Failing that, I’ll take a pound or two of flesh.

Thanks for a great comment.
Sherry

So I’ve taken meds, lots of meds, different meds, adjunctive meds, meds in tablet form, meds in capsules, meds in dosages well beyond those listed on the insert, and meds in combinations all of which were supposed to make my bad brain function like a normal brain. It was in-vivo chemistry on the wild side. Despite this I quickly learned not to mention side affects. After all, complaining about the side effects of the meds, or lord forbid discontinuing them, was tantamount to saying, “Hey shrink. I simply don’t want to get better. I want to wallow in my sea of depression.”

So here I am with my bad brain. And its pretty scary to think that so many of us are walking around with bad brains taking antidepressants that never worked as represented. I suppose one would assume that we would want our pound of flesh. An ounce for the hope misplaced. Two ounces for internalizing the message that we were fundamentally, genetically, biochemically broken. Three ounces for the years and dollars we invested in medication based treatment which didn’t work. Three ounces for the despair needlessly suffered when alternatives to medication were available but were claimed to be unnecessary. Five ounces for those who are no longer with us because those medications which were to have made the “real difference” didn’t. And two ounces for not achieving the very quality life so frequently portrayed in the advertisements for antidepressants.

Nope, all I want is an “Oops.” An “Oops” from the organizations that vigorously promoted anti-depressants but always claimed to have the interests of their constituents in mind. An “Oops” from the drug companies and an “Oops” from the prescribers. After all, they had bright, clear, unbroken brains …… maybe not.