Irving Kirsch shook up the mental-health field this week when he and his team reported “happy pills” swallowed by millions of Canadians every day are virtually no better than dummy drugs at treating depression. But while critics argue this can’t be true, Kirsch and others are moving on to a new view of depression, and drugs, and also about the power of hope and expectancy…. The study provides some of the strongest evidence yet that antidepressants aren’t as miraculous as they were held out to be when they hit the market 20 years ago. The drugs appear to benefit only those so severely depressed that they’re essentially biologically shut down.
OK, I’m here to tell you that I don’t know what this study says in toto, but antidepressants always have worked for me. I would not be the reasonably functional human being that I am now were it not for the fact that my frame of mind is chemically enhanced. I’m not proud of this, but neither am I ashamed of it. I’ve heard of estimates indicating that perhaps 1 in 10 Americans suffer from some sort of mental illness…and yes, I am one of the 1. I’ve dealt with severe, almost debilitating depression and various degrees of suicidal ideations from time to time. Thankfully, none of those ideas came to fruition (or you’d be reading someone else’s blog now, wouldn’t you?), but there was at least one occasion where I came closer than I might have liked.
Beset by relationship problems, academic issues, and a generalized lack of maturity and effective coping skills, I’d decided that I was going to kill myself on my 21st birthday. I’d even planned out how I was going to do it. Then, as if someone’s angels had been watching out for me, my girlfriend at the time and one of her friends got me drunk on tequila on my birthday. Actually, all three of got pretty well toasted, which led to some generalized frolicking best left to your imagination. (If you remember the scene from “American Pie: The Naked Mile” where Stiffler runs home naked still wearing a condom….) Suffice it to say that I never did buy that revolver I had my eye on.
My life at the moment feels like a cross between a George Strait song (“All My Exes Live in Texas”) and a Monsanto commercial (“Without chemicals, life itself would be impossible”). I can’t do much about the truth of the song, but I do know that without the Lexapro and the Wellbutrin that I’m currently romancing, life would be a pretty dark place.
Look, I understand that mental illness still carries a stigma for most of the population. If I can do even a little bit to change that perception, then I will have accomplished something good. I’m not ashamed to admit that I have a mental illness. I’m certainly not about to celebrate it, but it’s treatable and it can be managed. In my case, I’m fortunate in that people who care about me have helped me to get the help I’ve needed.
I don’t know about the truth of this latest study, and I frankly don’t care. Anti-depressants work for me, and that’s the only control group I concern myself with, because it’s the only one I can control. The academics can argue over the science and the methodology.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for me to take my happy pills. Yes, indeed; without chemicals, life itself would be impossible- even if all my exes live in Texas….
