I want my life back. I have spent a year trying to work things out with you, and I just can’t do it any more. You and I are through, but I’m a kindly soul and feel that the least you deserve is an explanation.
In the beginning you delighted me. You’re a pretty shade of blue, you taste like the Parma Violets I remember from childhood, you took the pain away and you made me pleasantly sleepy. You even helped with my chronic insomnia. I would wake up rested and eager to begin the day, bashing out loaves of bread whilst Paganini came drifting out of the stereo speakers, and going for long walks in the afternoon. To say nothing of my being able to completely blitz an entire room until it was tidy and uncluttered. I didn’t hurt any more; I was able to Get Shit Done – and I loved you for it.
However, over the last six months or so, you have become the bane of my life – or, as a good friend puts it – “A bit of a mare”. I rarely leave the house any more because of you. In fact, I rarely even leave my bed.
There are no lovely bread smells permeating the house any more, and every room looks as though a whirlwind went through it. My Wii Fit and Xbox One are gathering dust. The muscle tone I’d developed in my arms and legs – the muscle tone that I had worked so hard for and was so damned proud of – has departed, and I am cognitively impaired. I have a spare tyre where there was once a flat, firm belly. All because of you.
Well guess what, dear Amitriptalyne? I want “Me” back. My husband wants “Me” back. I want my afternoon strolls and bread making skills back – to say nothing of my sleep quality, energy, and the ability to notice roads before I step into them and nearly get run over because they didn’t register on my retinas or my brain. Oh, my appetite has gone the way of the blue suede shoe as well; what the shitting hell is that about? I like food; let me eat, damn you!
So there you have it. Time for you to pack your bags and get out of my life. I tried, and gave you chance after chance, but you have consistently taken everything away from me that kept me sane.
No love,
A sleepy, frustrated and generally pissed off Vulcan.
An Accident In Space And Time 
A viscous cycle. Take the pills to feel better. The pills take over. Stop the pills and the pain and sleeplessness returns. Argh!
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I’m really hoping there are alternatives that will stop me from feeling so dreadful all the time 😦
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Is it an anti-depressant? Anyway, it sounds like it thoroughly deserved being kicked out of your life. I really hope you find something that treats the condition and doesn’t make you feel like shit – very hard with a lot of medication, huh. Although…I envy you for having a firm flat belly at any stage, I’ve never owned one of those!
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It’s actually used to treat chronic pain and insomnia in my case, but I’m sure I’ve heard of it being used as an SSRI. My GP agreed to halve the dose, and I’ve been a lot better since 🙂
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