Friday, June 6, 2014

One pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small

"You're just like a pill. Instead of making me better, you keep making me ill."

Decisions. I kind of hate them. I paid a visit to my regular doctor, ironically for a med check. A med check regarding the meds I'm not even taking. We discussed my "symptoms" aka feelings/behavior. That, the timing of said behavior and the fact that my tits feel like someone is cutting them with razor blades when touched for a week out of every month, lead her to the same conclusion. PMDD. Not to be confused with PMS, which is also very real and a pain in the ass. So great. We've got some answers. Doesn't completely explain my craziness away but it certainly helps to understand some of it. We talked about what I can do to help myself, most of which I completely agree with, but will most likely struggle to do. We talked about how I don't really want to take medicine, and we talked about how I don't really want to feel like this anymore either. In the end I left with another prescription. For Prozac. I left without being really sure if I would take it or not. My only experience with anyone that has taken Prozac is with my grandmothers sister. Her doctor prescribed it to her after her husband passed away. She took it for a while. And then she got in her car, pulled out of her driveway, drove to the top of the hill on her street, turned around, hit the gas, and drove her car straight into the big oak tree in her own front yard. There's no concrete proof that is was Prozac that caused her to take her life, but still, the incident left an imprint in my brain.

Suicide stories aside, I also have an anxiety disorder, which tends to make me ... Uh anxious? I worry. One of the things I worry about is starting or takings new medicine. I don't think my worries are entirely irrational, however, as I don't tend to react to any medicine or substance in a typical way. Despite my reservations, I had pretty much decided, after therapy today, that I would give it a try. This I wouldn't be alone in case I started frothing at the mouth or suddenly wanted to jump off a bridge. All I had to do was just take it and go about my business. Pill, swallow, done. So long as I didn't read the possible side effects. I went the pharmacy, picked up the bottle, which is not as cheap as the others, and drove home. Don't read the possible side effects. Don't. Don't fucking do it! Okay, maybe just the common ones. Just to be prepared. You have to know what to expect. Wait! No! Don't do it!!! No. No. No! 

And then, of course, I did it. I read that pamphlet. That whole entire fucking pamphlet. Which wasn't easy at all because I need reading glasses now and I haven't been able to find them since the move. So, yeah. That was a mistake. 

Now I've pretty much decided not to take them. Pretty much. Maybe. Ugh. 

I just don't know. I want a wrong or right answer and there isn't one. 

For now I'm just going to marinate in it. Maybe when the crazy starts to rear it's ugly head I will change my mind. Maybe when I feel lost and desperate again, desperate to stop it all, I'll grab that bottle  with little thought or care about all the other bad things that could possibly happen. Maybe I'll only care about the bad things happening at that very moment. 

I guess we'll see. The wait won't be long. I figure I have about another good week left. 

Hope, who is going to try to enjoy the weekend and wait until Monday to brace herself for the ride. 

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