In the interest of being Completely Open, this is your warning. This will not be a happy post, but I am making it anyway. I do not want to talk about my headspace, but I am doing it anyway.
Confession: I’ve been avoiding the writing and the feeling and the doing.
The new dose is clearly off. Since I’ve been taking the 20mg pills, I’ve gotten worse. I’ve tried to get in touch with my doctor, but the receptionist hasn’t returned my calls. I know something isn’t quite right, but I can hardly muster the Give A Damn to do something about it. I haven’t stopped taking them because we haven’t gone over what can happen if you just stop, I’m not familiar with the side effects. And while I could probably very easily google them, here’s the kicker…
I’m comfortable like this.
This is how I am used to functioning. Not functioning, that is. This is charted territory. I have a little butt impression in the seat of melancholy.
But I’m restless. The whole point is that I don’t want this. And I know, logically, it can’t be an overnight fix, but I will admit that the main reason I went on medication in the first place was I needed to pass for acceptable for long enough to get Better. I knew it wouldn’t happen but I thought it could hold me over for long enough to get some serious fixing done. It did, even. I felt a good bit better on the smaller dose. I was still having some symptoms, but I was getting back to a place where I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Where I knew what the next step was. Where I could see myself being all right in the proverbial future.
And the first day of the higher dose, I had a moment of panic and epiphany and absolute shock in a way I can’t remember ever having before. I work as a cashier at a retail pharmacy and generally work is at best, not stimulating in any way. I went to work the first day of the higher dose and I was handling things. I didn’t have to try every second. I thought, “Oh. Oh my god. Is this what everyone feels like?” And I thought it was going to keep being like that. I told my parents how I was doing, the first formal update they’d gotten since I informed them of my appointment. They were proud I was getting the help I needed. They were surprised I had seen such a change, they didn’t know I was ever that bad.
The thing is, I didn’t either. Now I know. I never felt like a person who needed to be medicated because I had only ever felt like me. It reminds me how uncomfortable I used to feel about medication of this sort. If you really need it, what happens when you stop taking it? Or can’t afford it? Isn’t it sort of like saying, “Your brain doesn’t function properly.” Which is fine when I say it about myself, but I still feel defensive about other people being right about it. And how could I not have known how right they were?
So I am sorry I’ve been neglecting this and I am sorry that this doesn’t exactly have a central point except that I am not as well as I thought and I’m not entirely sure how to process that.