When I was younger I refused to take pills. My mother relates horror stories to me as to how she would squish my cheeks together and try to force it into my mouth and then I would just spit in her face. Later I tried to crush the pills and mix them with water… more spitting.
I just didn’t like the idea of medicating. Later I realized that pretty much everyone in my family was self-medicating. My grandparent’s house had a bunch of random pill bottles with prescriptions for people I had never heard of. Even when I lived with a “normal” family they were constantly on medication. Like as soon as I walked in the house I was diagnosed with allergies and forced to shove a sprayer into my nose daily. I didn’t like medication. (Also pills are essentially what killed my cousin. She was on anti-depressants and when she was locked up she didn’t have access to them. The withdrawal fucked her up. When she was released she shot herself.)
As I got older I got over for fear of medicating. Maybe a little too over it. I kept a bottle of Nyquil next to my bed and would take ten Ibuprofen at the sign of a headache. Even with the Nyquil I was constantly taking sleep medication.
But last year my depression got really bad and so I started on my first anti-depressant: Prozac. I was on it for a while and it really helped but during the summer I felt fine so I stopped taking it. Now I know how dumb that sounds. “Oh it’s working so you stop?” But I kept having these great moments and I had this nagging sensation that I had to attribute that to the pills. I wanted my happiness to be mine, not chemically created. I guess I was just raised in a way that you took the good with the bad and if you didn’t have the bad, how would you appreciate the good?
However it started to get bad again. I had people on my back about how I should get a prescription. My mother pleaded with me to at least research it. I searched out experiences from my friend who was on Zoloft. I was actually trying…
But it wasn’t until my first anxiety attack that I decided to actually see a psychiatrist. The feelings of not being able to breathe or sit still or focus or have any control… I absolutely hated losing it like that. And when I wasn’t able to function these last two weeks at school I knew I needed a change. But it wasn’t because everyone was telling me I needed the pills; that just went in one ear and out the other. It was finally accepting for myself (probably for the billionth time) that this was a chemical problem and I truly needed help.
So this morning I talked to a psychiatrist and I am now on Zoloft for depression with anxiety and Gebapentin (which apparently treats seizures) for insomnia. Maybe I’ll be a functional adult now… I kind of hope so.
I woke up when I was younger
And bawled "Mummy I have a headache"
"Don't you worry darling,
Mummy's got a pill for you."
I sat up when I was 7,
With my head all full of phlegm
"Mum I've got a runny nose"
And she gave me pills
I didn't sleep much at all
Once I had turned 15
The doctor said
"There's pills for that!"
So I was given pills
When my head felt like exploding
And my spine seized up with fear,
I thought to myself
"It's not a problem!"
There's plenty more pills
So I opened up a box or two
And I took them two at a time.
No matter how many pills I took,
The world just kept on screaming.
Until the day I took the lot,
And they found me cold and bleeding.
I woke up in the hospital
And was told
What they thought I'd tried to do.
The nurse just smiled
And told me softly
"I've got some pills for you."