I have a love/hate relationship with my antidepressant.
I forgot to take it yesterday.
Today I feel really dizzy. Confused. Irritable.
When I take them I don’t feel suicidal. At all. Ever.
I can’t put a price on that.
Before I’d have a fight with my wife. I’d leave. I’d think about ways to kill myself. I’d cry a lot.
I don’t have to deal with that anymore.
I hate that it takes a drug not to feel that way.
I hate that my doctor will only give me a three-month supply.
I hate that he demands that I make another office visit before he’ll give me more.
That doesn’t feel like freedom.
It feels like slavery.
I’ve thought about just quitting.
I tried it once. I went three days without it.
I was okay for a while. The last day I had a meltdown.
I was on a lower dose at the time.
I’ve thought about gradually reducing my dose. That’s what I’ll do when I decide to stop.
I think I need to wait until after my wife moves out with the boys.
I might even need a higher dose to get through that.
I hate this.