Day One

I was psyched to start my new happy pills today but there is one little hitch. These new pills, these magic pills that make people shed weight like crazy and break into song because they are so damn happy, don't play well with caffeine. As in, if I drink caffeine while I'm on this medication I could HAVE A SEIZURE AND DIE. This might be a problem considering I need a soy latte, a cup or two of chai, and a few cups of green tea to get through the day.

But, I'm going to be a nerd here and beat this language like it was statutory and say could just as easily means could not. It's definitely not the same as will. So now, if I drink caffeine while taking my magical happy pills I could not have a seizure, but lose lots of weight and be super happy. See how much better that sounds?

Fat Chick

I quit taking Zoloft six months ago. The "experts" don't recommend you quit cold turkey, but I did because I was desperate. I thought the Zoloft was making me fat and I decided that I would rather be an unhappy skinny person than a blissed-out fat person. Yeah, there were probably other factors at work like my love for Cherry Garcia, but I had always eaten ice cream with abandon and never worried about fitting into my jeans.

But I know Zoloft is to blame for some of my weight gain because my weight fluctuated so wildly while I was on it. In the first two weeks of taking it, I lost eleven pounds. It was all downhill from there and I gained twenty-four pounds in three months with no changes in my eating or exercise habits.

I quit taking it but there was no change in my weight. So, I went back on it because, hello, I was still depressed. I experienced another ten pound weight loss and for awhile I actually began to think Zoloft was making me lose weight and if I just stuck with it that I would easily lose the twenty pounds of baby weight I was still carrying. Eighteen months later, I was FORTY pounds overweight. After two years on Zoloft, I had ballooned from a size 4 to a size 14. I stopped taking Zoloft midway through the first of six refills and I haven't looked back.

I upped my exercising and vowed to be a more conscientious eater. I lost ten pounds. Not good enough. To date, I'm still fat and very, very depressed about it. So I'm ready to try a new drug. One that I have heard will help my depression and also help me lose weight. I won't name the drug here, it doesn't matter, because I've already decided to try it. I am a desperate woman. I need some results. I miss my skinny jeans. I miss my cute dresses. But most of all, I miss the girl I used to be before I became a fat chick.

My Arms Are Tired From Shoveling All This Shit

I'm sick. I'm sick of running around like a chicken with my head cut off. I'm sick of buying textbooks I will never read, but cannot return, because I'm switching boring, early morning classes for other later, more interesting ones. Yes, I'm fickle and neurotic but you knew this, so don't pretend like I'm not that girl who has been bitching and complaining the whole way through this law school thing.

I've also been sick, which is no big surprise. Law school makes me sick. The stress caused by the commencement of law school, the girl's school, Bubba's high-pitched screams at my retreating figure during preschool drop-off, my inability to be as good a mom/wife/employee as I would like to be, and my uber-critical mom coalesce into a perfect ball of shit that lands right smack atop me every August.

Today I had class at 4:10pm. I had to bend time in order to make it to my class. Soccer dad, who is not even related to us, left work early to pick up Olie, my child, from school and take her to soccer practice so that I could hustle my ass to the city in time for my class. I had five minutes to spare. I am finally home and completely wiped out. I need to pack lunches, lay out clothes, order food, read for school, set up play dates, administer and ingest cold medicine all while fighting sleep and the lure of the internet.

Honestly, I'm no good at this. I can do one thing very, very well but when I try to do several things well, I tend to fail miserably or - usually - I sink into a quagmire of guilt and I do something drastic. I am at this moment stuck in that quagmire and taking stock.

Backing Away From the Edge

Back on the medication. Only half of the normal dose but still groggy...so, I took a long afternoon nap with Bubba. TheraFlu and SSRIs probably don't mix too well, but I'm fighting a sudden and nasty summer cold and extreme depression, so hazy days are in order for a while.

The Soul of A Madwoman

When I was seventeen years old, I wrote dark poetry about death and murder and Satanism. I read books like this and embraced the underbelly of life portrayed in my favorite cult movies Bad Lieutenant and Reservoir Dogs. I ran with a local street gang but was too scared to officially join or get "jumped in."

By my senior year of high school, I had already lost two friends to gang related shootings. I regularly attended class drunk or high, had driven while drunk, and attended parties where "cool parents" sold jell-o shots and ciggies to those of us willing to pay. I tried - and failed - to commit suicide at least twice. Most of my clique idolized death and had been in juvie at least once. My boyfriend was a drug dealer four years my senior.

I was also an honor student and a two sport varsity athlete. I faked it enough to make it - earning an academic scholarship to the state university - but I was unable to shed my hard partying ways. After getting arrested one night, I dropped out of college and moved in with my new boyfriend of three months - in another state - who worked with a drug dealer. I tried LSD and cocaine for the first time at nineteen; I know how starlets get hooked. Cocaine is a total mind fu*k and you feel as though you can do anything and that you are the funniest, sexiest, most interesting person in the world. Plus, it's a great appetite suppressant.

Then, I got pregnant, got married, moved to Colorado, went back to college, and found a new buddy who loved clubbing as much as I did. We partied into the night, often walking the five blocks from downtown Boulder to my friend's house, alone. On the rare nights I went home, my favorite cabbie knew my name and my house number.

Throughout all of this not one person who knew me as "Lawschoolmom: mother and wife" really knew me. Not one person suggested I go to counseling or rehab or...anything. Only now, over a decade later, do I realize how narrowly I escaped death and prison. Only now, do I realize the impact my family history of bipolar disorder and depression has on my life. With each day, I feel as though I creep closer to the edge of madness and farther away from reason. I feel myself losing this battle and I feel helpless and just so utterly tired.

Life in a Coma

For the most part, Zoloft is the little blue pill of miracles. Of course, if you are at all like me then you can never remember to take it at the same time each day and one day drags into the next day and into the next day and then - well - you're crazy and have to start all over again. That's me - crazy and starting a new round with the miracle pill.

So far so bad. I had blocked out the bone-crushing fatigue and the general feeling that can only be described as hazy. Today, I took a two hour nap with Bubba. It was so nice. Really, taking Zoloft is like being permanently baked every single day of your life except without the munchies and without the stigma. I'm not lazy or irresponsible just depressed! Although, either one or both together is really a-ok in this fair city of mine.

I am still waiting for the "good" side effect to kick in: the insane weight loss. But, as of today, I still have a serious jones for Entemanns' brownies and my ass still has its own zip code. All in due time, I suppose.

Bad Day

I am having a very bad day. I'm almost out of my happy pills so I took a smaller dose, today and I feel...unhinged. So much so that I threw my son's toy across the room because he was thisclose to tangling it up in my computer cords and smashing my beloved iBook to bits. That cannot happen. So, the toy took a flying leap and a full-on tantrum ensued.

I am having a very bad day. A day that demands I gorge myself on copious amounts of Cherry Garcia. A day where momma gets to lie in bed and hide her head beneath the blankets and just be and cry. A day where I don't want to hear big-lipped Daniel Powter sing about his bad day. A day when all the shit in my life hits me: I am budgeting-challenged; I have lost my ambition; there's never enough time/money/energy to do the things that I would like to do and - well - it sucks.

No amount of happy pills are going to change that. So. Just. Leave. Me. Be. And, for fuck's sake, make a quiet exit.

Angst

It's pretty scary when I admit things to myself. The inner voice that's been whispering just beyond the haze jumps out and yells at me wehn I least expect it. Today, while sitting in traffic, it spoke up: You DO want to be a lawyer. Not for any noble cause or because you think the work is exciting (it's not) but because you want to make "crazy money" like your classmates who went to work for the ambulance chaser shyster. I want the $2400/wk job. I want all the trappings that go with it, too. Long work days are nothing compared to long work at home days. And, I haven't quit this job, yet.

I want to spend money like I used to when I was working -- with abandon. It was nothing to drop $150 in Vicki's. Hell, my husband didn't mind. Now, that $150 is earmarked for groceries not lingerie but I'll trade homemade dinners for sexy undies (almost) any day of the week. Of course, to get the $2400/wk job, I have to go back to law school and really try. No more blowing off class and readings. I have to become involved and do the kind of crap BIGLAW demands like journal work or moot court. I have to actually give a shit.

The scary part: I really don't think I can cut it. I'm afraid of failing miserably, bankrupting our family because I can't get a job and, because I have 160k in student loans, we'll have to sell one of the kids.

Pieces of Me

What a day it's been. First, my cat takes a chunk out of me while I'm (trying) to bathe his stupid ass. Not my fault he got out and rolled around in the dirt. Then, later this evening, my KID takes a bite out of me! Seems everyone wants a piece of mama. But can they handle it? Kitty got a bath he'll never forget. And Bubba, well...time-out was the best I could give but, yeah, it was way longer than the normal one year per age recommendation. C'mon, one minute of time-out? Why bother? Sixty minutes did the trick.

Silent Lucidity

Wow...I just noticed that it's been a long time since my last post. Kinda strange considering I don't have a whole lot of other stuff going on. But there is one exciting new development! I have finally found peace and it's name is Zoloft. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I admit it. I have always been one of the naysayers who believed depressed people could will themselves to feel better. It was only a matter of changing one's perspective. Not that there aren't people who really need to be medicated. I just felt as though we as a nation are at the point where we are over medicating. I still feel that way but now I count myself among those who have found salvation through anti-depressants.

I've always been prone to depression and the baby blues were worse after each pregnancy. But lately, I've changed. I yell A LOT for no reason at everyone. Little things like waiting in line or grocery shopping annoy me. I'm just on edge all the time. So, I talked to my doctor about it and she gave me some samples of Zoloft for the next two weeks to see how I feel. So far. So good. This stuff is great. I don't feel anxious. I'm more relaxed and I feel like I can just enjoy my day. And, I'm only on half a pill (quarter of a dosage) right now. I wonder what a full dose will be like? For now, though, I'm just happy to see some kind of change. I'll keep you posted.