… bizarre. But you know what? I also believe that like the therapists, they have their patients’ best interest in mind. While I know that some of the twisted, psychopathic Hollywood ones have existed, I think the frequency in which they occur has been blown badly out of proportion. They’re not the majority. They are like the small handful of child-molesting priests that happened to make headlines and give the entire population of religious Catholic men a bad reputation.
And I am grateful to all of those things. They have made it possible for me to feel alive and find ways to achieve my hopes and dreams. Hell, I actually have hopes and dreams now. I didn’t before.
Prozac? I don’t have to love it, but I do know that it’s a means of survival for me. Perhaps someday I can wean off of it. But for now, I am content that it is necessity in my life.
Current Mood:
Happy
Angry
Cool
Surprised
Flirtatious