Tuesday night I stared at a bottle of Zoloft while a feverish debate ran through my head. Take it? Or don’t take it?
After reading a jillion opinions on the matter, plus every bit of internet research I could find, I told myself that I would take it when I went to bed. I dreaded it. It made me panicky. I said so to anyone who would listen. At 2 am, I sat up watching infomercials to avoid bed, and the Zoloft. Finally, I knew it was time to bite the bullet; the little green 50 mg bullet.
I had spent the entire day (or rather the last 18 months) worried about all the abstract problems with taking that pill. To me, it was more about the principle, and the tiny risk that it could pose to my nursling or baby-to-be. It never occurred to me, for some reason, that the pill itself would make me so sick I could hardly move.
I swallowed the pill at 2:30 am. At 3:34 am, I woke up in writhing pain. My stomach felt twisted in knots. After spending some time in the bathroom, I made it back to bed. At 4:45, the pain woke me up again. This shooting-pain-bathroom-cycle continued all night long until my children’s hunger dragged me out of bed to start the day.
As soon as I stood up, I knew this was going to be a lay-in-pajamas-and-watch-TV-ALL-DAY type of day. The kids put on their movies, and I sweated in the bathroom. My gut, from my throat to my thighs, was on fire. The husband came home around 5:45 and I immediately left the room to take my shower. I wasn’t speaking to him anyway after a fight on Monday night about his general insensitivity toward my health complaints. Remember what the husband, Shep, was like in the movie “Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood?” That’s mine. I could be laying catatonic on the floor and he’d insist that I’d be fine if I just ate something. But I suppose it takes that type of quiet man to be married to women who are as loquacious as Vivi and I are.
After I came out of the shower, I laid with my head in a towel, feeling my body being dragged toward the floor with two times the force of normal gravity. I could hardly move. I could hardly lift my head. I’ve never felt so physically depressed in all my life, like a boulder was sitting on me.
I felt like I had poisoned myself. Intentionally, no less.
I started to think, “If I just make it out of this, I’ll never do that to my body again.” All the crying, the sadness, the anxiety, and the anger that I was trying to medicate away suddenly seemed far easier to cope with than a life of being anchored to the floor by chemicals. If the pill’s job was to make me appreciate the life I had before I started taking it, then mission accomplished.
I don’t remember having this reaction to Zoloft the first time, but I also know my body has become far less tolerant of things than it used to be. I DO know that I’m done with pharmaceuticals though. That Zoloft took a day and a half off my life that I’ll never get back. I know some people say that it takes getting used to, and the side effects will subside if I keep taking it, but no. I’m not putting myself through that for one more day. I started to truly understand the warning on the label that said “May cause suicidal thoughts or tendencies.” I don’t need anything making me feel worse than I do, especially not now.
So now, I’m not sure what to try. People have suggested a million things to me, but I feel like I need to see a specialist who will know exactly what to put ME on. I don’t know where to find such a specialist, and I think most doctors will just try pushing the pills back on me. I’m certainly not trying another one of those naturopaths, and I have no money to sink into acupuncture and the million other things my insurance doesn’t cover.
Or maybe I just exercise more, eat better, and make a concerted effort to enjoy life. All of that just seems a little too exhausting right now, though.



















I've been reading you for about 3 years now. I found you right after my unecessarian. I just wanna say that i am a single mother, full time college student (with a 4.0), and I work full time. I can't get government assistance because I don't get child support. It's hectic. I graduate in 11 months. I am stressed all the time! Who wouldn't be? I want to pull my hair out and cry about 50 times a day. Despite what people say I know that by showing my daughter that I can work and get a degree while raising her is going to make her proud of me. It's also going to show her she can do anything. You are gonna get through this and your children will know how hard you worked. To put it simply, you rock.
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