Fun, Fun, Fun

As I approach this latest blog entry, I am debating heavily as to the structure. I feel as if a non-linear form will make more sense. So, for the time-being, let's pretend I am David Lynch.

Friday morning was the last day I took my anti-depressants. Part of me feels the need to lie and say "I ran out and have to get a new prescription." but as I am a terrible liar (you'll notice me flush, my voice go up two octaves and my toes turn green - the latter only when I am parading barefoot) I find that the truth is easier to reveal despite the recriminations that are heaped upon me immediately afterward. Yes, I cannot deny it; I wanted to come off them.

I know everyone says that you cannot go 'Cold Turkey' with these things (what does that mean, anyway? May I have some hot mash and picked beetroot on the side?) but that's why I planned to do it just before a long weekend. If anything dramatic happened, such as me running berserk around Docklands waving two pork pies and a copy of 'Lady Chatterley's Lover', then I would have enough time to recover. What I wasn't prepared for was the nature of the symptoms. It certainly didn't involve semi-erotic literature or pastry covered snacks with jelly linings.

This weekend, I have experienced the following:

* Vertigo

* Diarrhoea

* Dermal Itchiness

* Brain Shudders

* The feeling similar to having drunk 18 tequilas and a pint of Red Bull.

Not only did I endure these physical symptoms, but I also had dreams bordering on the lunatic. There was a full moon this weekend, but I see that as a mere coincidence. My dreams were long epics attached to more epics followed by further epics; all with seemingly decent story-lines, albeit laced with surreal plot twists and the occasional Non Sequitur juxtaposed with random sexual imagery. (See why I am thinking "Lynch"?)

Anyway, with all this in mind, I have made an appointment to see my (beautiful) doctor tomorrow afternoon.

(I wish...)

Now... let's jump back a step or two and see why I wanted to come off the anti-depressants...

Firstly, there was the number one issue. I didn't actually feel that different to when I began the course way back in August.

Secondly, I was developing some horrible side-effects!

* Unreasonable Sweatiness

* Decreased Libido (not that that should be a huge issue *sulks*)

* Tremendous Weight Gain

* Extreme Tiredness BUT... with:

* Insomnia to boot.

Aren't anti-depressants supposed to make you feel better? I had to buy NEW CLOTHES for God's sake! I am not a woman. Nor am I a particularly good homosexual. I don't LIKE buying clothes. The one thing more boring and awkward than buying clothes is going shoe shopping with a woman!

"Please, please don't write in saying that's sexist... it's not." (Thank you Alan Partridge!)

The only clothes I ever like to buy are retro 1940s style suits with two-tone shoes and snazzy braces. Not exactly the formal wear for a rotund mutant walrus whose pit-stains could put out bush fires.

Before I go on, let's step back again to discover why I was on anti-depressants in the first place:

* I was living in Brooklyn, Victoria. Imagine where Satan would go to commit suicide.

* Low self-esteem

* Lack of self-worth

* Lack of decent finances

* Hatred of my physical form

Now, with those in mind, can anyone see how the side-effects of the pills would make me feel any way better?

NO! I thought not. If my body becomes more hideous and I have to spend money on clothes in order to go out in public, then I am not exactly going to be a happy little bunny!

If you have managed to hack your way through the jungle of tirades, lists and garbled analogies to this point, I congratulate you. I expect at this juncture, you would like a conclusion! Well, hold onto your perky bobble-hats, my friends, for here it comes...

I don't think medication is for me. (Why can I hear raucous laughter?)

What I need is good friends, a bit more exercise and a couple of million dollars. That's all!! Not too much to ask, right?

I shall ask my doctor about all that tomorrow.

If not, I'll settle for a hug

So, that's my story. Opening myself up and putting my heart on my sleeve. It's what I'm good at.

Some people don't like me sharing in this bloggy manner, but I find it deeply therapeutic. I guess it's the theatrical side of me acting as my defence mechanism.

Ta-Da!