The Pill Pusher

She pulls off the main road into the compound and is immediately transported to the 1970’s. Another world, hidden from the chaos outside. As April winds her way up the hill to the parking lot she begins to think that zen-type music should be playing. You know, with a citar and the gentle sound of chimes.

Passing the day hospital, she wonders what they do there. Is it for experiments on the mentally ill? She avoids looking at the sprawl of the psychiatric hospital to the left–the scar on the beauty of the compound. The place nobody wishes their worst enemy would have to visit.

With a hurried step, she walks across the bridge leading to the office building. She’s in awe at the splattered colors of Autumn on the bridge. She’s late–so unlike her–the one who sometimes arrives an hour early–just in case. She admonishes herself for insisting on finishing just one more row of one of her knitting projects.

Opening the door to the reception area of the Pill Pusher (aka the psychiatrist), she is again transported to a different decade. The 70’s furniture and lamps, all a reflection of days long gone. Unfortunately for April, it creates more inner reflection of where her troubles began.

The hunched over Pill Pusher is never on time, and today was no exception. He finally opened the door and escorted her to his office. The office has nice comfy chairs but she notices the dust around the office must also be from the 70’s as well.

He begins telling her of his recent travel to Washington – the state – because he remembers she’s from the Seattle area. Patiently, she listens but her mind is not hearing what he’s saying because she wants to whine and get the hell out of there.

There is one little pill which is causing her grief. The thing is almost microscopic and if accidently dropped on the floor, it’s impossible to find. The pill packs a punch, helping April further accept who she is and how to live in spite of anxiety and clinical depression. However there are side effects that create a cycle of self-loathing. It raises her blood sugar, A1C, and causes weight gain.

She begs to taper off the little pill because she feels stronger now. The side effects of the tiny pill are making some of her recovery more difficult. The side effects are far outweighing any benefit.

As she whines about the weight gain, the Pill Pusher asks…”has your husband complained about your weight?” Holy crap, she thinks, is he not hearing what she is saying? The more weight she puts on the more she beats herself up. She is not happy with herself.

…..and another pill is removed from the cocktail, after a tapering off period. She will continue recovering and reminds herself of all she has learned about herself.

For the record, if one more torturer tells her she must exercise, she is going to blow her stack. She knows that is the answer to her poor self image, and that exercise would be a huge benefit. She believes it’s the one hurdle left as she drives home with 70’s rock music playing on the radio….feeling a bit victorious.


About April

I'll come back to this when I find out who I really am. I've been through some extremely rough patches but they have made me a better person. I blog if my brain is functioning first thing in the morning.
This entry was posted in Anxeity and Depression, Depression and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

10 Responses to The Pill Pusher

  1. aviets says:

    Sounds like a success story to me. But what the hell was with that question about whether your husband has complained about your weight? How is that relevant AND does this guy think he’s living in an episode of “Mad Men?” That was just WAY out of line.

    • April says:

      Old fart, old ways. I think it’s time to move on. I think I need a second opinion and all. Surely I can manage depression and anxiety without so many different pills.

  2. April says:

    Yes, the question made me stare at him and blink my eyes a couple of times since we were talking about how I feel about myself and what my weight gain does to my mind. You know….I may just have to seek out a new pill pusher. A younger one who may have a better plan which doesn’t include so much medication. I’m going to look…..

  3. Glynis Jolly says:

    I wonder if there are any doctors who have a grip of any sort on the personal horrors of being overweight in our society.

    I liked this 3rd person angle. Well written, April.

    • April says:

      I didn’t see this comment. I kind of have a twisted thought about letting myself gain the extra weight. I felt I could be invisible that way….that nobody would pay attention to me. I know, twisted but I’m working on it and my health as well.

  4. mewhoami says:

    It’s good to hear that he listened to your requests about getting off that pill. It frustrates me a little that he asked about your husband complaining about your weight. It’s not them we’re so concerned about, it’s our own self image – the way we feel. Our husbands can love our bodies, but if we don’t, it really makes no difference at all. I can tell he’s a man. Haha

  5. Elouise says:

    I vote Yes to moving on–finding another doctor (maybe a woman???) who can think and speak clearly, directly and to the point! I loved your 3rd person account and (especially) your observation about the age of the dust in the room!

  6. CAROL GARNER says:

    Love you.

  7. You are really in a great personal development April, so nice to see 😀
    A younger doctor could be a good idea.
    Now I know that you like music, what about dancing a little crazy at home?
    I re-read a quote from a Native American about depression. Sorry I don’t remember all, but he said very clearly: When did you stop dancing? When did you stop singing?
    I noticed this because I need to start doing that again.

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