Rambling? Yup. It's Rambling . . .

Effexor. Don’t ever take it. Even if it works, missing a day is a bitch. It’s as if the meds had never been in one’s system. It’s sick. Not to mention it is a $200+ dollar drug. Without insurance. We have a high deductible to hit before insurance kicks in. So puking up $200 a month for some spin-off of tri-cyclic depressants, because it’s new and oh-so-exciting and if not we’d have to use those old one’s with all their side effects. Hmm. Name a few. Do they include a hard, fast fall back to depressed out of the ability to simply put on shoes and walk outside? Tingling down the arms? Episodes of vertigo? Inability to focus? All at once? Or is it just “weight gain?” Because I can handle that.

            Of course, that raises the questions of how. Of course you can, I can hear Reagan saying, of course. Smart-ass. Hey—if my counselor can call me that, I’ll shoot it right back at her. It’s an equal playing field.

            That may be what I like most about working with Reagan, why she is the first counselor who actually stuck. She treats me like an equal. She doesn’t hide her humanity from me. It helps that I went to her with my palms up saying, “I don’t know what I need; I’m following directions. The doctor-doctor told me to come here. You know, the one you go to if you’re sick or need a physical . . .” Even so, while the client-therapist relationship is respected, she tells me stories of her morning runs, her time back with family in Chicago—she’s not cold. We have mutual friends. It’s a small area. But I’d bet, if we had met through those people, we’d have hit it off as friends. But I can only guess so and I can only trust her because of her openness.