Explore the discussion of this chapter in ESC_KEY NOTES: Cosmic Consciousness
Okay, let’s get into it. I’m on an antidepressant right fucking now. Big deal. If you don’t know, they don’t make you happy. They don’t make you numb either. But something in between. Like a twilight hour between waking and sleeping. When you wake up to early in the morning, lay back down and wake up an hour later, “What the fuck?” The dream was magical, terrifying, and viciously visceral. You are anxious from the dream. Damn!
The dreams are not messages, but they are information. If something is worrying you and haunting your dreams, it’s a good idea to look at what’s behind the nightmare. For example, I might be having trouble at my corporate job where my boss is starting to behave irrationally. The dream about being fired is not a premonition or a foreshadowing, but it might be a call to action. Get your shit together, because you’re about to be out of a job, searching for healthcare to avoid the triple cost of COBRA.
Take as directed. I remember when prozac hit the market and changed the world. Talking to Prozac, became a national best seller and Dr. Kramer became a spokesperson for all of us afflicted with depression. He was the pied piper of prozac. He later apologized in a book called Ordinarily Well for misleading us about the miracles of SSRIs. They are not magic. In most cases, the best prescription is accompanied with some talk therapy. Often, a second drug will unlock a new level of healing when the initial does poops out. That’s the official term. SSRIs eventually poop out. They seem to stop working, abruptly causing anxiety and drama around the patient.
Fuck. Try Zoloft. ZZZzoloft. Nope, makes me sleepy. Try XYZ, or this new one, just approved by the FDA. The drug supply is endless and novel. New names, new options, and new unaffordable drugs come on the market promising a cure for depression. The oddest thing about Dr. Kramer’s work is what happened after Talking To Prozac made him famous. He was out touring the US, talking mostly to physicians about the revelation in his book and the promise of prozac. Towards the end of his talks, he would often ask the crowd for a show of hands, “If we could cure depression 100% with one pill, would you prescribe it?” More than 80% of the audience said no.
There is a romantic idea about depression. The tortured artist. The genius, the boy wonder, the artist touched by depression. We would never have seen Starry Starry Night if not for Van Gothe’s depression. Maybe not all of depression is bad. Maybe, just maybe, we didn’t all need to be extroverted type-A jerks. The prozac response is something close to a fight or flight response. SSRIs, when they are working, put you in a fight mode. No longer willing to put up with bullshit. Perhaps speaking a bit to loud and long about your passions, but that’s part of the rush. SSRI therapy, and most antidepressant therapies, are not designed to make you feel good or happy.
In my case, the antidepressant was to keep my down state from crashing through the floor, the bedrock below, and on into hell. I fell further than anyone I knew. I needed a little protection from the urgency of my sad moments. On the other side of the sword, I also feel energized by the SSRI and the addition of Wellbutrin. Rocket fuel. They call it hypo-manic. Like mania, but below the level of an emergency. I might need to be tranquilized but not hospitalized.
There’s a fine line for me between high and happy. I’ve developed a scale on my energy and mood. 1 on the scale is depressed with a need for hospitalization or other medical intervention. 10 on the scale of happy, is hospitalization for delusions of grandeur or some manic bursts of gambling, spending, or sexing. Hypersexuality is a side effect of mania.
So, today, my prozac-like med is helping me stay up off the floor. I cut the smallest dose in half. I take half of the minimum dose in the morning. If I’m steady at lunchtime, I won’t take the other half. If I’m lagging, I can add the other half of the 10 milligrams. It’s more like a cup of coffee than a jolt of joy. It is a fuel. It requires a delicate balance for me. I need to maintain good hydration and be aware of any blood sugar drops. I am taking drugs, no doubt. “Better living through pharma.”
Turns out there was a different medication that did light my manic fire. It was designed for narcolepsy. The off-label use, however, was as an adjunct to antidepressant therapy. A jolt to the energy system. Damn nation! It was good. At one point before my divorce, both my wife and I were taking this med and toasting our daily morning dose as we sipped our coffee. Good stuff. Once thought to be a smart drug, it turns out this particular drug, a form of antihistamine, was more like speed. It revved people up, so they could work long hours, but it didn’t make them smarter. And if they went more than 36 hours without sleep, the drug could push someone into irrational acts or even self-harm.
Turns out, kids were crushing the pills, meant to be time-released, and snorting them. Boom. Legal crack.
The opioid crisis followed a similar path. If you crushed the time-releasing bubbles of speed, they could be inhaled and flooded into your bloodstream. The wonder drug became abusable.
You know, the original drugs were better and safer than all of our pharmaceutical miracles. Opium was more effective than all the synthetics. Cocaine is a great anesthetic. Ketamine is a painkiller unless used in unintended ways.
Do not crush, please.
