More Good Drugs

So I went to see my therapist today and I became a sobbing puddle of goo which I think alarmed him a bit. Alarmed me too, hell. He wants me back on antidepressants, which is a good idea no doubt, and off of alcohol, which solution I had also already twigged to myself and honestly, as is usual when I get this down, that's not hard. The last thing I want right now is alcohol. What I do want - a desert island, a small safe cave far far away, an enchanted century long sleep, a machine to alter space and time - is a little harder to come by. Although not much harder than antidepressants because, for all the shouting about Prozac nation and our overmedicated American selves, it's just not that simple.

Nothing can be simple. No, I have to find some weird backdoor way to get some doctor to prescribe me drugs - drugs I've taken before, mind you, nothing new - for a month because the other doctor, the one my therapist works with, can't see me until April and clearly, waiting until April to get me on good drugs is not a possibility because it exacerbates the possibility that I will turn to bad drugs, which possibility is, if you get my drift, getting more possible all the time, since I'm already in a black hole full of howling winds and a pharmaceutical grade companion would be welcome. So now I must hit the gray market for legal drugs. I tell you what, my life gets more like a Philip K. Dick short story all the time.