a nation on medication
It's now official—I'm the only living American who isn't popping antidepressant medication daily. And yet I've never felt better in my life.
I realize this is a set-up for a punchline—"Of all people, you SHOULD be on medication." Yukkety-yuk. Hardy-har-har. HAW!
Actually, I tried Paxil for two months while in jail, at a time when my heart was constantly scraping the dirty cement floor. And though I've sampled every drug the Feds have ever declared illegal—weed, speed, acid, heroin, coke, mushrooms, mescaline, Ecstasy, ketamine, PCP—it was only the perfectly legal, state-prescribed Paxil which had me waking to the sound of screams in my head. I abruptly discontinued the "meds." Within days, I felt clarity returning to my brain as if my sinuses were suddenly unblocked.
Depression happens for several valid reasons, none of which should be ignored or smeared away with pharmaceuticals. From my experience, bad moods tend to be situational rather than chemical. Fix the situation, and the malaise lifts like a fog.
It's probably no coincidence that the "War on Drugs" coincided with the wholesale legal doping of America. You're a nation of zombies, dutifully swallowing brain-gelding magic bullets because the doctor told you so. A generation ago, the doctor was pushing electroshock therapy and lobotomies on you. And in a generation, when you're all brain-damaged with liver cancer and a third leg growing out the middle of your chest, I'll find it hard to shed a tear.
