I decided that I was full of the shit I've been pulled through. I was sick of doctors telling me I'm just needing another med or just 'making it up'. I'm anti-drug. Always have been, always will be. I was so scared when I was told that I needed anti-depressants 3 years ago. I was more scared of taking drugs than ... (insert something scary here).

Let's start off again.

Thus, my hatred for alcohol and drugs began. I don't trust myself. I don't know what I would do if I were a bit tipsy, or high on something. If I do nothing right in my life, at least I can look back and say I didn't lose sight of my lifelong goal and cave in to peer pressure. Believe me, I have wanted to lose control at certain points of my life because I didn't care what would result. Even death was not an issue. I didn't care about anything. That's why I have made so many mistakes along my life path because of that (nearly a) year.

So, when I was told that I needed medication, I was outraged! I was so angry with the world that I thought everyone was against me. Claiming that it was for my own good, they prescibed Prozac. I was on it for about 2 days when I started feeling the major side effects. Since my body hadn't had anything in it's system (even tylenol) for years upon years, it was probably as extreme a reaction as could be expected. I was bouncing off the walls. It didn't mean that I was happy, it just meant that I was on a constant caffeine-like high.

After I was given ambien/demi...something...I forget now, I was sorta able to sleep. But I was mistaken on what they had given me a second drug for. I thought it was to replace the Prozac. I was wrong and suffered major headaches for the first time in my life. It was horrible. So I had another reason to hate drugs. Especially mood altering drugs, like SSRIs.

After everyone else realized that I was telling them the truth: I don't take drugs, they decided Prozac was too strong for me. Then came the Welbutrin.

I didn't even give it a chance. I was fed up with the doctors, the counselors, and most importantly, the drugs. I didn't need them (at least that's what I believe to this day). It was during this time of Prozac and Welbutrin that I made many MANY bad choices in my life. I'm sure my mom knows about them, but I don't feel that it's the time or the place to discuss this added topic. Perhaps another bonus entry... I think that's a good idea (past events as bonus entries).

My next stint with drugs (what I call prescribed medications) was voluntary. If I knew then what I know now, I would have never made that move. It was horrible. I think it messed me up so bad that I am scarred for life. It was more than a year later and I was just getting kinda blue.

I figured it was just my depression hitting another relapse, but I didn't know what to do about it. I decided to start seeing counseling services. I was seeing a guy name Larry. Very squirrely looking. Kinda creepy if you think about it. Oh well, back to the subject at hand.

I was talking to him for a couple months (or just one, I don't remember exactly...that part of my life was kinda a blur and I'd like to keep it that way). Something in me told me to try meds again. I don't know what it was, but I listened.

I asked Larry if I could see the doctor. He didn't think I needed to exactly, but something was pushing me to, from the inside. Well, winter term ended and I could tell my interest in college was less than ideal. I went on tour with The Troupe, and became very isolated from my closest friends. I couldn't handle the smallest of problems. I knew that I needed help, and unfortunately, I thought drugs would help.

Low and behold, drugs were actually causing a deeper depression. I would stay in bed all day. I blame the evil Efexor. I became more and more lethargic and nothing seemed interesting anymore. I didn't wake up to go to class... and when I did wake up, I wouldn't shower. It was pathetic. I was a wreck. I didn't have interest in eating or even leaving the room. I had trouble just getting the motivation to leave the room to go to the bathroom. It was sad. I knew it wasn't me. Something stopped me from suicide. I don't know what. Perhaps it was the inner me that told me I had too many responsibilities on this earth to just abandon without any thought of passing those duties on.

I made a suicide note (DAMN! I'm revealing more in this entry than I intended, but I'm not gonna stop now). I was ready for death. I was sobbing and banging my head on the ground. I wanted something to get me out of the pain. The only way I could "control" my agony was to physically abuse myself. It hurt less than the mental pain, but it did help in some aspects. And NO! I wasn't doing it to get attention. I wasn't trying to "reach out". I was in pain, and I did the only things I knew how dull it without actually taking my life.

I called the counselor on call one night. That night. I told her if I could get set an appointment with the doctor, I could get my meds changed and I could be better. I seriously thought that I couldn't just stop the durgs on my own. At the time I didn't know that the drugs were causing the decline in my life.

The next part I still don't feel comfortable discussing, so I won't. I will tell you that it resulted in changing my drugs to Celexa which I've been on since 2 months ago. (when I stopped this insanity of the whirlwind of drug usage).

So, I feel that I've told you everything. And yet, I've kept a few secrets. One of them I consider big, but have not even hinted at in all my entries. And the other, I said would have to wait for another time and place.

Carisa

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