But the Drugs Like Me...

Remember my last post, when I complained that my antidepressants didn't work? I wrote that (while on them):

...mostly I just feel like I'm in a fog. I'm cloudy-headed, numb, anxious, despairing. I think of death and mortality every day. I'm the living dead. I'm not suicidal--I'm far too Catholic and, frankly, cowardly for that. Besides, I seem to prefer a slow death by tobacco, sugar, and hope. 

I should note that I've been off work for the past week and off my routine; I've forgotten to take my antidepressants more often than not...And skipping the meds, though inadvertent, doesn't really seem to have made things any worse so I may just go off the stuff. I mean, maybe.

Yeah, about that...

I forgot to mention a pertinent fact--I had actually called in a refill at my local mom'n'pop pharmacy. I don't normally get my prescriptions filled there but back in November I was a day away from a business trip and needed my two happy-pill 'scripts pronto. My normal chain pharmacy didn't have one of them, another chain didn't have the other. I was desperate and short on time. (Story of my life.) While I like supporting local businesses, I don't like their store hours, which don't jive with my commute into/out of Manhattan (there's a Rite Aid in Grand Central, my usual joint because it's pretty damned convenient but it didn't work out for me that time around).

Anyway.

The local pharmacy's supposed to be open on Saturdays. I went to pick up my meds December 30--closed. With a fucking sign taped to the door saying they were closed for the weekend and thanking customers for their "anticipation." How the hell could I have anticipated that?

Tried again the following Saturday--also closed! No reason given! What the fuck?!

So I'd been rationing the few pills remaining from each prescription but was done with them a few days into the new year. "OK, then, motherfuckers." I thought to myself. "I'll just go commando." So to speak.

I started getting headaches. I think had headaches maybe 4 or 5 days in a row. Sleeping was bad. Had a few nightmares. Didn't snap out of my fog, in fact, things worsened--by Wednesday of this past week I felt confused, I couldn't concentrate at work, a sort of hysteria seemed to rise around and within me. I'd been feeling stressed anyway, from my day job, but that day was...well, I was frightened. Close to 5 I went to my boss' office and closed the door, gave her an abbreviated version of the above, and asked if I could go in later on Thursday to see if I could catch the fucking pharmacy open on my way into work. I'd never wanted to talk to her about this, and not because she's a horrible person or anything--this shit's just too...how do I explain it...raw, personal. Painful. I protect my pain. Does that make sense? Writing about it here is different, somehow. Apart from the safety of being behind a screen...

Well, she was perfectly decent about it, as I had every reason to expect, and so I was able to pick up my stuff the next morning. Both remaining refills, as it happened, so I don't have to worry about dealing with these folks again. Funk them and their anticipating asses.

Meanwhile, I'll not go off a regular pill regimen on my own again, not if I can help it. If coming off the stuff's the right move, I'll do it under the doc's orders. For now I'll just keep doping myself up and I guess just try to be more patient...(?)