THE SELECTIVE SEROTONIN REUPTAKE INHIBITOR
DIARIES, VOL. 1
by
Nathan Fuller - 10.24.03
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For years, I had resisted going on any sort
of anti-depressant. When Prozac first came out it developed
a sort of chic reputation, followed by a time when it was
very unfashionable, then becoming vogue again. At least, I
think that was the case. I really only had a vague notion
of it’s dithering public perception, but that was enough
to turn me off, as I try to avoid doing anything that seems
extremely, moderately, or not at all trendy. |
The other reason I didn’t try it is because I already take
enough pills a day. The pharmaceutical companies already have an
extreme financial interest in the majority of my body. But my brains…
them’s mine. It always seemed to me as if these mood enhancement
drugs change who you are. They rose questions of identity and the
light philosophical definition of self. I figured I would rather
be miserable than alter my personality. But then I figured a few
months ago, you only live once, so you might as well be doped up.
I came to this conclusion from after a few occurrences. A movie
I recommended to a friend as a “great comedy” made
her cry (Todd Solondz’s Happiness). I became despondent
for a week after benching the wrong players in a fantasy football
league. And I began to spend a lot of my afternoons listening
to Icelandic trance while watching Family Feud on mute.
In my opinion, the latter is actually quite fun as it allows you
to guess the original survey question according to the answers
that pop up on the board. Still, my doctor thought this was a
perfectly good reason to put me on Prozac.
In fact, after asking me if I wanted to talk to a psychologist
before trying medication and I told him I didn’t want to
talk to anyone, he hastily wrote a prescription. One thing he
warned me about were the sexual side effects that made achieving
orgasm a prolonged process, although that was “rarely a
problem for young guys like me”. The inference was that
he had confidence my new stamina would make me a certified fuck
machine. Deep down, though, I knew I would soon be lying in bed
having just disappointed my girlfriend (again) and my
doctor.
After our appointment he dropped me off at the nurses desk and
headed back down the hall when he turned around and said, “The
Prozac usually takes two weeks to see results.” Only he
put his hands around his mouth like he was making a bird call
and whispered when he said “Prozac”. I realized there
might be a social stigma attached to the drug and he was trying
to save me the embarrassment. I wasn’t embarrassed in the
least, but I felt compelled to tell the nurse “I’ve
got a rash…” before handing her my co-pay and leaving.
After two weeks of nothing, I coincidentally had an appointment
with another doctor who, after learning I was on the antidepressant,
asked me if “I believed in it”. This immediately signified
to me that Prozac is really nothing but a placebo that only works
if the patient “believes” it will. Needless to say,
even if it isn’t, there was no way it was going to help
now that I thought I knew what I had no way of knowing. The only
effects I noticed after two months were the sexual ones my physician
had mentioned, but at all the wrong times. My “special alone
time” is too much work, now, which makes me even more depressed.
I switched over to Paxil yesterday. As far antidepressants that
start with “P” and contain a weird letter in the middle,
it is definitely one of them. I will write all about it later.
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