Thursday, December 20, 2007

The worms tickled my toes...

So I was reading my girly magazine the other day (I won’t mention the name of it because it’s almost as embarrassing to me as is the fact that I get excited about watching “The Hills” – Brody iz a playa 4 life and Spencer needs to, like, FOAD). Anyway, I read an article about depression meds and it got me thinking. When I was 19, my doctor suggested I start taking antidepressants soon after my grandmother died, but my boyfriend at the time said that I was just psycho and needed to get over myself and that he would break up with me if I took any drugs. He was the only person I knew in the town I just moved to and I thought he was right. Since I was young and silly and survived solely on 7 layer burritos from Taco Bell, I believed him and stayed miserable for a few years. Once I looked down and realized that I had balls, I broke up with him and started dating a new guy. One day while I was getting dressed, the new guy walked by me and jiggled my boobie. Boobies are supposed to jiggle. It isn’t like he tied it in a knot or tied it in a bow or threw it over his shoulder like a continental soldier or anything. He just gave it a shove and delighted in the aftershock. I freaked out. “What the hell was that?? Oh my God! You think I’m fat! I’M FAT! Why do you hate me?!” and I flung myself on the bed and sobbed uncontrollably while he tried to convince his roommates that my muffled screams were due to The Shocker. The next day, I went to the health center and stocked up on Paxil. Love me some drugs!!! For the first month, I did not give a shit! I was like a zombie. Someone could have shredded every pair of bluejeans I own and I just woulda been like “wow, you pretty much suck” instead of the normal gouging of eyeballs and grinding of testicles. It felt good not to care. My doctor suggested I go to counseling in addition to the drugs, but who needs counseling when you have weed, antidepressants and alcohol? The new guy and I dated awhile then got engaged. A year later, he dumped me for a girl at his work. I had to find a new place to live and purchase all new everything. His family, whom I dearly loved, were snatched away from me. My life turned upside down. And so I decided that would be a good time for me to stop taking Paxil. I don’t know why. I just stopped. I didn’t taper off. I didn’t consult my doctor. After 4 years, I just decided I didn’t need them anymore. I started seeing a therapist. Holy crap. Therapy is the bomb, yo! I am not ashamed. I go about once a quarter. I pay this woman to sit there and listen to my petty bullshit about incidents similar to the boobie jiggle or about how I am traumatized for being forced to attend The Boat Show annually from ages 3-13. Fuck the Boat Show, ok? Fuck it. I hate boats now.

I went to therapy yesterday. I was in the waiting room and this cute guy walked in and struck up a conversation with me. Initially, I thought he would be a good match for my friend, Kat. Then I was all, “Crystal, you are in the Houston Psychological Clinic waiting room! The hell is wrong with you?! That man is crazy! I cannot be hooking my friends up with looney tunes! Jesus Christ.” Then I had to go because my shrink was ready for me.

My whole point is…drugs rock. Therapy rocks even better. Just because you take drugs doesn’t mean you can’t handle life – it means your brain is misfiring. If you had a hand that would suddenly and unexpectedly start snapping the beat to Yankee Doodle Dandy and there was a drug that would quell your unruly thumb and forefinger, you would take it. Just because you go to therapy doesn’t mean you’re crazy. Me? I am a whole bag of crazy. But that doesn’t mean you are. Everyone can benefit from some therapy. Every time I visit my therapist, she makes me feel so much better. I am easier to live with. (I am much easier in which to live?) She is great. Also, one day, she tried to get me to be a boar and pet myself. The name of the boar was Boar because she allowed me to name it and also because I am creative.

The End.


Blogger bronxbt said...

for the record, boobie jiggles rule, but only when asked for or permission is gained by one of those sexy sly looks you wimmins are so good at giving....

and well.. tho i can't do drugs like paxil and such due to a blood disease (no i don't have friggin aids) i'm a jealous of you.

heh heh. good to see you writing tho as always.

btw, i'm killing off WEASELONASTICK and have moved at that site to

sooo.. bookmark? happy holidays sweetie. thanks for always making me smile and realize my life isn't THAT bad... tee hee

2:27 PM  
Anonymous slug said...

I wish I had some drugs to make me not care when I don't want to. My doctor makes me feel like dealer when I even hint at wanting some. I wanted painkillers the time my knee got rolled in a soccer game and swelled up to the size of a basketball. I couldn't even sleep at night and the f*cker tells me to pick up some Advil on my way home.

4:03 PM  
Blogger The Grunt said...

I take a drug to try and relieve my anxiety (chemically induced by nasty chemotherapy) and it really does help. I cannot even tell you the hell of having anxiety come out of nowhere and turning absolute nothing into cause for alarm. Thank goodness for drugs, for sure.

P.S. I love your boar character's name.

5:42 PM  
Blogger Christie said...

Man, you are one fucked up bitch! Kidding, kidding, I swear that I am kidding. Our new insurance allows therapy, therefore, I am going to start going. Because I am a fucked up bitch. Oh, and DRUGS RULE!

6:14 PM  
Blogger tinyhands said...

Doing the math in my head, I figure we met shortly after you stopped taking the Paxil. That explains SO MUCH. Here, I thought it was me. Thank you.

6:57 AM  
Blogger Crystal said...

bronx - then you should eat hallucinogenic mushrooms every day. you will feel like a million bucks. will definitely bookmark your site!

slug - i have a dr. like that. i also have another dr. that will give me whatever i want over the phone. and when i can't get it, i just drink lots and lots of franzia. it helps!

grunt - you liked the name! you get it! that is why you are awesome. and i know what you mean about anxiety. it is a bitch. i am sorry you had to even feel it for a second.

christie - yay for fucked up bitches! i am now on the road to being just a bitch. i may kind of miss the fucked up part. but good luck with therapy. you will rock it out!

tinyhands - yep. when we met, i was a bit "off". not just because of the lack of meds, mind you. however, i must say that walking into a turquoise house is really sobering. :P

9:08 AM  
Blogger Kimberly said...

thanks for posting this... i think it's a really important topic that people are afraid to talk about. i don't know if you read but she just wrote a long post on how it is to live with depression and why people should give up the fight and just go on medication if it helps, or go see a counselor... it doesn't make you weak, it makes you STRONG because you did something and are honest.

you rock. :)

2:01 PM  
Blogger bryan torre said...

great post. i second all of it. and the only thing worse than having anxiety and depression is living with someone who has anxiety and depression.
no, wait: it's living with someone who has anxiety and depression and it's not treated and neither one of you know that that's what's going on.
just saying...

4:37 PM  
Blogger Anthony S. said...

...sometimes I laugh while reading your pussy troll stories (yes, I know you took it from somewhere else, but you made it your own pussy troll, since it is your own pussy treasure troll), but these are the posts that make me remember to look down my pants and find two big ones, (huevos que estan grandotes, me entiendes?), and remember that confessional blogging is what it's all about.

Thank you for reminding me what my weblog was for, and why I wrote it in the first place. You are one brave genius of a writer in the confessional sense. Merry Christmas, putita, and I wish you the best Feliz Ano Nuevo.

8:59 PM  

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