Better living through chemistry

As of late I have been prescribed a couple new medications for General Anxiety Disorder, or as I like to call it, my artistic temperament. But as helpful to my creative endeavors as they are, my constant emotional rollercoaster rides (for lack of a better metaphor) provide a plethora of social problems that, I fear, could alienate many of the people that I hold most dear to me.

Psychiatrists are a shady bunch, to say the least. I had never visited the office of one until about six weeks ago. Upon entering the Saluda Center for Mental Health here in Rock Hill, the first thing that I noticed was a bookshelf full of promotional literature for various psychoactive drugs. Each corporation that together form that dreaded monolith "Big Pharma" was represented, and each were hocking their supposedly life-changing pills and concoctions. What was most disturbing about all of this was the obvious attention paid to advertising aesthetics. Every brochure was appealing to the eye, too appealing. I found myself drawn to pamphlets (for conditions that I was in no way at risk for) by post-modern and minimalist artistry, including one for bipolar disorder with a very interesting neo-expressionist piece on the cover (think Franz Kline having a manic episode). And due to the embarrassingly poor magazine collection the institute had massed over the years, I had no choice but to indulge my need for constant intellectual stimulation by reading about drugs. Once I picked out the most attractive bunch, I settled down into a corduroy sofa and began to study.

What I found inside the sleekest of the ads is worthy only of the word charlatanry. I felt like I was transported back to the streets of Gilded Age Chicago or New York. You know, that wonderful time in American history before such silly organizations as the FDA put the kibash on the lucrative practice of street-side witch-doctoring. The brochure for Ambien (made famous by everyone's favorite intoxicated congressman Patrick Kennedy), for example, immediately informed me that if I had ever experienced a night of constant tossing and turning, I might very well have a sleep disorder, in which case I would be the perfect candidate for their product. It seemed as if these drugs were picking me as a user, instead of vice-versa. And it was almost flattering. "The perfect candidate? Aw, shucks guys!" Thank god my reading was disrupted by my actual appointment. On the way out of the waiting room I grabbed a tissue out of a box emblazoned with the Ambien logo and some photographs of very sedate, but happy, individuals.

psychiatry appointments aren't very long, and should never be used as an alternative to the cognitive therapy sessions offered by psychologists, those crazy folks with actual degrees in psychology and not just doctors who took a few psychoanalysis and bio-psych classes during the last semester of medical school, but I digress. I was told upon entering Dr. Aking's (I believe she's from India) office that we would only have twenty minutes to chat and that we had a lot to get through. Thus began the interview. I was grilled about every aspect of my life. However, the interrogation seemed way too superficial to me. Every topic was touched upon, but only for a few moments.

Admittedly, the most lengthy aspect of our discussion revolved around my recreational drug use. I confessed to her my love affair for cannabis sativa, at which point she sternly relayed to me that I would die within the next five years of my life if I did not quit. I sat staring at her for an awkward 30 seconds before she turned to her prescription pad to scribble down the name of my long-awaited cure for coping with life. It turned out to be called Effexor, a drug so new that there won't be a generic version of it until 2017. And that's when I realized what Ms. Aking really was -- nothing more than a pusher for the pharmaceutical industry. I didn't want to entrust the future of my mental health to a person who would dole out a drug that has been party to no research concerning long-term effects, but would have the gall to tell me that pot will end my life early. I got her to give me a two-weeks free sample of Effexor so I didn't have to pay if it ended up not agreeing with me.

Moral of the story: Psychological disorders like anxiety and depression were invented by major corporations to sell us drugs. But I'm a child of the internet age, I just want to feel normal again as soon as possible. If the drug helps, so be it.