'Ze Junkie

I mentioned a couple of posts ago that I'm taking "happy" pills. I started taking them around the start of April when I was very doomsy. The doctor looked at me with tears running down my face and shaking hands, looked at my children who were bashing each other and then wrote out the prescription.

Easy. What the hell was I playing the martyr for?

So anyway, the first couple of days were weird.

Day 1: I couldn't eat.

Day 2: Same. I was sort of hoping that this adjustment period would last forever and that I would suddenly be a slimmed down babe with a gorgeous butt.

Day 3: I ate a house. So.

Day 4-5: Wooziness. Which was kind of awesome. Unfortunately, my boss picked these days for me to write complicated letters in French. My colleagues seriously saved my ass.

And then poof! Like magic, I started to feel "normal". Except that I can only imagine what normal felt like since I'd been a basket case for what seemed like years (suddenly this blog's archives are embarrassing). Moaning and moaning about my lot in life.

Woe woe whoa.

What I mean about normal is that I felt calm. Finally I didn't feel tired or chained to the earth with heavy heavy shackles. And painting? I was motivated. I felt good. Happy. Loving. Determined. Not a loser. Strong.

Mr C was not necessarily pleased with the drugs. His logic is that happy pills are wrong because a family member of his has been taking them for close to 30 years. And not necessarily very successfully.

I told him that he had a right to his opinion and that I wouldn't stop taking them unless the doctor told me I should. My health and my body were my problem. His issues were his own.

So a month of drugs ran its course and then, a Wednesday, my prescription ran out.

The doctor I had seen took appointments on Saturdays. Naively, I told myself that I could wait. No problem.

That was three really long fucking days.

By the end of Thursday, I started to feel blue and bored with very little motivation.

Uh.

Oh.

Friday was a living hell. Blueness. Boredom and something new: a weird knot in my throat. Also? Tears. Boo hoo. Boo hoo. Bah.

Saturday morning that knot started to feel slightly choking. And it got worse as my children argued and bickered as they grudgingly put on their coats so we could leave the house. They were not pleased that morning cartoons were effectively nixed by this little visit.

And then in the pharmacy, I became a raging fury when my adorable son wouldn't stop fucking around already! Stop touching shit or I will cutchew!



I felt better when I took the first pill. Almost instantly. As though just taking that pill was an instant pain reliever since I hadn't had a hit in three days. Which was unnerving.

I don't want to take these things forever. I have a feeling that I know why I need them right now and that is because I'm gearing up for a change professionally and I need to feel strong to get me through this stage of my life. It'll pass and then my doctor will reduce dosages and then I'll be off this coping crutch.

Mr C came across my new prescription and grumbled about what a quack my doctor is. He still harboured doubts. He's not okay with his wife being on meds. When talking about it with a friend, she said, "He's worried. Maybe he thinks you're on meds because of something he did. Maybe he thinks that he's to blame for the family member of his being on meds for so long..."

"...Maybe," I hadn't thought of that. "However, he's confusing my histoire with this other person's. We're not the same. Our reasons for medication are not the same. And it most certainly isn't his fault.

"I guess I should tell him that."

I will.

But one thing I will not do, is let my prescription lapse like that ever again.




...image is from my only nice beaver comic which I hope to do more of sometime soon...