Happy Pills

Before I was ever offered happy pills, I was adamantly against the idea of medication.

The propaganda against psychology – paid for by the Church of Scientology, amongst others – convinced me that psychiatric drugs were a ploy by the shadow government of the world to numb/dumb us all down and lock us into a hypnotic and dulled conformity.

…sounds like the schizophrenic paranoia of someone who might need medication.

I digress.

Secondly, there is a stigma attached to happy pills and the act of swallowing them is like admitting that you are bipolar, schizophrenic, depressed and so – by that logic – as long as you don’t take the pills, you don’t have to fit into an uncomfortable label.

But, the most embarrassing reason that I avoided taking pills is the fear that it would “kill my creativity.”

I thought that little demon’s voice in my head was what inspired my creative impulses and was worried that without it screaming at me, I wouldn’t be able to write and that was more terrifying then watching my life crumble around me because I was too stubborn/scared to seek help.

Then I realized something.

If the endgame of depression is suicide, soon enough I wouldn’t EVER have the opportunity to be creative.

So, I accepted the help.

Actually, I had no choice in starting to take the happy pills because I was Involuntarily Admitted at the hospital, meaning they made the decisions for me, legally.

I was ready, regardless.

I’ll admit that at first I felt like the creativity was being sucked out of me.

My mind became blank and I had a hard time expressing myself, vocally or in writing.

But, that was because the layers of voices howling at me, criticizing my every move, encouraging me to kill myself had stopped and my mind was clear.

Five months later and I’m finally able to express myself, again.

Those five months were a struggle, but they would’ve been without happy pills, also.

My only regret?

Not having asked for help sooner, because until my mind emptied itself, I didn’t realize how bad things were getting.

The torment of my mind became normal and it was trying to kill me and the only way it would’ve stopped was if I was dead.