I finally broke down and requested antidepressants. Seeing as how my therapist had informed me, during my session, that I should be careful how I answer his next set of questions because if I answer incorrectly they would have to hospitalize me. While I appreciate the warning, on the other hand I’m wondering what if I really did need to be in the hospital? Now he’s told me to be cautious and dishonest to keep me from the care I need.

In this same session he set me up with a psychiatrist that could prescribe me pills. In the big scheme of things I don’t want to be medicated. In the past they have made me feel indifferent to life. I neither cared or hated it. I just was “meh” about everything. When I finally spoke with the doctor I informed her of the medications I have previously taken that have not worked. We avoided those. What we did settle on was a prescription I had started when I was 18 and was removed from for some unknown reason.

When I was 21 my then psychiatrist just up and decided the meds weren’t working and we started something else. It was then that we began this parade of pills that made my life more miserable than the last. His penultimate diagnosis was bi-polar type 2 (different than his initial “depression” conclusion) but those medications made me so unbelievably uncomfortable. After my third prescription failed to produce any results other than my discomfort I asked him if we could stop. He listened and I appreciated that.

For the past few years I haven’t needed to take anything for depression but now all I can think about is dying. Only recently has it moved into, “…if I were to do it, how would I?” And I know that’s not good.

Today I pick up my prescription for Lexapro. And let’s hope it helps me now like it did when I was 18… Except for those pesky sexual side-effects. The inability to reach climax was… not fun.