About a week ago I was grouching through the getting-out-the-door process with the three little people in my house. No, the fuzzy boots, not the sparkle shoes! Zip your coats! Off the baby! Help your sister with her hat! Wait until we’re in the car! No! Hands to yourself! Out! – when the phone rang and it was the midwife. I thought she was in the rear view by now. Didn’t I have that baby three months ago and get passed off to a hotline when I called about PPD?
She wanted to know how I was feeling. It was a clinical question, so I answered it matter-of-factly. (Is “shitty” a medical term?) She’s not the fuzziest person, my midwife, but she has a job to do and I have kids who deserve a mom who isn’t riddled with anxiety and PPD. She called in a script for Zoloft and we hung up. Click.
Some gentlepeople of the interwebz made fun of me after my last post on postpartum depression. They said I was making it up for attention. They also said my hair is stupid and I think I have lots of money but I don’t because I’m poor. I LOVE INTERNET.
Anyway, after a little hand-patting from my people (high five, High Glossys!) I stopped pouting that I wouldn’t tell my tales anymore. I’m telling them! The tales are being told! I’m taking crazy meds and if you want to judge me or hurt me, then go right ahead. I’m still going to wake up in the same pajamas tomorrow either way. May mental illness never touch your life. (But if you step on a Lego in the dark, well, I’m not shedding any tears.)
So on to the fun stuff! First, I didn’t fill the prescription for three days. It felt like if I filled it, then that meant I was taking it and therefore I really was “crazy”. I talked it out with a few people who got me on track and then brought the bottle home. I examined it like a monkey with tin can, from all directions, mystified. I was afraid to google. What if it made me fat? What if it got lodged in my brain and I morphed into a new person or got some kind of tumor? The chemicals! Etcetera. But hey, how healthy is grocery store wine and Starbucks?
I thought Zoloft was supposed to take weeks to kick in, but apparently it works on anxiety right away. This, I can attest to! I’m on a low dose and hopefully not for long, but I’ll tell you how it’s gone so far. I felt a little weird the first day. Not bad-weird, just weird. Thirsty. I had some stressful situations, as I do everyday, but instead of reacting with panic like I normally do, time seemed to go at a slower pace. It’s like the Matrix. I’ve dealt with each thing as it happened. I guess the biggest immediate difference is instead of being anxiously preoccupied with getting to the next “thing” I’m living a little more in the now.
It’s not the biggest change in the world. My personality is exactly the same – no Scooby mask or extra thumbs growing out of my forehead. Supposedly over the next few weeks I won’t be so dark, but if I get too happy and annoy myself and start listening to One Direction and want to punch myself in the face, I’ll just trash this plan and we’ll go get some tattoos. Okay? Okay.
(More as this story develops.)
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Filed under: PPD & Anxiety