I now understand the true meaning of the term “summary execution”. I say that because mentally I’ve left a trail of bodies in my wake over the past 7-10 days. If this were anything more than my feverish, overactive imagination running rampant, I would have made WIlliam Wallace look like a choir boy…and I’ve have had half of this nation’s law enforcement community after my ass.
Those of you who have hung ‘round these parts for any appreciable length of time are aware of my ongoing battle with depression. I don’t write about it an awful lot, because it’s a private, personal issue, and I’m generally not one to air my dirty laundry in public. Nonetheless, depression is nothing to be ashamed of, so when I can add something that I think is positive to the public discussion of the issue, I have no problem in doing so. Today’s topic is “Why one should not go off one’s medication without thoroughly thinking through the possible repercussions of said dumbass decision…especially when one hasn’t notified one’s spouse of said dumbass decision.”
I’ve been on Lexapro for the last 2+ years, and things have worked pretty well. Oh, I still have to deal with the reality of depression, but Lexapro has allowed me to avoid the staggering highs and devastating lows that characterized my previous emotional existence. Medication is not a cure-all, nor are they “happy pills”, as I’ve heard them so often described. Depression is a disease, and like most diseases, it can be effectively treated and managed with proper care and attention. Counselling works for some, but there are those, and I count myself among them, for whom long-term medication remains a reality. Over the past week or so, I’ve rediscovered just how true that reality is for me. There is a very strong likelihood that I will be on anti-depressant medication for the rest of my life. While not thirlled by the prospect, I understand that I have a disease (one that I’m convinced has run undiagnosed in my family for years), and that if I do not take care of it, it may well take care of me- permanently.
Life lately has been pretty hectic, and in all of the hustle and bustle, I accidentally forgot to do what I needed to do to get my prescription renewed. The label on the bottle said “no refills”, so I figured that, like in the past, I would need to go see my doctor. The GP I see is the sort who strongly dislikes anti-depressants, so getting a prescription at first was no easy thing. Every six months I have to go genuflect before him (“Please, please, PLEASE may I have some more, sire???”) to get another six months of peace of mind…which, after all, is what this is really all about.
I had four days of pills left before the Memorial Day weekend, and I knew that I would’t be able to get in to see Dr. Mengele prior to the holiday. So, I made what in hindsight was probably not one of my smarter decisions. I cut the remaining four pills in half, and then promised myself that when they were gone, that was it. No more. I needed to find out what life with myself was like…or so I thought.
One of the truly seductive things about being on psychotropic medication is that, if things work the way they’re supposed to, you begin to feel better. After awhile, it’s easy to lose sight of WHY you feel better and more stable emotionally. You begin to think, “Hey, you know…I really don’t need this stuff anymore. I’m feeling pretty good now, so what the Hell? I think I’ll just stop, ‘cuz I don’t need them anymore.” Trust me; this is seldom a good (or a smart) idea.
I didn’t tell She Who Endures My Myriad Eccentricities prior to undertaking my little “experiment”. I wanted to see if she noticed a difference, so I figured that I would keep my decision to myself. Well, guess what, kids? She’s clearly a helluva lot smarter than I’ve given her credit for, because she picked up on things tout suite. Perhaps it was the fact that I was on edge almost all the time, angered almost to the point of incoherence by things that I would normally let slide.
Driving was a particular challenge for me. I’m not the most patient of drivers to begin with, but I was absolutely borderline homicidal in my reactions. Thankfully, I possess the wherewithal to recognize this proclivity and keep a reign on my bad thoughts. A felony is, after all, a felony, regardless of the circumstances and how thoroughly justified you might have felt in the commission of your special crime.
I was tense, easily frustrated, and completely devoid of any patience, sensitivity or understanding. To call me overly emotional and barely under control would have been something of an understatement. On Sunday afternoon, I took my family and my in-laws to the Astros game. I ordered the tickets online the night before, and all I had to do was to show up at the Will Call window with my ID and the credit card I used to purchase the tickets. After we had parked and were walking to Minute Maid Park, I reached for my wallet, only to discover that I’d left it at home. I NEVER leave home without my wallet, but I hadn’t driven into Houston, so apparently I hadn’t thought to verify that my wallet was in my pocket, as I do 99.9994% of the time when I leave the house.
Of course, there is a way to deal with this sort of thing, the sort of creative thinking with which I’m reasonably familiar with and more than capable of. Under normal circumstances, I would go into problem-solving mode, figure out who I need to talk to in order to solve my problem, and proceed accordingly. This time, however, the unmedicated, barely emotionally stable Jack almost went to pieces. There I was, standing on Texas Avenue in front of the Will Call window, and I had no idea what to do. What was worse was that I was on the verge of completely losing it in front of my family and my in-laws. All of a sudden, I was completely convinced that we weren’t going to be able to get into the ballpark, that I spent $100 for nothing, and that my family and my in-laws would never forgive me for being such a &)^%$#@ moron.
In the end, She Who Endures My Myriad Eccentricities picked up on the storm that was brewing and managed to talk me down. Between us, we got things resolved, saw the game (all 11 innings if it), and had a good time. You’d think that would have been the end of it, but I was in a funk that I didn’t begin to come out of until about the end of the third inning. Intellectually, I knew I’d made a simple, honest, easily dealt with mistake. No big deal; we got things taken care of, and no one was put out. Emotionally, though, I simply couldn’t let go of the phenomenally stupid thing I’d done, and I knew that it would have been my fault if we hadn’t been able to get into the game. What was really a relatively minor faux pas became a significant crisis of almost insurmountable proportions…at least between my ears. It also very nearly ruined the entire afternoon for me.
It’s safe to say that I’ve not been myself, not by any stretch of the imagination. Normally, I’m a pretty easy-going, laid back, live and let live sort of person. I began to see how easily a crime of passion can be committed, because I felt constantly on the edge of a barely-controllable violent rage. I grew to hate myself for not being able to keep “little” things in perspective. I completely lost sight of the fact that Eric not taking out the garbage was no reason for flipping out (even though I managed to keep my fury to myself instead of taking it out on someone I love simply because they’re readily accessible and vulnerable)…and yet I began to feel that way with increasing and disturbing frequency.
Finally, after talking with She Who Endures My Myriad Eccentricities, and determining that my little “experiment” was not in fact yielding the desired results (and was, in fact, a complete, abject failure), I decided that it was time to get back on Lexapro. I’m not thrilled with my emotional state being forever tied to a medication, but there are worse fates. My situation is fairly easily controllable when I’m on the medication, so why risk the consequences of going off it? (And I won’t even get into those OTHER thoughts I was having….)
I called my doctor’s office, and his nurse, a woman who I’m convinced is a few fries short of a Happy Meal, told me to call the pharmacy and have them fax a refil request to his office. She would get it signed and get things taken care of. So, being the good German that I am, I called the pharmacy…only to be told that I still had a refill left (WTF? My old bottle said “No Refill Available”. You mean that I went through all of this FOR NOTHING?? Suddenly, feeling homicidal seemed like a reasonable option….)
Long story short, I got my refill, and am a few days back into being on Lexapor. As you might imagine, life is looking much rosier. My moods have evened out (though I still wish Eric would take out the garbage a little more often….;p) ), and I no longer feel like summarily executing the next @$$wipe who commits the mortal sin of pissing me off.
So, what have we learned from this (apparently needless) exercise? Well, there are probably a few lessons to be taken away from this fiasco:
I’m on medication for a reason. It’s probably NOT a good idea to lose sight of that reason, eh?
The next time I do something so monumentally misguided (I’m going to avoid “stupid”, though it may well apply here), I need to include She Who Endures My Myriad Eccentricities in the loop. It probably wasn’t very fair of me not to assume she wouldn’t quickly pick up on what was happening.
The next time I have a thought, perhaps I ought to just let it go….
This is my reality…and things could be a whole lot worse. I have clinical depression, which is treatable and manageable. What I have to cope with is not terminable, nor is it something that has to limit how I live my life. Clearly, I need to keep in mind the impact that my disease has on those around me, something I clearly haven’t done a very good job of keeping in mind. Depression is not something that effects only the person who suffers from it. Friends and family also have to deal with it up close and personally, and it’s not always pretty or easy.
Lesson learned…until I forget it down the road and do the same dumb thing all over again….
