mizChartreuse || redefiningSuccess

If you’re new to this blog, you may want to check out part I of “Possibility Girl” here.‘

In the first installment of “Possibility Girl,” I wrote about seeking medical assistance from a doctor for what I thought was an ADD problem because I was having trouble focusing on my multiple projects and hectic life. The doctor gave me a 2-month prescription for 10 milligrams of Prozac to be taken once daily, and referred me to the UIC Psychiatry department for further counseling. I filled the prescription and started taking the drug in the hopes that it would “fix” me. I also started exercising three to four days a week as opposed to the two or three times a month where I got the motivation to get off the couch and go to the local YMCA.

I didn’t feel very extreme emotions in either direction, but I also didn’t have the feeling of numb emotionless-ness that many people report with antidepressants. I just felt “normal,” whatever that means. But could I attribute it to the pill? Or was it the fact that I was staying active, being social with my friends, and that the weather was getting nicer? I mean, ten milligrams of Prozac isn’t very much, when the average user takes around 40 milligrams. But then again, I was never suicidal nor bouncing off the walls manic to begin with.

Society’s views on mental health are severely skewed and stigmatized. In recent mental health news, the DSM is removing “bereavement” (grief over a loved one’s death) as an exclusion for the symptoms of depression.

Dr. Allen Frances, the famous psychiatrist and a former editor of the DSM, says that more and more, psychiatry is medicalizing our experiences. That is, it is turning emotions that are perfectly normal into something pathological.

“Over the course of time, we’ve become looser in applying the term ‘mental disorder’ to the expectable aches and pains and sufferings of everyday life,” Frances says. “And always, we think about a medication treatment for each and every problem.”

From Frances’ perspective, if you can’t feel intense emotional pain in the wake of the death of your child without it being categorized as a mental disorder, then when in the course of human experience are you allowed to feel intense emotional pain for more than two weeks?

Mental illness runs in my family—I grew up experiencing my father’s extreme bipolar episodes where he’d either lie in bed for days or stay up cleaning the house and writing “divine inspiration” for days, telling us he was going to be the next President of the United States because “those idiots” couldn’t get it right. Nevermind the fact that both my parents were born and raised in Zambia, Africa—and it’s obviously impossible for a foreigner to be the POTUS.

My parents subsequently divorced after I decided to run away from home at 17 when I couldn’t take the madness anymore. Needless to say, one of things I’m most scared of is losing my mind and not realizing it.

A month later, I had a follow-up appointment at that same doctor’s office. I paid the $30; sat in the examining room. The doctor checked my heartbeat, asked if I felt better, I said yes, and that was it. Oh, and my blood tests had come back normal, so I didn’t have a thyroid problem. But I could have just assumed that, since the office hadn’t called me after my tests a month earlier.

Damn, I paid $30 for that? Couldn’t I have just called her? I wondered. Oh, healthcare.

When I contacted UIC’s Psych department for counseling, I was told that there was no program available to help cover the costs of mental health issues. Absolutely nothing.

So, my 2-month prescription ran out, and the doctor at my inital healthcare place had made it clear that she wasn’t a psychiatrist and didn’t like writing prescriptions just anyhow (even though she had just done that for me, ahem). Without health insurance, I was shit out of luck and forced to face the world without a little blue pill to pop every day.

And I felt fine. Doctors warn about stopping medication cold-turkey, but I really didn’t feel much different in the following weeks and months—probably because I wasn’t taking very much to begin with. I also think that spending a lot of time working out has helped my outlook, not to mention this gorgeous summer we’ve had this year and my jam-packed social schedule with parties and gatherings with my dear, wonderful circle of friends.

Recently, I stumbled upon a video on TED.com about how evolutionary factors inform how individuals function. The speaker discussed how people descendent of sub-Saharan Africa fare better in warmer climates. We darker people can handle excessive sun and thrive off the constant Vitamin D, which is lacking in Chicago for, oh, seven months out of the year.

My parents moved to the Michigan shortly after marrying so my father could finish his Master’s Degree, and that’s where I was born. I still wonder—what kind of Africans decide to leave paradise and move to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan? If I were really crazy, I’d cry “child abuse” for them raising me and my younger siblings in the Midwest. Our winters suck! Maybe I just need to move to the south.

My short experience with prescription drugs showed me many things about healthcare and life. Chemical imbalances are real, but just because someone doesn’t act according to the norm doesn’t necessarily mean they need a prescription to make them a zombie. It goes beyond just taking pills, however–I believe that medication coupled with counseling treatment can be a great key for many people. But what do I know? I was only taking 10 mgs/day and had no choice but to quit, so perhaps I’m just making the most of my situation.

For me–an angsty, free-spirited flower girl who just likes to do what she wants and lives life to have fun–I don’t necessarily feel that I need to take a drug every day just because I can be irritable with my loved ones and I hate winter. Oh, how I hate the winter. Since trying and inadvertently quitting Prozac, I’ve come to realize that my mental well-being is more dependent on how hard I work, coupled with how hard I play and focus on the things that make me happy.

At least for now. This isn’t to say I wouldn’t appreciate a head-to-toe psychiatric evaluation, but as I’ve said, most creatives are just fucking crazy, and we should embrace the madness.

Nobody is always bouncing off the walls happy, but I now make a conscious effort to spend more time writing, working out, and being with my friends. Life’s a rollercoaster, and often, how we choose to ride the waves can make all the difference.