I'm not crazy!
Institution!
You're the one who's crazy!
Institution!
You're driving me crazy!
Institution!
After a year of relatively normal (if depressed) thinking, I'm back on an antidepressant. This time, it's Remeron. The psychiatrist told me, in the tone one might use when breaking the news of the death of a loved one, that she thought it would be in my best interest if I were to start taking an antidepressant (again).
My best interest?! How can
you know, how can you say what my best interest is? What are you trying to say? I'm crazy?
Just because I seem unemotional (when inside I'm ultraemotional), and just because it seems that nothing provokes a reaction in me, it's back to that annoying neighbour that just won't leave you alone: antidepressants. I'm apathetic enough to go along with it, for now, but at the first sign of nastiness, I'm stopping it. I was on Paxil last year, for seven months, and hated every hoary effect it gave me, and by goddamn, there were a lot of effects, not least of which was vertigo.
The psychiatrist recommended I start dosing on a weekend, to allow for sedative side effects to run their course while I don't have anything pressing, like work, to worry about. Instead, I threw caution to the wind and started my newest pill regimen yesterday morning. The doctor was right; I was sleepy all night long and couldn't concentrate. I don't think it makes much of a difference anyway, as work is usually pretty slow. The side effects she didn't tell me about are head rushes when you stand up, and pretty extreme irritability. I've been grunting out insults at every illiterate email I've received from customers tonight. That's not too unusual, but my thoughts were more full of anger than when I usually deal with customer emails.
They give you a white shirt with long sleeves
Tied around your back, you're treated like thieves
Drug you up because they're lazy
It's too much work to help a crazy
I'm not crazy!
Institution!
You're the one who's crazy!
Institution!
You're driving me crazy!
Institution!
They stuck me in an institution
Said it was the only solution
To give me the needed professional help
To protect me from the enemy: myself
My mother and my sister are both users of antidepressants, too. I've been holding out the longest among the three of us, against the pills, as they're both bipolar and I'm not, so there's less of a need with me, but... I've still got some issues, I guess. I was just hoping to be able to deal with them myself, or not deal with them, as the case may be, but I'm defeated again. The most inflamed response I can come up with to that line of thinking is "...oh well."
Doesn't matter, I'll probably get hit by a car anyway.
Lyrical interludes by Mike Muir/Suicidal Tendencies, originally in 1983.