My psychiatrist ignored my refusal to go on anti-depressants in hospital and re-represented it as a strongly recommended choice. Eager to stay in his good books, and get out of there as soon as possible, I finally assented. They introduced Sertraline into my system. Over time I noticed I was feeling... well, good. Much better, in fact. So good that, once I was out, I sustained a feel-good, happy state most of the time, without much in the way of stimulation. I would zone out on the couch, basking in my new-found buzz.
Then Tony Abbott got elected. And I knew my emotional compass wasn't where it should be. I was just fine with this mega-homophobe who almost became a priest being chosen to run the country. And since I couldn't deal with that kind of reaction, I stopped taking the SSRI. A certain amount of dissatisfaction is necessary for political life. If you cannot feel the lows, the highs also become written out of the equation. Everything is 'just fine' - a drab kind of sickly sweet. Never again. Solian is bad enough. (Hopefully I'll get off that too, eventually.)
Then Tony Abbott got elected. And I knew my emotional compass wasn't where it should be. I was just fine with this mega-homophobe who almost became a priest being chosen to run the country. And since I couldn't deal with that kind of reaction, I stopped taking the SSRI. A certain amount of dissatisfaction is necessary for political life. If you cannot feel the lows, the highs also become written out of the equation. Everything is 'just fine' - a drab kind of sickly sweet. Never again. Solian is bad enough. (Hopefully I'll get off that too, eventually.)
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