Jagged Little Pill

24 Aug

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In the newest update of Mama’s Butt and Anxiety Saga, I’ve now spent two weeks taking Xanax when needed for my explosive butt disorder anxiety issues.

It’s worked fairly well but the number of days that I need to take medicine (in a non-addictive, stomach-wrenching because of nervousness and stress kind of way) have definitely out numbered the days that I can not take it.

Basically, the only days that I don’t have symptoms are the ones that I stay at home.

So my conclusion thus far is that I have three options:

(1) Stop taking Xanax and all other medications to be as healthy a vessel for a possible future baby as possible.

This option also requires me to wear adult diapers and be bald, as I would have literally pulled all my hair out due to stress. Oh, and I’d probably turn in to an agoraphobic hermit, too.

(2) Keep taking Xanax, become addicted, quickly become a crack whore and die in a dirty alley somewhere giving a homeless dude a hand job for a swig of Pepto.

Not horrible, but not ideal.

(3) Switch medications to something daily to manage my anxiety and pair with therapy to gain coping and management techniques.

From what I’ve read online (because if it’s on Wikipedia, it must be true) is that this option means that most likely my future children will resemble a potato in form and have the intelligence of a moldy piece of cheese. If I’m lucky, I will be able to teach my misshapen potato babies to grunt the ABCs and how to do some menial yard work (because why else do people have children? I have weeds to be pulled, people.)

Man, doesn’t a baked potato with the works sound so good right now?

But I digress.

Actually, the anecdotal evidence online suggests that a medicine, like Zoloft, probably won’t horribly deform my future Cletus the Fetus any more than my natural genetics will so I’ve decided to make the switch from Addictive Pill Poppin’ Mama to Official Crazy Pill Popping Mama.

And, of course, I call them “crazy pills” with all due respect. “Happy pills” make them sounds like their made out of unicorn droppings by leprechauns and “brain pills” sound like some sort of futuristic robot experiment (Soilent Green is People!!)

The next step of the Saga is to get an appointment with a therapist to discuss coping mechanisms so (hopefully) I won’t have to take the crazy pills forever. While I’m totally surprised by how nonchalant I am with pill-popping, (because, well, who isn’t popping pills?), I’m hesitating on contacting a real honest-to-god psychologist. Because, therapy? Isn’t that for broken people?

This coming from someone with a B.A. in Psychology.

Yeah, I’m kind of an asshole. (surprise!)

But I swear I’m going to make an appointment to chat with someone in the next few weeks. Somehow I just envision laying on some sweaty dark leather coach while some creepy old dude asks questions about sexual repression (uh, none of your business creepy dude. I prefer to discuss private matters like that on my blog.) and my fear of clown dolls (because, well, duh. Poltergeist, anyone?)

'nuf said.
Song title: Jagged Little Pill by Alanis Morissette

3 Responses to “Jagged Little Pill”

  1. Lin August 24, 2009 at 7:39 am #

    ha ha…I laughed so hard at option 2! Thanks for making my 4am wake up worth it :)

    Sucks that you have to take pills to deal with your anxiety issues but it happens (my mom is a fellow pill popper). Good luck!

  2. Aunt Becky August 24, 2009 at 1:15 pm #

    I took SSRI’s when I was pregnant with Mimi. It beat the hell out of suicide, right? I wish you luck, my friend.

  3. Pearl Wisdom August 25, 2009 at 8:27 pm #

    Duuuude! Crack whores get pregnant really, really easily. Justsayin.

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