A heaping pile of blessings upon the Pharmacist!

I have been medicated now for about three months.

I decided not too long ago that I was tired of being depressed and angry all the time. I decided to get into therapy and see if there were options that would allow me to grab control of my life. I am so glad that I did.

When I first began the process my intentions were to keep it kind of quiet and on the down-low. It was soon after I began therapy that my intentions not only changed, but I realized that being open to my loved ones and the people who care for me was a challenge that I needed to face.

There were some people in my life that were surprised that I was going through such issues that might require therapy while others wondered what had taken me so long. Oddly enough, it wasn't depression or anger that truly made me look into therapy or prescription treatments. I discovered that I was severely Adult ADD.

I know, I know, this is a Disorder that is over diagnosed. In me though, it is dead on. I spent weeks researching the issue and I must have taken every online test for Adult ADD symptoms I could find. The best I found was on WebMD; it was also unbiased (which is to say that it wasn't sponsored by one of the drug companies).

On the test out at WebMD the score is based on a series of questions that result in a number that can range from 1 to 25+. A score of 25 is considered severe. I scored a 44.

So the ADD thingy got me into a therapist. I talked with my dear friends Biggie and Conquistador and got their insight. Both of these men are very close to me and I trust their judgement on these matters implicitly. They were very supportive, which was something I realize now that I needed more than anything else. I have never been one to seek emotional support for fear of being viewed as an Emotional Leech, but let's face it, we all need validation from our friends sometimes.

So off to therapy I went.

What surprised me most, was that it took three sessions before we ever got around to actually talking about the ADD. It took the psychiatrist about ten seconds to get into the subjects of depression and anger. By the end of the first session he had me pegged for someone who not only struggled with depression and anger, but tended to keep it bottled up inside. This guy was good.

I have to admit though; there was a part of me that was secretly wondering if this was all bullshit. I mean, I felt fine! I mean sure, I lose my temper every now and then, and sometimes I dwell on a problem or two, but hey, I am basically a happy guy! Right?

Oh so wrong.

After that first session the doc prescribed Effexor XR and by the second session the change in my moods was noticable even to me. I never really got the full impact of how much I was being changed until one fateful day when I was going through some old documents on my hard drive. Holy shit.

What I found was shocking to me. I am going to share it here, because I think it is something I must do to confirm to myself that I am never going to go back to this place in my life. The selection that is soon to follow is from my journal I kept prior to discovering the crack-like addiction of a blog. I have some embarassment attached to this selection for reasons I am not too sure of, but as I said, this needs to be shared. I wrote this little blurb in December of 2003. Additional commentary will follow:

"I am a third party watching a monster live my life. The monster makes mistakes and I know they are mistakes before they are made. I want to control the monster and I cannot find the way. I want to scream out for help but the burden of guilt represses the voice to where I cannot find the way. My world of shit, the nest of the monster, is one that has been carefully crafted with intention and premeditation. The whole time I knew that I was doing it, and strangely I cowered helplessly in a corner of my mind wholly unable to stop the proceedings from taking place. The sense of control I feign to the world at large is a lie. A thinly transparent one at that, I suspect. I don’t want to live, but I don’t want to die. The very contradiction of my being is something I struggle with, every moment of every day. I have a mountain of debt, or should I say a valley? The hole that I am in certainly only seems to get deeper. I am so alone. I hate even writing this, because that single admission is one that has become as socially puerile and sophomoric as to not even seem sincere. I wear my depression like a cowl, and I know that it is easily seen by those around me. I desperately want to conceal it, and I try, but only in the hopes that someone will care enough to look for the wound in order to heal me. I have been thinking of wrapping things up nicely and just lying down to die. The only reason thus far that I have not is because of the damage it would do to the people close to me. I hurt so much, and I want it to stop so badly, but I cannot in good conscience give any of my burdens to my loved ones. The physical pain that wracks my body is truly agonizing. I hurt every day. My leg, my back, my head, my chest, and other random parts flare and ache and burn everyday. I cannot even account for the originating injuries, if ever any existed, for over half of the aches and pains that I suffer. It hurts to walk, it hurts to stand, it hurts to sit, and it hurts to lie down. My heart aches, and this is emotional; for someone; something; anything. I cannot find a reason to live, other than something outside of myself. I am not afraid of dying, I lament the bitter truth of it all, but I am not afraid. I wish that there were tangible proof of god, or anything metaphysical, but it cannot be. Without that, there really is no purpose. I am not so egotistical as to be convinced that this life is so special that there must be a reason for it. If living has taught me only one thing, it is this: If it sounds too good to be true, it is. I am tired all the time, but I cannot sleep. When I do sleep, I cannot wake up. I don’t want to wake up. At least when I dream my mind shuts up. I am tired of thinking of numbers and statistics. I am tired of seeing patterns and reason in chaos. I don’t want to think anymore. I don’t even understand what it is I am thinking about most of the time."

Wow.

When I read that I was shocked. I could vaguely remember being depressed during that time, but looking back and being able to read that I never had any idea to what depths my depression had sank!

Let me emphatically state that I am no longer in that state of mind!

In fact, the one thing I keep saying is "I wonder if I have ever been happy?" This therapy and drug regimen has completely changed my life, all for the better. Three weeks into the Effexor XR I had Aderol added to my daily cocktail and that was the icing on the cake.

Now I spend every day even-keel. Sure I still get upset from time to time, but not like I used to. There is no longer this sub current of rage running just beneath the surface of my skin. I no longer think of death and dying with secret thoughts of longing. I am still stunned that I allowed myself to ever get that bad! For me, my EGO was the toughest thing to conquer in order to get the help I needed.

It took me some time to convince myself that getting help with a mental illness or disorder was in no way a weakness or a betrayal of the self. In fact, I feel now more than ever that people who do not take care of their mental health are the ones dealing with weakness. This whole process has made me stronger, healthier, happier, and generally more successful in everything I have approached. I actually feel good! All of the hatreds (except one) are gone, as I now realize that they were grounded in regions of me and were basically me transferring my self-loathing onto others. There is only one person on this earth for whom I feel hate, and it is such a powerful hatred that I do not think it will ever go away. This one emotion though I can deal with easily.

There is a joking adage: "Better life through chemistry", well no shit there. My only wish now is that I had been smart enough and aware enough to take action years ago. I suspect that if I had my life would be much better for it. And here is the funny thing. Prior to my change, that statement would have triggered a slow building melancholy that would have had me pondering the "uselessness" of my life by days end. Now, I just chuckle and accept it for what it is: A bad series of mistakes and a great series of strides of maturity.

Life is a strange thing. I have lived enough of it to know that. I thought for years (and this will be addressed on my Ponderous Moments blog eventually) that the day I stopped "walking blind" would be the day I died. What I never realized is that only part of me had to die, a very insecure and scared, neurotic and obsessive, lonely and sad little man inside. As soon as that went away, my life has done nothing but go uphill.

So here is to Psychiatrists and Pharmacists who genuinely help their patients!

Thank you, each of you, and a very special thank you to all of my dear, dear friends that supported me wholeheartedly through-out this.

Until the End of Days, I remain...

Son of Simp