I’m going to say the New York-iest thing ever here*:

February 20, 2009

So, Robot Boy was talking to his therapist about my last meeting with my therapist …

(yes, let’s all groan/giggle/sigh/watch Annie Hall again and move on)

…because he was worried about me, and quasi-insulted about her recommendation about anti-depressants.   Over the course of the discussion, he basically went from thinking “Terrible!  Never!” to “Well, if they would help…”

And now I’m quasi-insulted.  I’m not that sick. …Am I?  And so the same pattern goes through my head, too.  I started therapy because 1) RB thought it might help and 2) I am admittedly a mess and didn’t know what else to do.  I don’t like it, I don’t think it’s right for me (at least right now), but I still don’t know what else to do, so for the nonce, I’m going because maybe it will start to help.  And maybe it has kept me from sliding further.  And maybe an Rx would help?  What if it would, and my prejudices about “over-prescribed America” and fears about being a “Prozac Zombie” are what are keeping me from my goals?  And what if there’s something really really wrong with me?  And what if this is just the beginning, and I’m going to end up completely whacked-out on lithium and stored permanently in a psychiatric hospital and all I will ever hear in my head are the sounds of a thousand clucking tongues:  you never finished.  you never finished.  you never finished.

This is what I think about before I go to sleep.

*I am also going to abuse ellipses and question marks …



  1. I don’t know… My feeling on anti-depressants is severely influenced by the fact that my mom is a psych nurse. My thoughts are that sometimes, you fall down a hole. And anti-depressants don’t remove you from the hole, or negate the hole, or fill in the hole, or make the hole rainbows and light, or do the hard work of climbing out of that hole for you. What they do is to give you a temporary foothold, so that you can do that climbing a little easier. Most people who are on anti-depressants are only on them for a short time, until they can do the emotional work that is needed for them to come off of them. The druge are just there to make doing the real work easier.

    And the stigma just holds no weight with me. Sure, some docs overprescribe. But to say “I’m not THAT sick…” it just doesn’t make any sense. Exactly how “sick” does one need to be to take the necessary steps to get well? Do you need to be contemplating hary cary to give yourself a little help?

    • I know it’s a prejudice that may be wildly unfair, but I do hold it. My entire family is made up of teachers and nurses, and I know that drugs really can help. BUT. My mother has worked with special ed kids her whole career (hearing impaired, what used to be called EMR, emotionally disturbed, behavior disordered, learning disabled, you name it), and most of what I heard about pharmacopia was through that lens. To be clear, she never said anything like: “These kids are seriously fucked up. These kids are on drugs for their fucked-up-ness. Therefore, people on drugs are fucked up, and only fucked-up people on are drugs.” But the associations of error, shame and broken-ness are there for me.

  2. As your local “broken” friend, I offer the following: anti-depressants have saved my life time and time again, and they allow me to function as a relatively normal-appearing human being most of the time. (I, uh, think. Unless you consider me a Zoloft zombie, but I doubt that.) But in my case, it has been relatively clear that the problem is hereditary/brain chemistry. So I never know whether to recommend them to others.

    Also, therapy is like dating. I feel like you’ve given it a good shot with this woman, but it doesn’t seem like her style is helping you. Has anyone been giving thought to seeing someone else?

  3. would you like to get a drink anytime soon? I’ll buy!

    • Alcohol is a depressant, right? Sure, might as well get good and down, just to give me extra reason for the Rx.

  4. most alcohol is a depressant, yes, but not tequila! clear your week, we’re going for broke!

    emailing you now…

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