When I was diagnosed I was prescribed antidepressants; I didn't ask for them, that's just part of the deal. I took a couple different ones for a while, a year or two I guess. I don't really know what they did. One, and maybe both of them, when combined with the other drugs I was prescribed, messed with my gait, the way I walked. I remember feeling a little woozy when driving, like, Is this real? Am I really driving? Several years ago I stopped taking them, weened myself off of them if I recall. Or maybe that was something else; doctors are all about weening.

Over the years my doctors have asked me, "Are you depressed?" to which my best and most honest response has been, "Shouldn't I be?" And that is the distinction no one seems to make. And I know that it's an impossible, and with the way things seem to work unnecessary determination. How do we determine who needs these medications? Are we going to give them out like candy until all of us can't function without them? Maybe need isn't even the right word.

Whatever the problem is in your life, antidepressants aren't going to fix it. Maybe they help you get through the day, or maybe you take them because a doctor prescribed them and now they've become a new normal. Or maybe they make you feel better and I'm way over-thinking it. I don't know all of the answers, and sometimes I do need to hide from reality, but it seems I shouldn't be hiding all the time. Or maybe I'm just jealous of all those people with seemingly fixable problems who can't find their way out of the dark. And at times in my past I've been that person. And I'm jealous of myself.