prozac

It never fails to intrigue a detached intellectual part of my mind when I notice that I'm holding conflicting feelings. I know everyone has these moments, there's nothing unique about them, I seem to recall that there's even a word for it. But it's still just...interesting.

Right now I'm feeling numb. Tired. Proud. Scared. Like I've failed. Embarrassed. Or maybe ashamed? Validated. Resigned.

When I was a kid I was depressed. I didn't have the word for it, but I was hopeless, suicidal. I made a tiny suicide attempt, such a little whiff of a gesture that I immediately knew it was halfhearted at best. I didn't believe I was actually in any danger of dying, and I was too scared to die to try again. And slowly things got better for a while. Until they weren't. But this time instead of reading morose books about kids with terminal diagnoses and longing to be diagnosed with leukemia as an excuse to go out nobly, this time I was scared. My suicidal thoughts felt like urges, like compulsions that jumped into my brain without my permission.

In hindsight I feel like such a stereotype - a cutter, bulimic, trying to deal with coming out to myself. I kind of brush it off now, but it was still pain, still so real for me in that moment. So I had a friend who forced me to tell a teacher, who forced me to tell my parents, who forced me to tell my pediatrician who wanted nothing to do with it and left as quickly as possible with a referral for a psychologist and psychiatrist.

And thus I landed my 16 year old self in therapy. And pretty quickly I stopped cutting for the most part, and came out to an adult for the first time, and then she tried to limit the damage when I came out to my parents. After a little bit we turned to medications as a possibility and I started on Prozac, America's favorite pill.

I took it for 4 years. It wasn't bad - I didn't want to die any more, and I learned some coping skills, and met other gay people, and found things I wanted to live for. Life became more hopeful. Eventually one of the times when I forgot to take it for a week, I had a death in the family. And I got the news and I cried. Cried. For the first time in 4 years. And then I realized that normally the bad feelings would return when I forgot my pills, but this time they weren't. So I didn't start again. And that was 7 years ago. I still get kind of happy when I cry because it feels so good to be able to feel that hurt, and inversely that joyful.

But since I started school and started having relationship troubles I've been struggling. Increasingly anxious. Nervous. Hesitant. Pulling away from things I used to like because I was afraid it would upset N. Internal pressure to do well at school. And then after our breakup it didn't resolve like I thought it would. Increasingly cut off from communication and from the potential for a good resolution or continued relationship with mutual friends. Anxious about going back to Tucson, to the point of worrying so much I couldn't concentrate in exams or when I'm trying to study. And the past month or two. I'm doing things that should make me happy, that used to make me happy - hanging out with friends, playing in the scene, having sex. But there's a curtain - it's happy, it's lovely, sometimes it's even fun, but it's muted.

It's like when you've gone on a roller coaster and it's amazing - full of adrenaline and excitement! You can't wait to go again! So next year you go back to the amusement park. You wait in the long long line and watch the ride, and you can feel that excitement building, can feel the tension as the cars edge up to the top of the first big drop, imagine the way your stomach hits your throat as you float in mid-air at the top of the loop. And then it's your turn! You get on the ride, you can't wait!

But then you get to the top of the drop, and you go down. And suddenly it's nothing like you remembered. Now you're nauseous at every drop. Going around a sharp turn makes your knees bang on the side of the car. The loop just makes you dizzy. You get to the end and you think "Yes, I made it! But why do I feel like I'm faking the excitement? It was exciting, right? I guess that weightless part was kinda cool. Do I really want to do it again? I mean, I remember it being really awesome, maybe next time will be better?"

That's how my life feels right now. I'm so tired of faking the happy again. I didn't call it depression until my therapist used the word yesterday. I'm still not sure about it. It feels so hard to use that label because to me that word means high school, means being scared that one day I'm going to cut too deep, almost-but-not-quite on accident.

Having a diagnosis feels validating. Being prescribed a medication is like a proof. Look at me! Look at my hurt - I'm so hurt that I need chemicals to alter my brain chemistry to help me! This isn't just your run of the mill Ivy League anxiety here, this is the big time, other people believe I need help.

Intellectually I'm proud of myself for finally asking for help. For telling my therapist about my bulimia and binging instead of the vaguely worded insinuations to my friends about "eating issues". For using all the tools at my disposal, including getting on medications sooner than later. For wanting to change, even if it's out of fear that I'm going to erode or rupture my esophagus.

But I also feel like such a failure. How can I be back on this medication again? The same fucking one? What if it doesn't help? What if it makes me foggy or even more numb? Why am I not strong enough at 27 to be able to deal with this in a different way than my 16 year old self needed? What happened to all those coping skills? Aren't I just blowing this out of proportion? I'm just being melodramatic - it's not bad all the time, I have moments of happiness and hope, it'll be fine. I'm fine.

Tomorrow I start taking Prozac again. Another pill to swallow, one day at a time.