God's Re-Uptake Inhibitor

Alarm at the foot of my bed, I woke up and got up on my feet like striding out of my dreams. I got my trousers on and went to the kitchen, forgetting my eye glasses (I thought that was sleep in my eyes). I started a pot of coffee then sat down and had a holy smoke, while holding a palm sized Gideons' Bible.

" 1: LORD, thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations.
2: Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God."
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This week I made my quarterly visit to the psychiatrist I met through the treatment house. I have always been on Klonopin, this year and a half away from the keg, so I go in there and he signs me up for another four months. It would be a short visit but first I have to meet his Hindu (always a new one) who gives me a very polite sales pitch for SSRI's or the other anti-depressents.

I say I don't want you to waste your breath. My decision about psychedelic therapy is final. When I was in my 20's I'd eat anything, even if it was going to turn color into sound and make time jump over mountains and I'd be a wise elder in seven hours. But those days are over.

He was sorry if I felt he was wasting my time and he was wistful, if only I hadn't used the term "sales pitch".

I said I was sorry, it was a poor choice of words.

He said there are seven signs of depression and each one can be cured. Altogether, not four out of seven, not five out of seven but seven out of seven. But the key would be to keep regular appointments and they would monitor my progress on each drug and switch and experiment until "we, together" found just the right one.

I told him I was sorry I missed an appointment, especially since the doctor only works here one day a week and is booked two months ahead. The Hindu said he was sorry about that but what I must do is tell the nurse that I must see the doctor.

"What magic words do I say to the nurse? She has her apppointment book and if it's another two months it's another two months."

"No. You tell her that you must see the doctor. I am sorry if that wasn't understood, that you had trouble getting in but you must keep your appointments or this will never work."

I scowled.

"These are very modern drugs. They're quite different now, each is different...There is nothing in my records that show you have taken any SSRI's. I apologize."

"The records only go back a few years though, don't they, I shouldn't expect you to know. I regret these misunderstandings. Yes, I've had Prozac, Paxil, Effexor, Lexepro, Nortryptaline..."

He sat up and allowed a mild contempt to enter his tone. He grinned. "Nortyptaline is not an SSRI!"

"Yes, I know. I'm speaking of anti-depressants in general. These are the ones I tried. I gave them all a month or more. I gave them long enough so the doctor agreed I should try something else. By the way I should have mentioned this, I was always a heavy drinker but I am not now and I don't think I am depressed."

"You are not depressed?"

"No. I'm sorry but I'm not."

"You complain of a lack of ambition, occasional sleeplessness, that you are not as alert as you would like, you complain of a lack of appetite," he began flipping through my back pages, "you have threatened suicide, you have been committed for major depression and anxiety!"

"Fah. Ha, ha! That sounds like me, yeah. Ha, ha."

"I beg your pardon. Please. Are you not, is your middle name..."

"No one knows why anti-depressents work."

"Oh yes we do though. They prevent the re-uptake of seratonin."

"My depressions are situational and alcoholic."

He said, "We will help you in any way we can. If it is just Klonopin you want, that is for you to decide of course. "

This meeting was going to end with our bumping heads, repeatedly bowing and apologizing to one another. Finally the doctor arrived and he's brusque. (Plus a liar. He said it was the Hindu who was in the office only once a week.)

"Do they let you have visitors?" he asked.

"I'm not instituionalized. I share a house with other recovering addicts. That's all."

"Still attending A.A. meetings? How many a week? "

"Less and less." I'd slid down in my chair so far I felt ashamed and sat back up, quick.

"Really? So your desire to drink is going away then. That's good."

I let it go.
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Somedays, too flip...