I think what bothered me most about the psych appointment was how fast he was to prescribe antidepressants.

My mom maintains that Zoloft made me "happy" and "sweet" and "positive," and there is very little I can say to the contrary that will convince her otherwise because the points at which I started and stopped taking them were so tied to events. I keep trying to explain that what made my mood lift was not having to lie and hide anymore, but she persists in thinking that it was the Z because it's a simpler explanation that suggests a simple solution to this time.

I also tried to explain to the doctor that I didn't like being on the meds, that besides the physical side effects they made me feel emotionally numb. Sure I couldn't feel bad enough to want to hurt myself, but I couldn't really feel good either. I couldn't really feel much at all; I sort of wandered around feeling detached all the time. Even when I did feel angry or happy it was like I was sitting back watching someone else feel something. I ended up what Hans calls "Cardboard (me)". Now I've been on Lexapro a grand total of two days, and not only is it already making me nauseous and giving me headaches, it's already deadening my moods and generally making me feel even worse.

Seriously, these things fuck around with your BRAIN. Who the hell knows what kind of long-term effect that'll have? It's already been noticed anecdotally, and I can corroborate this from experience, that SSRIs can be habit-forming. That bothered me enough to want to get off the Zoloft in the first place.

And I felt BETTER once it was out of my system. I could feel HAPPY again. I could feel sad too, but anything was better than feeling nothing at all.

I already know that when I go back to the psych and mention that it's having the same effects, side and main, he'll probably feed me some line of crap about "adjusting the dosage" and "allowing up to eight weeks for it to take effect." I feel like he's just throwing pills at the problem and hoping it'll work without him having to put forth too much effort.

You know what I think would work? I think that someone actually bothering to LISTEN to me about my own fucking life once in a while would be nice, and it wouldn't require cramming me full of ersatz serotonin for the comfort of everyone else.

Labels: depression, family, medication