Klonopin Queen
THE former Prozac Princess.
I’ve been popping pills every night before bed for the past twelve years- that’s half of my life. After being diagnosed with severe anxiety and OCD, I was getting to a point where I could no longer function in normal society. It became abundantly clear that it was time for an alternative course of action. It was at this time that glorious anti-depressants were introduced to me. The pivotal affects they would have on the most delicate period of my life had yet to make itself known.
A chemical imbalance. A chemical fucking imbalance. That’s really all I remember when I was fed an explanation for an unexplanable situation. The “why me’s” and any other resistance were outweighed by the need to touch every corner in the house, repeating every word I said four times, and other fun “ticks” surely crafted by Satan himself. So it began. I would crush those horse pills with a spoon and bury them under honey, jell-o, applesauce…anything so the bitter taste of an acid couldn’t burn off my taste buds.
Fast forward a few months and I was getting in the car (permitted my dog, Darla was with me at all times.) The school sent tutors over and I was able to pass with all the school I’d missed. Convinced I was cured, I was sent to seventh grade. I dropped out again the next year.
Medications were adjusted. I believe I was on Zoloft when the horrifying imagery began. Scissors, knives, tacs, pencils- anything with a pointy tip would taunt me. I would have to push them against my wrists and ever so slightly into my skin. I was sent in for another tune-up short after this. Repricdal this time, maybe? It’s hard to keep track. The imprint these little guys left weren’t as threatening but I gained a shit ton of weight- the inception of a separate harrowing journey.
Over the span of my twelve medicated years, I’ve always found my way back to Prozac. It’s my constant. Prozac and klonopin have always rooted me to a place where I can just manage my anxiety and OCD. It was by no means a crutch. The meds just brought it down a couple of notches to where other people would say they’re “so stressed out.” That was my norm.
My fears, anxieties, tics- they all got in the way of my having the fairy-tale teenage years. I never had a middle school graduation, completed confirmation, went to prom ( not that I had an invitation), or attended high school graduation. I was left out of my senior high school yearbook. Forgotten.
I had completed three years of college before I could no longer handle the anxiety. When sitting through classes was no longer an option and I found myself incapable of eating in front of others, I dropped out yet again. Defeated.
Don’t get the wrong idea. Throughout this, I didn’t simply rely on some “magic pills” to save me. I’ve seen dozens of therapists, explored CBT, EMDR, The Tapping Cure, art therapy, hypnotherapy- the works. So when I hear people refer to antidepressants as a “crutch”, I get pretty fucking enraged. (I’m talking to you, Tom Cruise.) Those of us with social anxiety disorders are anything but lazy. Those of us with OCD face unfathomable treachery. Medications somewhat take the razor sharp edge off. Somewhat. There is no easy way out and if there was, trust me I would have found it by now.
Some folks like to explain my own emotions to me. There’s a common belief that these medications are numbing me. That on the emotional range from ecstasy to despair, I’m sitting pretty in some content limbo. Let me assure you, I feel ALL of my emotions to their fullest.
Everyone has a right to their own opinions. I welcome that. I do not welcome advice, however. I am doing what I believe to be right for me.
“I do my thing and you do yours. I am not in this world to live up to your expectations, and you are not in this world to live up to mine. You are you and I am I, and if by chance we find each other, then it is beautiful. If not, it can’t be helped.”
I’m exploring my journey now because I have been weening off my Prozac. Through many years of therapy and victories from difficult experiences, I believe I have gained the tools & knowledge necessary to leave the nest. Prozac has been my mother bird. While she’s unable to protect me from downpours and storms, she has provided a safe environment for me to grow. I recognize that it may now be the time for Mama Bird to push me out of the nest. My wings are fully equipped and I’m capable of soaring a little higher.
