My faithful readers- all 5 of you- may or may not have read about the depression and anxiety problem that I may or may not have previously mentioned. I hestitate to go on about it because THAT'S NOT WHAT THIS BLOG IS ABOUT but it's relevant.
Two people that I care deeply about have asked me, "Do you think you'd still be depressed if you still lived in the country?"
The answer, sadly, is yes. It's not something I can shut off. I ran the idea past my shrink, though, and he poo-pooed it and told me he treats people who live on farms for depression. Well duh. If you had to have millions in assets in order to make thousands, had to work 7 days a week, and knew you'd be leaving your debt to your kids when you croak, you'd be a little bummed out too.
Living in town, for me, doesn't help the situation. Often when driving past another big box mall development beside another subdivision development, I honestly feel like screaming, or flooring it and running the truck through a red light just to get out of there. Even in my nice established clean part of town, I feel suffocated. I can't see the sunset because there are houses in the way.
Well, enter the drugs. This is the doctor's solution to my problems. It's not going to solve everything, they caution me, it's just an immediate solution until you're feeling better. And then I have to exercise and meditate, blah blah blah. Well, my favourite exercise is chasing my horse with a halter and lead rope, and my favourite meditation is done from horseback at a walk. However there are bylaws around here regarding horses living in town. I should make a big deal out of being Mennonite and tell them I need a horse for transportation. The pink hair might betray me though.
So, I take the drugs. Do they work? I don't know. I've been on at least one since last February. Since then I've had two withdrawals when I accidentally ran out of pills, and am just now finishing up a bad side effects trip. I've been okay all day but now my sleeves are rubbing my wrists raw, or so if feels, and my eyeballs are jagged. It's not fun! I never was a druggie even in my youthful rebellion, and I don't tolerate it well! This sucks ass! I'm not gonna sugarcoat it, this is more than a total drag! I hate it!
But the doctors treating me keep telling me that it gets worse before it gets better, and that we can't keep changing the dosage and flipping back and forth to different drugs to see what works. In the meantime, I get through a day, but I'm starting to feel like a human guinea pig.
I can't help but wonder if my loved ones have a point. If I was not surrounded by the visual and mental and aural chaos of urban life, would the anxiety be lessened? Maybe just a little?
In the middle of all of this I'm happy that I haven't completely lost my sense of humour and I promise to bust out some amusing anecdotes on this here fancy inner net.
Until then kids, stay off the Junk, I mean the real junk, the bad stuff that nice country girls like me supposedly don't know about. If prescription, legal drugs that are supposed to be helpful can be this nasty, I cannot believe the damage the bad stuff does. Stay real, my lovelies, stay real!!!!