So now that I’ve over-shared all over Shoothouse Barbie’s comment section, I think I should just bring it home.
Unless you want to know a lot, you can stop at the short version-Jennifer and Lexapro DO. NOT. MIX.
Got it? Yeah, the rest says that in more words.
This was Jennifer pre-firearms. If it hadn’t been, you might not be reading this now.
There was a life changing/challenging event of which I will not elaborate. Suffice it to say, it sucked. During this point around 6 years ago, I went to see a therapist. Through a few sessions she discovered what I had known for years, I’m depressed. Clinically.
Questionnaires and such proved it and so thus, I must need medication. Seeing as how most days I wanted to curl up into a ball in my closet, this seemed reasonable. Sobbing breakdowns on the floor in front of the couch are not so pretty. And so I took a little note to my regular physician who prescribed Lexapro.
“Very few side effects,” he said. “It’s new,” he said. “I’ll give you samples since you’re broke,” he said. The worst side effect that he actually told me about was that I might gain weight because I would feel like eating again. Did I mention I weighed about 100 lbs? Um, not healthy.
So I took the Lexapro. Any hey, I didn’t feel like curling up into a ball and hiding the closet anymore. Food tasted good again. Seems like good stuff right?
And it was. Sort of. Except on my lonely commute home. The radio was never good company. The CDs I loved only served to give me headaches. And so I drove in silence. For someone so auditory, this was wrong. As a child, it was a compulsion to drum on everything that would reverberate. My parents never consented to get me lessons on any instrument though. But they never could stop me from singing. (My mother really, but if we get into parents this will be too much over-share, even for me.)
No music, no talk, just me and the drive and my thoughts. And my thoughts felt perfectly normal. “Slow down a little, let that guy merge.” and I was lost in tail lights. “Feather the gas, get in front of the truck.” Ah the wind in my hair was wonderful. “Coming up on a busy overpass. I’ll get to left to allow for the people merging from the interstate underneath.” “If I jerked the wheel to the left, it would all be over.”
Read that all in exactly the same tone with the same feeling attached. That last line was that normal. And yes, I understood the screeching groaning metal and horrendous crash that would come. I was numb. Everything in my life was reduced to the lowest common denominator. I was alto. (for reference, vocally I’m a first soprano. Complete with a certain level of diva complex.) I never pulled the wheel. Obviously, I wouldn’t be telling you about it now. Many things kept me from it. Mostly an over-riding feeling of unfinished business related to the aforementioned event. Funny, I would tell myself that it would be okay once it was all over. I made a deal with myself that I could pull the wheel then, but not before.
My samples ran out. I lost my job and accompanying medical insurance. My prescription fit into the luxury column. It was out of my system before said event was settled. It became an expense we jut couldn’t afford. I could exercise (obsessively). I could surf the web and take walks. Hell, I didn’t have a need to be anywhere at any time, I could sleep until afternoon.
The event settled slowly and in phases. I started to be me again. The depression was there, but like an old friend. I had worked out ways to get through the bad days though. I never again wanted to pull that wheel, and so I considered that an improvement. I knew (and still know) who my real friends were. I knew what was and wasn’t important. Jobs and postition, not important. Family, very important, worth giving up anything else. Real friends? Worth more than any sum of money or success. I don’t say ‘I love you’ without really meaning it.
I did this long after the ravages of puberty. I went through this long after the emotional roller coaster that is adolescence. That cruel point in life where emotions work in extremes and you’ve yet to form a frame of reference. I made it through because I was an adult. And yet, they want to test and feasibly medicate our sons and daughters for the normal ravages of puberty with drugs that make you numb. No.