Me against the pill
disclaimer I am not going off my meds, just sharing my thoughts.
Post
As I was munching on my Cinammon Toast Crunch this morning, I looked over at my pill box and realized that the contents of this cheap plastic container cost me more than $250. I continued munching, fighting off the occasional yawn, before I noticed that my house is a chaotic warzone filled with old take-out boxes, crumbs from the dog's expedition into the cupboard and shipping boxes from eBay and Amazon transactions.
Why exactly am I taking these meds again? Their lovely addition to my life has added nearly 40 lbs to my frame, which was by no means gaunt before my sojourn into mental illness. I still cry because I'm unhappy and my depression is as bad as it always has been. I'm teetering on the edge of complete melancholy and an excruciatingly slow trek out of my comfortable depressed haven.
The problem is, medicines are like the ripples a pond gets after you throw a pebble into it. They start in one place and act on one thing, but then they start bumping into other things and eventually, you end up with a turbulent puddle where a glass smooth one used to be. And, just as dropping the pebble into the pond is distracting and miserable, retrieving that pebble is much worse. By the time you tromp throught the puddle, grab your pebble and walk about again, there's a whole bunch of chaos that'll take hours to settle.
It's summer now. If I want to even think about tinkering with my meds, I need to tinker now. It's not like the status quo is so incredible that I'm eager to maintain my stability or something like that. I suppose I'm just more afraid of pushing the swing, so to speak. Going up and down and up and down and up and down.
If this were a movie, at this point someone would jump into my office and give an inspiring speech about how life isn't worth living if you aren't willing to conquer your fears and live beyond your comfort zones. Of course, those morons don't understand that in this instance, it's not a case of comfort or discomfort, it's a case of sanity versus insanity, comfort versus harm. Decisions, decisions.
I suppose I'll have to chat with my doctor on this one. We had been discussing decreasing one of my meds, but unfortunately, my move to South Bend and turbulent adjustment has made that impossible up to this point.
But with baby ducks, comes my happiness. And they are hatching like mad. All fuzzy and yellow and clumsy. Awww.
|
Post
As I was munching on my Cinammon Toast Crunch this morning, I looked over at my pill box and realized that the contents of this cheap plastic container cost me more than $250. I continued munching, fighting off the occasional yawn, before I noticed that my house is a chaotic warzone filled with old take-out boxes, crumbs from the dog's expedition into the cupboard and shipping boxes from eBay and Amazon transactions.
Why exactly am I taking these meds again? Their lovely addition to my life has added nearly 40 lbs to my frame, which was by no means gaunt before my sojourn into mental illness. I still cry because I'm unhappy and my depression is as bad as it always has been. I'm teetering on the edge of complete melancholy and an excruciatingly slow trek out of my comfortable depressed haven.
The problem is, medicines are like the ripples a pond gets after you throw a pebble into it. They start in one place and act on one thing, but then they start bumping into other things and eventually, you end up with a turbulent puddle where a glass smooth one used to be. And, just as dropping the pebble into the pond is distracting and miserable, retrieving that pebble is much worse. By the time you tromp throught the puddle, grab your pebble and walk about again, there's a whole bunch of chaos that'll take hours to settle.
It's summer now. If I want to even think about tinkering with my meds, I need to tinker now. It's not like the status quo is so incredible that I'm eager to maintain my stability or something like that. I suppose I'm just more afraid of pushing the swing, so to speak. Going up and down and up and down and up and down.
If this were a movie, at this point someone would jump into my office and give an inspiring speech about how life isn't worth living if you aren't willing to conquer your fears and live beyond your comfort zones. Of course, those morons don't understand that in this instance, it's not a case of comfort or discomfort, it's a case of sanity versus insanity, comfort versus harm. Decisions, decisions.
I suppose I'll have to chat with my doctor on this one. We had been discussing decreasing one of my meds, but unfortunately, my move to South Bend and turbulent adjustment has made that impossible up to this point.
But with baby ducks, comes my happiness. And they are hatching like mad. All fuzzy and yellow and clumsy. Awww.
|
posted by Becky at 1:50 PM
<< Home