I sat here trying to think or a clever and/or witty title for this piece, but nothing was good enough. So I gave up. Which is really the best way to start this.
I was at an urgent care today when the nurse remarked, “I think we’re all pretty much on anxiety meds these days, right?”
She had a point.
I have been on anxiety/depression medications since 2019.
I should have been on them much earlier, but I resisted it for a very long time. My one good trait as a human comes out of the broken part. If we fix it, then the magic is gone.
This is, of course, absurd.
I did not ask them to give me anxiety meds. I just went in for a physical and they said they were going to give me a questionnaire regarding depression and anxiety.
My doctor began, “Do you have little to no interest in plans? Not at all? Some days? Most days? Nearly every day?”
I said, “Most days.”
She asked, “Are you feeling down, depressed, or hopeless? Not at all? Some days? Most days? Nearly every day?”
“Oh, nearly every day.”
“Feeling like you’re a failure or that you have let yourself or your family down? Not at all? Some days? Most days? Nearly every day?”
“Yes, every single day.”
We were on a roll. I was off the charts on the anxiety and depression screener. Every thing they hit me with was on the daily playlist.
Then they hit me with the big one.
“Do you have suicidal thoughts?”
I hadn’t told anyone. Even my wife, who was present. But I had had those thoughts every single day for as long as I could recall. Every single day I considered shuffling off this mortal coil.
“Yes, nearly every day.”
And then they hit me with the one I did not see coming. I should have. It is the obvious follow-up, but I was sort of shaken by the confession I just gave.
“Do you have a suicide plan?”
This shook me to the core. I sat there looking at the floor. Letting the silence hang in the air.
“No,” I said. “I have little to no interest in plans most days.”
It got a laugh from the doctor.
And then she gave me meds.