Alone

 

Patronizing Much

I have shown this doodle to other people before, but no one seemed to understand it, so I’m trying again here. Comments are appreciated.

 

Anti-depressants From Hell

I’ve just started taking Prozac from Hell to try to escape from the Hell that is my everyday existence by living in the Hell that comes from taking Prozac from Hell. In other words, depression may suck, but Prozac sucks as well. I’ve been on Prozac before, but the symptoms I’m experiencing this time are different. Stomachache, headache, feeling constantly cold but most importantly, a general feeling of “bleh”. Yes, that’s a technical term. It refers to experiencing a sense of nothing. Lack of will to move, despite wanting very much to do things. An overall apathy, of not caring despite caring. A sort of mental numbness, or rather, an emotional numbness. This is all very ironic, since one of the reasons for taking Prozac again was to “cure” my apathy. Well, duh, it clearly isn’t working.

The problem with Prozac, as with all anti-depressants, it’s not merely the fact that they don’t seem to work, but that people need to believe they do. Society cannot deal with the idea of there being no cure for a disease as life shattering as depression. There’s the old prejudice that everyone should be able to pick themselves up; how weak and lazy are those who get depressed! Tsk! If anti-depressants were found to be useless, if depression were found to be incurable, how could they justify their prejudice that we are too weak and lazy to recover? The pills work, they WORK, I tell you! As long as there are anti-depressants, people will be able to point their fingers at us and claim that we are depressed because we want to. And you can tell them again and again until you go blue in the face that anti-depressants don’t work, for they won’t listen. They don’t want to listen. They can’t listen. The cure is here and now. If it wasn’t, we would have to look for it elsewhere. And if we did, we might, just might, stumble upon a bonkers depressed person, or bonkers from being depressed person, who could say something uncomfortable. Something inconvenient. Something that perhaps linked depression to the kind of society we live in today. Or worse still, something that linked depression to the things our society values the most: its optimum economic system, its comfortable individualism. Things no one is allowed to question, no matter how much suffering they may bring.

In the end, all this does is sweep the problem under the carpet. Sweep the depressed under the carpet. And I for one am too tired of being under the carpet. And of taking Prozac from Hell.