Tuesday, December 18, 2007

How It All Began Part 3
"How To Act and Dress When You Are Asking A Reputable Doctor For MASSIVE AMOUNTS of Drugs"

At this point, I know I am in the deepest depression I have ever experienced. When I was fourteen and my cousin Michael died in a skiing accident, I was not so much depressed right away as in an incredible amount of shock.

With David's death, there was shock and yet, I felt pulled into that deep dark place with it's vacuum like power, just taking me down. "I will not survive this." "I can't get on that plane." "I can't come back here... I can't go back to a job where we tell jokes and LAUGH all day. IT'S NOT FUNNY! NOTHING IS FUNNY ANYMORE. Nothing makes sense anymore."

I better get some drugs. If there ever was a time to get some prescribed drugs, NOW IS THE TIME.

I had already called the doctor and made the appointment. I KNEW ONE THING FOR CERTAIN. I wanted anti-depressants and I wanted sleeping pills. MASSIVE AMOUNTS OF SLEEPING PILLS. They need to be strong enough to overtake the crying, sobbing, howling, heaving, quiet screaming.

The anti-depressants, I had already done research on. Not for me, but for a guy I once dated. (That should HAVE TOLD ME SOOOOO MUCH. Hello red flag. Not because he was depressed but they have to want to get help on their own, ya know?) I knew what I wanted. PROZAC. They're pretty, white and blue and they don't make you gain weight.

EVEN IN MY GRIEF, vanity rules.

The other thing I knew is, if you are going to a reputable doctor, as I was, you cannot look like A HOT MESS, such as I did. They do not give you MASSIVE AMOUNTS OF DRUGS when you look and smell homeless. They have, like, standards, people. If I was going to get what I wanted, I needed to look and dress the part.

Only I couldn't. I couldn't even get out of bed. I forced myself, at the very least, just to get some Ambien so I could sleep. But I did not brush my hair nor my teeth. I did not even put on clothes, I just wore what I had climbed into bed in the day before. Sweats and some kind of top that made it (in my mind) easy to get away with not wearing a bra.

Okay, I thought as I drove over, you look half crazy. This is all going to be about ATTITUDE. DO NOT CRY. IF YOU CRY, YOU WILL NOT GET MASSIVE AMOUNTS OF DRUGS, which I am telling you, YOU NEED, or you will not be able to function. You will not be able to go to the funeral and you will not be able to come back from it.


But this doctor was not buying it and this doctor was not having it. He immediately hit me with some Prozac but he was not about to let a DEPRESSED MESS like myself who's cousin was just murdered, near any kind of sleeping pills. "PUH-LEEEEEEEEEEEEESE," I begged. "No," he said. That kind of authorotative "NO" that let me know I was already skating on thin ice. And if I wanted my Prozac prescription, I better just shut up. So I did. He gave it to me and I ran.

Because I had another plan to get what I wanted.