A few months ago, I went to a doctor, knowing that I needed treatment for a worsening condition. He gave me a temporary diagnosis, informing me that it would take at least a few more visits for him to figure out exactly what’s going on.
Since that first visit, I’ve been going through two-week trials of various drugs prescribed to ease my symptoms. Some provide immediate relief and others require more of a commitment, taking at least a month’s use to start showing effects.
I don’t like the idea of waking up each morning and taking a pill, keeping other pills on hand during the day for emergencies, and taking yet another pill before going to bed. People have started calling me a pill popper, a label I can’t even protest because it’s true: I have become a pill popper.
And while I do notice some of my symptoms disappearing, sometimes I wonder whether the side effects or even the routine are worth the benefits.
This weekend has been my vacation from all of the drugs. I feel fine, but I can’t ignore that feeling that I’ll be back to being not fine next week. Which makes me feel dependent, which makes me feel worse.
On a happier note — I’ve started writing again. No idea if any of it will appear here any time soon (or ever), but I’m happy to report that I am officially “unblocked.”