Several weeks ago, I stopped taking Prozac after what must be 8 years, maybe more…I don’t know exactly. I don’t feel particularly different. I’ve been reducing my dosage for several years, down from 20mg to 3mg before I stopped entirely.
Previous attempts at stopping resulted in alarming and dramatic brain freakouts, granted, they were cold turkey attempts, the likes of which the internet screeched at me not to ever ever try. I tried. I tried and died.
Now. Now I feel much the same. Just like me. Only, without the drugs. I always expected without the drugs I would feel different. Maybe somehow clearer (my hopeful side), or more creative (still my hopeful side)…. but really, I just feel like me. Still. Maybe Prozac has merged with me and I am now meandprozac. Sonehow it’s disappointing, but also, I’m happy that I’m not taking drugs every day that may one day cause hideous side effects, and am somehow still just me.
And, I am not more depressed. Nor less depressed. Just me. I seem to have learned over the years that I can be me, and still live in this world of ours. I don’t have to be one of those happy people, or sociable people, or otherwise normal people you’d want to speak to at a party. In fact, I hate parties. But I can be me, with or without drugs. If I just act at being me, then somehow life is easier. Not fantastic, but ok, and ok is all I ever really was aiming for. Sometimes, ok was more than I ever thought I’d achieve.