Stage One: Hope
Hey, I feel . . . better. Clearer. It’s easier to think. My memory has improved. I’m sleeping a lot more easily. I wonder if it’s the medication?
Stage Two: Doubt
That’s ridiculous. It’s only been a week. This is some kind of placebo effect – I’m making it up. My brain is trying to trick me. Damn you, evil brain, I am SO not falling for your crap.
Go to doctor for follow up. Find out that, in fact, many people see a change in four days. They have to tell you six weeks so that you don’t get your hopes up. Get hopes up.
Stage Three: Mistrust
Pills can’t actually work on me. It’s too easy. But I am . . . lighter. Stronger, faster, better! We can rebuild her. We have the technology.
Stage Four: Paranoia
Oh good gods, what if I turn into some kind of robot. I’m happier, but am I manic? What if I’m manic-happy? Am I going to be one of those spazzily happy people? I hate those people!
What if I plateau at some weird level of flat, and have no personality whatsoever?
Phone everyone. Ask about levels of mania or blandness. Friends baffled. Have noticed no such changes. They suggest that I may be a little more sociable, and I’ve been happier. Hmm. As friends have been known to call me batshit crazy and tell me my ass does, in fact, look fat in those pants, I elect to trust.
Stage Five: Peace
Here’s the thing about the pills. They are not magic pills. (Sad.) I’m pretty much just going to be ME, with better sleeps and lower anxiety and the ability to say to myself, ‘Hey self, as it turns out? You’re not utter shite, after all. Not even a little bit.’
So, sorry for taking a while between posts, bloggey world. I’ve been out, doing things, working on the work I do that’s designed to make me into a whole, content human. It feels good! I feel stronger. I am . . . BIONIC GWEN. Muahaha.
(Stage Six: Learning that the magic pills don’t fix nerd.)