Okay, we'll talk a break from the origin story for a minute. I went to the pharmacy this morning to pick up my new prescriptions. 1 script for sertaline (generic for zoloft) and the other for lorazepam (ativan). As an RN (oh yeah, did I tell y'all I was a nurse?), I knew about both extensively and the latter, even moreso. And the latter scares the bejeezus out of me.
See, ativan is that magic drug you give 5150's when they're a little schizo. Ativan is what you quickly push into an IV during a seizure, or if a patient is about to stab you in the face with a spork. Ativan is what you give in the psych hospital when your patient won't stop scream-singing "Sweet Caroline" at 3AM. Ativan is for the crazies.
So, beyond just the internal struggle in my head with the obvious question "Am I seriously that crazy?", I was just intimidated by the medication. Granted, it's a quarter of a full-on "that bitch be cray-cray" dose. It's an anti-anxiety med that is supposed to help curb my pulling until the zoloft builds up in my system. The zoloft, a common form of an anti-depressant, is starting off at half of a standard 25mg dose for 5 days, and then moves up to a whole pill daily. Tiny little blue pill, scored in the middle. The shade of blue is actually quite lovely. An Alice In Wonderland kind of blue, which I suppose is fitting.
"EAT ME"
Curiouser and curiouser.
I guess I better reveal what all I'm taking this for. When I was 13, I was diagnosed with trichotillomania, a disorder that causes me to impulsively, often obsessively, pull out my hair. It affects 2-5% of the general population and is still a relatively unknown disorder. But as time goes on, more and more people are becoming aware of it and self-diagnosing as well. It affects everyone differently; some people pull out their eyelashes or brows or pick at their skin or nails. I pull out my head hair, and haircuts are really, really uncomfortable now.
More on the subject: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trichotillomania
To be diagnosed, supposedly, it actually has to get to a point where the pulling causes "significant emotional distress". I don't know if I have that, I mean...I guess I do. But I've lived with it long enough, so I decided to see someone about it. And that nifty thing called medical insurance facilitated the process.
So now I'm popping pills.
I sat in my car outside the pharmacy this morning. Staring at this tiny blue pill. The zoloft. The SSRI that's supposed to fix my broken seratonin and dopamine levels. The one that takes 4-6 weeks to start working it's chemical magic. Doctor Man said not to take it on an empty stomach. I broke the pill in half, placed one side back into the bottle, and one half in my cup holder for safe-keeping. I hit up a McDonald's drive-thru and after eating a hash brown, I downed the pill with some diet coke.
If I'm lucky, the pill will work. If I'm lucky, I'll be taking this medication for life. If I'm lucky, it'll only change me for the better.
I'll talk more about my diagnosis, the symptoms I experience, and the prescribed drugs later. All I really wanted to say today was
I took the blue pill.
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