So, I went to the doctor today regarding my general apathy toward everything....and she took me off Prozac and put me on Cymbalta. If anyone reading this has had symptoms or side effects from Cymbalta, such as anal leakage or spontaneous urination, please let me know so that I might be somewhat prepared....Otherwise, I'm tentatively hopeful that this might help my depression and possibly decrease the frequency of migraine headaches I seem to have had over the previous two months...Migraines are horrible. For anyone who has them mildly to severe, it's like you're having a panic attack or stroke...but not....Had them since I was 15...thanks, Daddy...as he is the only other person in my family besides my sister, who only has them like once every two years, and me.
It's a bizarre thing to tell your doctor, "Look, I'm not padded-room crazy, I just need something to balance out the nonsense in my brain," which is almost verbatim what I told her. See, this is why I buy contact lenses from Canada on-line. They don't require a doctor's write-off, which is fine...because I know what strength contact lenses I wear. If you explained anti-depressants in a way that didn't make me want to stick a pencil in my brain and swirl it around, I'd likely be able to diagnose what dosage I need...I'm sorry, that sounds silly, but I HATE doctors. More often that not, they are complete jackasses who don't listen to what you're telling them, and this trend of high-heeled pharmaceutical representatives heading to the back of the office before me makes me more livid than I can voice.
On a separate note, tomorrow I hope to be cleared from wearing this infernal ankle brace. A lesson learned: Watch where you walk....even if you think there is no way there could be a gaping hole where you normally walk, you should still mind where you walk and always wear sensible shoes unless you have a job interview or a date with someone that you love. However, the latter is not true for me, as Smitty would much rather I wear shoes and clothes that are comfortable to me than sexy and of the spiky nature. He knows that I have trouble with simple tasks, like walking across the floor in bare feet without tripping, or not running into door frames when I am completely alert. I've accepted it. Somewhere in my late 20s, I lost all the coordination I ever had. I'm fine with it; others are slow to get on board. C'est la vie. I cannot dance or run quickly or walk a straight line or wear heels....unless they're like Easy Spirit-Orthopedically approved heels...otherwise...can you not just let me wear flip flops? It's like a medical condition....
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