Three and a half weeks off Lexapro.
I took them because my hands were numb and I couldn't write, tie things or do dishes. I cried all the time. After a year my hands are still numb even though I can now write, do dishes and tie things. For the last 2 days I've cried. I haven't cried in a year. Even in my diminished capacity as a zombie I knew that wasn't good.
Looking back, there was always that one woman in every neighborhood who was rumored to have had a nervous breakdown. Other neighbors whispered about the "poor thing" and the husband who drove her to this neural wasteland in his gambling/cheating/drinking car.
Your parents told you to stay away from her. Otherwise what? She'd let you watch TV and eat mashed potatoes all day?
Now everyone can enjoy their nervous breakdown because of medication. It's unlikely anyone else can drive you to this brink of living. You can take a cab there all by yourself. Even Psychiatry no longer calls a nervous breakdown by that name. It's now known as a Major Depressive Episode.
It just sounds like a bad day at a Barney's sale.
We have medicated the shame of the nervous breakdown away into what the Urban Dictionary now refers to as a nervy b.
How are you supposed to enjoy someone's crazy eyes and bad hair days, not to mention the endless parade of mismatched pajamas and yelling at the mailman, if they're only having a nervy b?
They have taken the solemn rituals of falling completely apart and turned it into a rapper's name.
I object.
