The Drugs Might Work

Now that Spring has made a definite move, and the parks have grown people, and cautious frills of green, it seems churlish not to go along with it.  Some might say sulky, even.  Although one can, with some effort, flip a sulk over on its back.

I'm on this rather old-fashioned anti-depressant which, in the old-fashioned way, takes some weeks and some tweaks to start working.  I can't take the new shiny SSRIs because they don't go with my migraine medication.  A rather unexpected side effect is that this older style medication also seems to inhibit the migraines a bit.  Which can't be bad.

This week, I think, has seen the first signs of light.  Like headlice, depression is indiscriminate.  And like headlice, it is hard to shift and may return at intervals because you are such a great host.  This week was also the first time this year I could fill my lungs properly.  That's unrelated to the head stuff.  It's lung stuff, and will be checked out shortly at the hospital.  There have been four solid months of coughing and not breathing terribly well.  The doctor listened long and silently to my lungs before giving me a phone number.

So that sort of explains my silence: no air and no light.  Nothing can grow like that.

I am not thinking in terms of corners turned, in case the next turn is simply back to base.  I am thinking in terms of cautious greening.  And exuberant fountains at the far end of park vistas.