Friday, September 3, 2010:
It only took me a couple of weeks at Pollock to figure out that the Dirty White Boys had the alcohol, the Mexicans had the heroin, and the Bloods had the weed.
I tried to avoid it all at first, hide from it, but drugs just seemed to have a way of finding me even when I wasn’t looking for them. Eventually, it was in my face everywhere I turned.
Since I was now seeing the prison psychiatrist, I figured I would exploit the situation and score some drugs legally. I wanted to feel anything but what I was feeling at the time. But all I got was a prescription for Prozac. Prozac was no match for my desolation though.
My drug seeking behavior kicked in full-force and had me asking the doc for something stronger everytime I saw him. He tried out all kinds of antidepressants on me: Prozac, Serazone, Paxil, Wellbutrin, Effexor, Elavil, Trazadone, you name it.
He always asked me the same questions: How’s your appetite?
, How well are you sleeping?
, How’s your sex drive?
It took a couple of times for the absurdity of the last question to sink in. The last thing I want in prison is a strong sex drive. One of the notorious side-effects of these drugs is that they inhibit the libido. Out there, you would call that a negative side-effect. In here, I call it a positive one.
For the next two years, I got high or drunk or both every time the opportunity presented itself, which was everyday.
And I continued taking the psych meds. Religiously. Then the miracle of all miracles occurred, the seemingly impossible happened — on October 15, 2004, I drank for the last time and haven’t used since.
But I continued taking the antidepressants as a compromise with the demon inside.
I was easily convinced that I had a “chemical imbalance.” But what I really had was a “living in reality imbalance.”
I’m sure my brain chemistry was completely discombobulated after all the drugs I’d ingested, injected, and inhaled. But now I don’t think it was anything that proper sleep, a healthy diet, and plenty of exercise wouldn’t correct much more efficiently.
And I don’t think my depression had much to do with chemistry anyway. I think it was the result of all my false beliefs and my negative self-talk.
I believed, especially after my arrest, that I was a loser and a piece of shit, and there was no hope for me. I felt like a monster because of the crimes I’d committed.
I had no self-control, no discipline, no integrity. I didn’t know the meaning of integrity. My word wasn’t worth two dead flies — I’d broken promise after promise after promise.
I was full of guilt and shame and tried to cover-up and hide all the bad behavior that I felt was plainly visible on my dirty face.
My depression was the result of my negative thinking and my self-hatred, not some “chemical imbalance.”
Read the full story in my memoir Running Away From Me.
Buy Running Away From Me as a Kindle format ebook.
Have a beautiful day!
Buy Running Away From Me as a Kindle format ebook.
