For now at least, the format of my posts will be, at the top, a journal entry on how I feel with the medication. Then I will tell a story. The stories won’t be told chronologically. They will just be what I’m thinking about that day. Now that we have that out of the way, here we go.
1 and 1/2 Days on the Meds
I started taking the meds yesterday. Two pills a day. One when I wake up and one before I go to bed. This will probably be my life from now on. Its a plan that I fully intend to stick with. I’ve taken one pill today, so I feel like I’m on a roll.
The first pill left me feeling no different, nor did I expect it to. At least not at first. After riding around with my wife and daughter after going out for dinner, I tried to carry on a conversation with my wife. Aside from my daughter interjecting the word poop after every pause I took between words, I found it difficult to form complete thoughts and to keep my line of thought going, and losing what I wanted to say mid sentence.
I felt heavy depression. After the second pill however, I began to feel indifferent and mostly fell silent. My brother-in-law asked me to hang out with him while he ran some errands, which honestly sounded like good fun. However, I became the exact opposite of a conversationalist. I fell mostly silent, and when I did speak, it was in short sentences.
Sleep was a good thing last night, even though I still was unable to get much. Maybe four hours. This morning, a few hours after taking my pill, I got a headache, which is still plaguing me. Depression is still the main emotion that I am feeling. Cottonmouth is the other main thing I get to feel. Which sucks, because I don’t even get the high that I usually associate with having dry mouth.
As of right now, the headache has subsided ever so slightly, but, its still there, like a bad roommate that refuses to leave. I’m still very optimistic.
Was I Molested?
OK, now on to story time. Pull up a chair and count yourself lucky, because I have literally never told anyone this story. Not my parents, not my wife, and not my psychiatrist/therapist. I know that its probably not the best idea to have kept this story inside for so long, but hell, I’m still conflicted about it.
I’m not even sure how to categorize it. Was it molestation? I’m not sure, considering I usually think the definition to mean overtly sexual touching. Either way, I know this story will get me some pretty strange looks, but in order to stay completely honest with myself and anyone reading this, I need to tell it. Anyways, on with the story.
I couldn’t have been more than ten years old, which you’ll have to forgive me for not knowing my exact age, it was very long ago and I’m currently on drugs. It begins innocently, as most stories involving young kids do. I was riding my bike around the neighborhood that I lived in, no real goal, just hoping to run into one of my neighborhood friends. They weren’t around, but a kid named Skip was. Skip was a teenager, probably fifteen or sixteen at the time. I always look back and assume that Skip had a learning disability because he tended to act much younger than he was.
Me and the other kids used to play games and stuff with him. He was one of us for the most part, because he obviously didn’t fit in with the rest of the people his age.
Hold on a second, I have to take another pill now.
Okay I’m back. So where was I?
Ah yes, I ran into Skip that day. He wanted to hang out and I figured “why the hell not?” Its not like I’ve never hung out with him before. This time, it wasn’t OK. This time it took a very uncomfortable turn. I know what you’re all thinking, I should have known better than to get myself in this kind of situation, and I often look back on it and think the same thing. But, what happened happened. There is no changing it now.
Skip decided that he wanted to grow up and be a doctor, at least that’s what he said that day. I’m sure he could have just made it up that day. But, he wanted to practice on me. I thought it would be more innocent, maybe using an actual stethoscope, or maybe just using a flashlight to look into my eyes and throat, like kids do when they play doctor. At first, that’s exactly what it was.
Oh, but how things can turn into something less innocent so very quickly. Now, it was time to check my reflexes, and still thinking nothing was wrong with any of this, I laid down as he asked. What? I didn’t know that you don’t lay down to check reflexes, I was a stupid snot-nosed kid. Well, to be honest, I usually kept my nose pretty clean, but I was still a stupid kid.
Skip tapped my knees and they did exactly what happens when reflexes are checked. I laughed he laughed. Then, my elbows. Same reaction. Then my chest. Wait, doctors don’t usually check there. Then a little lower to my stomach.He did have a light touch. Hell, it tickled. Its safe to say that at this point I started to feel a bit uncomfortable. He never touched my… I’m struggling not to type dick, but hey, I just did. He never went down that far, but he got damned close, by lightly running his hand to the top of my pants.
After that, I just left. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to feel after that. Thoroughly creeped out was the only emotional reaction I could muster. I never rode my bike through that part of the neighborhood again. I refused to go anywhere near Skip. The best part of the story is that I never saw him again.
So, why did I title this “Was I Molested?” Well, because I’m still not sure in my head that it is what it was. I felt that way. I look back at it that way.
I know this is dark, and my attempts at humor may or may not be appreciated. I don’t write this because I really want the story out there, but in hopes that the stories that I tell may help someone else.