Here’s the deal. I’ve been on anti-depressants for a couple years now. I was pretty sure it was a chemical thing, because every time I tried to skip a few days, I turned into a basket case. But, due to some recent screwups on the part of Walgreens, I was forced to go a couple weeks without the happy pills. And an amazing thing happened this time: I stayed happy.I was expecting the crushing blow. The sinking pit of darkness without a way out. But it didn’t come. It’s true that the withdrawal period wasn’t a picnic in the park or a Johnny Depp movie. There were many days in a row (maybe even weeks — you lose count of time in these situations) when all I wanted to do was sleep. I was physically and emotionally exhausted, and I could barely keep my eyes open, much less drag myself out of bed. I would haul myself into my bedroom to drop off my stuff at the end of the day, and wake up a couple hours later, having fallen victim to a fit of narcolepsy.

But I’ve gotten past that, and I feel great. I still have mood swings, crying jags, and fits of agitation that leave a mile-wide swatch of burnt foliage and startled glances.

But I feel things. The anti-depressants do a great job of making the lows not quite so low, bt the highs feel a little artificial, and not quite so high. They narrow the range of emotions, which is exactly what you need when your lows are so low it feels impossible to see any light ever again.

But I guess my problems aren’t entirely chemical. I guess it was situation to a larger extent than I’d realized. It’s strange though, because my life right now is full of turmoil and uncertainty and frustration. Maybe, somewhere deep inside my brain, I can see a light at the end of the tunnel. There is a better future ahead of me. All is not hopeless.

It feels good to have that glimmer of hope, and to know it’s not artificially caused by a pill.

Of course, I still have a supply of happy pills at the ready, just in case the world kicks me in the teeth a few more times and I need a boost of Stepford.