My New Drug

This is supposed to be my best friend now.

My mom got the prescription today, on the twelfth of August, although your screen will differ. It is probably at least a few months after I started taking this medicine. If my dad looks at my blog and sees that I'm taking Fluoxetine he'll freak. He has some sort of grudge against meds. When Ethan started taking Risperdal we had to keep it a secret from my dad. He was so mad when he found out. He chewed my mom out last week in our living room. I hate to think of what he would do when he found out that his other kid was taking meds. So I'm going to wait to post this, until he figures it out. I don't want him to freak again...

Now it is the seventh of October, and I told my dad about the Fluoxetine last month. He was probably mad but he hid it pretty well. I told him not to be mad at my mom for getting the prescription and he said he wouldn't. When I told my Mommy that I told him about the medicine she said yeah, he was probably mad.

But I still take it and it works. I don't worry half as much as I used to. It's generalized anxiety disorder and it sucks. But sometimes I want it back--as I have told my mother, I feel like it is a big part of me that can't leave.

I used to worry about ticks and how people thought of me and my appearance and all of those teensy weensy things that don't matter to a lot of people. Okay, maybe the appearance thing does, but all of the other tiny things.

I describe it as a box. Well, I described the depression that came in the package labeled "anxiety" as a box. To be more precise, I call it a purple box because depression is the color purple. I am trapped inside the box and I can see out of it but no one can see into it. I am invisible, but nobody else is invisible.

So no one can see me. So I get sad. So I get so sad that I become depressed. So I have low self-esteem. I feel that everyone is better than me. I get jealous. I get even sadder. I never socialize outside of school. I feel lonely. I get sadder.

This is what the anxiety does.

I distinctly remember the day my mom learned about the box. we were pushing Barrett in his stroller down to Second East and somehow the subject of worrying came up. We talked, and my mom inferred that the box is anxiety. I thought it was just depression and I didn't know what was making me sad. But she explained that the disorder was the cause of the depression which was the cause of the box--it all lead back to my disease.

I love being rid of the box. It is definitely gone. But only with the help of my "best friend"--Fluoxetine.

To express my sadness back in he "box days", I wrote poems about it. I might post one. Nobody ever read them, except for my dad when he came to visit. He, of course, had no idea what I was trying to say. The wording was vague. It hardly made sense to me, the authoress. It had only made sense when I was writing it.

At the end of the poem I wrote about escaping from the box and being happy. And that has happened!

I just really hate the taste of the liquid medicine I take. I don't take a pill because--ha ha--I'm scared that I will choke on it. An example of my many ridiculous worries.

I'm almost writing this like I'm writing about another person. It's kinda weird. Because I laughed at myself for being worried.

I feel safe taking liquid medicine, so I guess the idea of changing to a pill still scares me because I know that there is liquid meds available that I won't choke on... I guess that still doesn't make sense.

But the best thing is that I have escaped the box and am happy, all thanks to my, er, "best friend."