Friday, November 04, 2005

This is supposed to be an ANTI depressant????

So it's been about 10- 11 months since I've been on Celexa/Citalopram. But really, who's keeping track? I still can't say it's working. Oh sure, I have less days when I get as far as the couch and don't even have the strength to cry. In fact I can get through a day pretty good. I can laugh, crack a joke, have fun. But not for too long.

I always thought of myself as fun. I mean, I have pink hair. I drive a pickup truck with funny buttons such as "mentally confused and prone to wandering" and "why be normal" holding up the saggy headliner. I own three pairs of high heeled boots. I listen to the Darkness. I'm not afraid of mud.

How could I be depressed? And yet when the doctor, who has known me for eight years, asked the questions, I had to be honest. What a surprise.

I wonder how many seemingly normal people are out there, suffering, and not even admitting it to themselves.

Well Sam Hill, this got heavy. How depressing. HA HA! and now, the sad and funny truth about legit drugs:

The first night that I got this stuff, my darling man and I were in the kitchen after the kids hit the sack. He had the day off, so he was home at bedtime. I got out the nasty side effects sheet and had a look at it. What's the first thing I see?

AVOID ALCOHOL. Waht????? That's no fun. I had an argument with that, right off, because when we were in Florida mere weeks before this, hanging around with the paternal parents in the trailer park, we had a right good time with the rum. I'm not a hardcore drinker by any stretch, partly by my upbringing and partly just due to being a cheap drunk, but I make an exception for two things. Beer and rum. Not together. Me and the old man were really going through it. He makes a mean drink, my father in law. He had the rum and orange juice with a little splash of Cointreau. Yee haw. Or should I say, clearly you've never been to singapore. And I was having the WORST chest pains while we were down there. Imagine, lounging by the pool with a bunch of harmless 60 year olds, and I'm having paralyzing panic attacks. So by dinner time I was really digging my special drink.

But apparently alcohol is actually a depressant and won't do my any good in the long run. Grrr. So Jethro says, "hey, it just says avoid, like pretend you don't see it when you walk in the room. Not, like, you know, don't even go in the room." Man, he is brilliant.

Next disturbing side effect? MAY CAUSE ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION. To which Jethro replies, "Oh, listen, I assure you, that will not be a problem."

So anyways, I discovered something called Upper Canada Point Nine. It's like beer, but it's not really beer, because it's less than one percent alcohol. I don't even get silly from sniffing the bottle cap, like I do with real beer. I let myself have one a week, just to let myself feel less deprived. At least until I can get off the *&#% drugs.


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