as a ransom for many

So maybe it's time to give the drugs a rest.

Don't get me wrong - I'm glad I had them. They stepped up at a critical moment when all I could do was stand hog-tied and downcast at the mercy of my kidnapper, hoping desperately for a savior. They stopped the downward spiral, and let me get my footing again, let me sleep again, and you can be sure that I'm properly grateful. In lieu of a savior*, Mirtazapin was a fine pinch-hitter.

But lately, some things have started to bug me. I'm starting to realize what all I have to forego in the service of this this chemically-induced contentment. I'm missing some parts of my personality that I'm not willing to surrender anymore - parts like energy, excitement and empathy. Stuff that may not be crucial in order for this Jess-creature to continue to breathe and circulate blood and contract its muscles in rhythmic patterns that simulate life, but stuff that is nonetheless central to my self-understanding.

I remember what it used to feel like to wake up in the morning driven by an internal combustion engine to spring out of bed and go about my daily activities with unbridled joy. If I'm not mistaken, that's actually my default mode - the most Jess that I can be. It's been a while - a long while. But it's still me, and I want that back.

I remember how I used to be in a conversation - the empathy I used to feel when someone was going through something difficult, the understanding that would course unbidden through my veins. That's gone now and I have to fight myself to uncover the hidden vestiges of friendliness. Now I realize how much my conversations are driven by the emotions that I feel toward a person - friendliness, curiosity, solidarity, love.

I remember what an intense joy I used to derive from the thought of going home - you know, back in my moody heyday when I actually experienced emotions. That joy is gone, replaced by the exact same emotion that I feel about everything else in my life - a sort of glazed, slack-jawed acceptance. But people, that's not me. Jess has never been glazed or slack-jawed.

I am fiesty and passionate and bubbly and temperamental and moody and enthusiastic. I live life and I take things as they come and I ride the waves. Now the waves are gone and I want them back. I'm a surfer with no big Kahuna! There's my little me in here, no longer weakly waving a white flag, but waking up and rubbing her eyes and trying to find a creative way out of this little room.

And so maybe it's time.

I admit, I find it helpful that my conflict-resolution skills are no longer hampered by inconvenient overemoting. And I certainly do not miss the whirling black vortices of the bad days or weeks or hours. But... I want me back. And I think I'm ready to pay the ransom.



*Holy crap. Did I just write "in lieu of a savior"? That has some nasty theological implications. Apparently this is the next area that Jess needs to work on. I wonder if they make selective faith reuptake inhibitors yet.