Special K

I’m so sick of pills. I hate them all. I hate that I need them to live my life. I hate that I have to be dependent on something smaller than my fingernail to get through the day.

There’s the 60 mg Cymbalta pill, half green, half dark blue, the biggest of all the ones I take. That’s my anti-depressant. It works for the most part, and it took over two years to finally get me on one that didn’t cause me to empty the contents of my stomach every five minutes or one that didn’t backfire and cause me to become more depressed. And I went through probably 75% of the anti-depressants on the market before I got settled, and then of course we had to get the dosage right.

Then there’s 40 mg of Vyvanse, my little ADHD pill, the one that helps me focus and keeps me awake. It’s half white, half sea-green, and fairly small. This was the replacement for the 54 mg Concerta pill I’d been on since 6th grade. I was reluctant to change something that worked, but it was pretty much my own fault since the insurance company wouldn’t pay for any more Concerta after I overdosed on it. That was the most unpleasant night of my life, bar-none. But I digress.

Last, and perhaps least, is the smallest pill, my little round Clonozepam, 0.5 mg twice a day. Once in the morning, with the other two, and again at dinner. This is supposed to be for my anxiety. But quite frankly, it doesn’t do anything at all. But my Psych said I can’t stop taking it or I’ll suffer withdrawals. That’s part of another issue altogether, which I’ll get to momentarily.

And now there’s a new pill. This one won’t last long, and I’ve actually just stopped taking it altogether. It’s called… Trazidone, I think? Something like that. It’s a generic anti-depressant. My Psych says it’s a really weak anti-depressant, but that’s not what I’m using it for. Trazidone is also, more or less, a sedative. The general idea is that it’s supposed to help me fall asleep, to prevent nights like these where I end up staying up all night due to insomnia or fear of sleeping through class. Which has been basically every night for the past month, and counting. Needless to say, it knocked me out. But it also did exactly what I feared it would- it kept me knocked out for 12 hours, and I was exhausted for the rest of the day. So, as per Psych’s instructions, the next night I cut the pill in half. It didn’t work as well putting me to sleep, but I was tired all day today. I’m still tired, but I can’t sleep. I also have a splitting headache, probably withdrawals, even though I’ve only taken the damn thing twice.

Well, at least I can now be fairly certain that the insomnia and anxiety are being caused by my Hyperthyroid condition.

I’ll admit, I almost cried when I found out, simply because all I could think was, “Great, there’s something else wrong with me. What a loser.” Oh, and on top of all of this, I’m potentially diabetic. The blood tests were the kind where you couldn’t eat for eight hours before, and my blood sugar was high. Apparently it runs in the family, hardcore. So that’s great.

It’s times like these when I begin to wonder, what’s the point of trying? What’s the point in fighting all of this shit that keeps piling up? Why bother getting out of bed in the morning? Why keep going? People keep saying it’s going to get better. They keep saying it can’t get any worse. And every day of my life continues to prove them wrong on both counts.

I feel like, when I started college, months of hard work in therapy and months of trying to find the right pills and finally succeeding, all went out the window. I feel like I’m back to square one where my two goals in life are: make it through the day without breaking down, and make it through the day without trying to kill yourself. My parents keep asking me why I haven’t made friends yet. I’m just trying to stay afloat in my classes and barely succeeding. The thought of social interaction, especially with people I don’t know, scares the hell out of me. Just thinking about it freaks me out. I can’t handle basic human interaction. So instead I hide in my room all day.

When does it all end? People keep telling me things will get better, and I really, really wish I could believe them.

But I can’t believe them anymore than I can believe in God. And that ship sailed a longggggg time ago.

I’ve lost all faith in humanity. Read anything by Kozol, or watch the news, and you probably will too. I’ve lost all faith in religion. I no longer have faith in any other human beings, because they’ve all let me down, even my parents. Especially my parents.

But honestly, I can handle all of that. I’ve come to expect that the world is just one great big let-down.

The one thing I can’t handle is that I have lost all faith in myself.

And the thing I’ve learned over the years about faith is that once you’ve lost it, it’s nearly impossible to get it back.