Monday, August 9, 2010
Yes, I will get back to both my weight loss journey and blogging about it. But for now, I have to get the whole “going home for the funeral of the father I barely knew” story out of my head and into written form.
So, starting today, here is the story of that journey.
Part 1, 1 p.m. Friday
I'm sitting on Mom's couch in Livermore, Ky., and I am wondering how many potato chips can possibly be in her tiny Lay's bag across the room.
"Crunch, chew, chew. Crunch, chew, chew.
“CRUNCH, CHEW, CHEW!"
Wow, I’m irritable. And sad. But really, really irritable.
Today's Friday, I recall. Oh, thank God.
I can take my antidepressant.
I started on Pristiq last year when I felt I had nowhere else to turn. I had just had a baby, lost my job, my marriage was suffering, and I had just decided that spending all that money taking classes toward a teaching degree that had the potential to be worthless in hard-knock Michigan was not the best plan.
I was lost.
My marriage counselor had suggested I might benefit from an antidepressant, considering the "circumstances."
"Marriage counselor." I use the term loosely. My husband and I had gone to her only a few times and stopped after she fell asleep during our last session.
Anyway, I went to my OB/GYN and explained the “circumstances,” including the counselor’s suggestion, and he prescribed the antidepressant.
Since losing weight, getting a job, etc., I have been in the process of weaning off the Pristiq for the past month and a half or so.
I went from a pill each day to every other day, to every three days, to now, two times a week. I took one on Monday, and now it's Friday. Pill day. Praise the lord and pass the bottle.
I'll do this for another couple of weeks.
My doctor had diagnosed me with "situational depression," so I guess if I can steer clear of any more "situations," I'll be off the happy pills.
At this very moment, I'm skeptical.
And today, I have a situation.
To be continued …