Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Day 1.28 A Pill

I don't know what this means in literal terms.

I have zero insight as to what it could possibly represent to followers of Freud.

All I know is this: At approximately 0245 last night, in the midst of another of my now regular anxiety dreams, this phrase was crucial in keeping me from sudden catastrophe: SHOUT FROM BEHIND.

That is correct. In order to keep from REM disaster of the most permanent variety, I had to get out of bed, stand tall and yell.


So I did.

Upon execution of this subliminal command, I was left standing beside my futon wearing nothing but embarrassment.

Lucky that my neighbors are all visiting warm and exotic ports of call.

Maybe this twisted little morsel came as a result of my telling of the story earlier in the day, by request, of my doctors opinion of my mental state.

To be fair, I like my PCP, she is very talented and compassionate with a masters in bedside manner. But she is a doctor. And doctors will sometimes go to great lengths in the attempt to pacify by placebo. They like to prescribe.

She tried to convince me that I was depressed. The dialogue went something like:

You're depressed.
No I'm not.
Yes you are.
(louder) NO I'm not!
Look at all the bad stuff that has happened to you in the last year.
How can you NOT be depressed after all that?
Because I practice.
Practice what?
Being happy no matter what.
So despite all this physical, financial, romantic, employment and emotional trauma, you are able to stay happy?
Yes, most of the time.
Ah ha! So not all the time?
When are you not happy?
When I have weird anxiety dreams commanding me to do strange things.
I want you to take Zoloft.


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