Passing For Normal

In my mid-twenties, I read a book wherein the author mentioned tht she had gone on Prozac, and lost all her poetry. When she mentioned it to her doctor, he dismissed it, telling her it was an unspoken side-effect, but she should be happy she wasn't biologically depressed. She went off it, and her muse returned. Less that 5 years later, I was put on Effexor XR, and thoroughly lost the ability to tell myself stories, something I had done my whole life. (Literally. I shipped Gilligan and Mary Ann at age 4.) I GOT what she meant. 14 years later, (age:44) I still have no regrets. Sometimes the ability to storytell comes back, and I'm guaranteed a depressive episode within a month, requiring my dosage to be upped. Fortunately, I'm not a writer, and it doesn't interfer with the pleasure I get out of reading. So I read instead. Nights are bad because I have insomnia, and always have. I had always used the storytelling to put myself to sleep, but that's the only regret. If I lost the pleasure I get in reading, I would quit in a heartbeat. I can't imagine what you're going through, but, I know for myself, I would choose to be dysthemic and able to pursue what I love, than be "normal", and constantly ache for what I lost. If Wellbutrin could put you at that point, it might be worth considering. I am biased, however. I love your SGA fanfic, and have no idea what your life is like. Asking around, which included both my doctor and therapist, it seems like what you're going through is common for creative types. It's just considered worth losing. While I don't want to agree, reading Eliade's Livejournal is a study in heartbreak. My 2 cents. (Uni-polar depressive since puberty,-31 years-finally held in check since age 30, but not at the cost you.ve paid.)