Don’t laugh. I totally have that song earworming it’s way through my head right now, but it fits. It feels like my view on everything has shifted, righting itself for the first time in years.
Those of you who follow my blog are already aware that I lost my little sister to violence some years back. It rocked my world. I couldn’t make myself do anything beyond just getting out of bed and it was a chore doing even that most days. After about three weeks of this, I visited my doctor and obtained a prescription for anti-depressants. I won’t lie; they helped immensely. They numbed me enough to enable me to function. Gradually, I started living again, but as a calmer, quieter, different version of myself. But the anti-depressants had numerous side-effects: sleeplessness, weight-gain, blood pressure spikes, etc., so my doctor prescribed other pills to offset those side-effects. Each new pill had yet another side-effect and my doctor continued to prescribe in an effort to keep me stable. By last March, I was taking almost as many medications as my diabetic 69-year-old father. At my last visit, my doctor wanted to prescribe yet another medication. I couldn’t bring myself to fill it. I was done. And so I weaned off gradually. Today I am on my 11th day free of meds and for the first day in a long time, I feel like me. Here are few things about myself I totally forgot.
I am a crier. Okay, I was never exactly proud of this trait. Who wants to be known as the girl who cries over Hallmark commercials? Or, as I told Faith this morning, that one VISA commercial where the woman flies all the way from Australia to be with her pregnant sister as she delivers her first child? I believe my reaction consisted of copious tears and me proclaming that, “I would totally fly from Australia to be with Faith like that!!!!” It’s actually a relief to cry over sad scenes in movies or in books; or because a friend gives you an unbelievably considerate and generous gift; or because the sky is a perfect shade of blue and the wind is blowing your hair all around and the knockout roses in the backyard smell divine and this moment in this particular day couldn’t be any more beautiful or wonderful. It’s a relief.
I am passionate about my opinions and beliefs. This has recently led to trouble as medicated me was more likely to avoid discussions about touchy subjects such as politics and religion. Non-medicated me strongly wants to defend my beliefs, agrees with whomever said that the status is not quo, and has utterly no problem stating her positions on life and calling a spade a spade. Or as in the most recent case, a fucking idiot, a fucking idiot. I’m looking at you, Rush Limbaugh. I was forced to apologize for the four letter expletive, but I stand my ground on the sentiment. Just saying.
I like being physically active. No, I really do. Stairs work just as well as elevators. Navigating the hilly tree-lined streets around my house makes me exhausted, but the good kind of exhausted. The blisters on my heels hurt, but they’re fantastic because they mean I’m alive. My heart and lungs ache from my body’s inactivity, but they’re working, pumping oxygen through me, allowing me to breathe deeply and to continue moving. I am literally excited to go home tonight, change clothes and head outside for a while.
Theatre ROCKS! All this pent-up energy and passion that has had nowhere to go for ages is completely psyched about the arts again. I want to see shows, work on my play again; dude, I wanna go to the museum. I want to see plays that make me uncomfortable-I want my world views to be proven wrong as much as I want to be proven right. I want to engage again. It’s been too long.
I still love pretty men. I’m not saying I was brain-dead all those years-I mean I still got pleasure out of looking at a fantastically gorgeous guy. It’s just the meds sort of numb all the responses down so I really only looked once, appreciated and moved on. I’m just saying you get so much more out of it when you look two or three times before moving on. :) I think I might even be willing to date again. At least after a little more of remembering who I am first…
…because, I am a little bit of a mess trying to figure all this out. But still, I feel like myself again. I like who I am without the meds weighing me down. I’m probably more exasperating to my friends and family, and I admit this is all taking some getting used to. But I’m back. Heh. I’d apologize for unleashing myself on the world, but I’m not actually all that sorry.