Sanity is supposed to come from little portions of Cipralex, but I have to survive long enough for the doctors to find the right dose. It may well be several months before they discover what works, and every day in between terrifies me.
Until then, I can’t sleep, I can’t come, I can’t eat more than half of what I used to before getting full, and I can’t go without Gravol to fight the nausea. The side-effects are supposed to be better than the alternative — and I suppose cottonmouth is good way to get me to drink more liquids — but every wretched day makes me question whether this unique form of hell is worth it.
This used to be one of my greatest fears, and here I am faced with it cause I couldn’t handle life by myself anymore.