Dear Depression…

Posted: February 1, 2011 in Depression
Tags: , ,

I’m itchy and it’s your fault.

When I was a kid, I had chickenpox. I think they call it that because your arms flap around like restless chicken wings as you try to reach those infernal little bumps. I’m told I was itchier than a… thing that’s really itchy, I guess. I’m struggling for a metaphor here. Is there anything itchier than a kid with chickenpox? (Flea-bitten dogs don’t count!)

Turns out, yes, there is. It’s called a major allergic reaction to an internal irritant. I’m a goddamn walking welt. A red blotch monster. A frantically flapping fool. I went to bed one night a man and woke up the next day a failed science experiment.

You see, Depression, your abuse caused me to take a bit of a dip late last year. So, for the first time in my life, it was time to try an anti-depressant. Wellbutrin, the doc said. All the good stuff without the limp dick. Sounded good to me. Nobody likes a limp dick.

At first everything seemed fine. And then, BLAM. Welt City. Within two days I had bratwurst fingers. Bits and pieces swelled up randomly, like I was an inflating cartoon character. (A lot like that crazy evil dude on Roger Rabbit when he gets steamrollered and then pumps himself up again, actually.) And no, my dick was not one of those swollen pieces. I was too itchy to be a pervert.

And thanks to the large amounts of Wellbutrin built up in my system, this shit’s still kicking around. It’s been weeks now. I was in a Benadryl stupor for fourteen days. Bezuidenthustra the Blotchy Welt Zombie. Good times. Good times.

So I got nothing done. Nothing. The reaction gave me breathing problems, so I couldn’t even take advantage of my braindead state by busting ass at the gym. I stumbled through the days like Frankenstein in a fog. Ironic, when you think about it: here I am trying to avoid the fugue-like state you, Depression, put me into by taking medicine, and now the medicine’s making me even foggier thanks to this other medicine I need to take care of that medicine. The worst irony is that I can’t even take the non-drowsy stuff because the only other allergy I know of is that I break out in hives when I take any other over-the-counter anti-histamines. Fuck.

This might all sound funny to you, Depression, but I actually could’ve died. My internal organs are still wonky from the beating they took. The worst is over, but I feel like this is 1820 and I just recovered from consumption or cholera or something. And if it hadn’t been for you, none of this would ever have happened. You’re a plague in so many ways. Even the cure is a kick in the balls.

Don’t think this is going to keep me down, though. I actually feel much better. Okay, yeah, I’m still scratching like there’s athlete’s foot on my scalp, but fuck it, I can live with that. It’ll be gone soon.

And if this ever happens again, you can lick my welty balls, jackass.

Allergically yours,


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