My Anti-Depressant Diaryby
Happiness comes in many flavors. Read, and learn:
As soon as I got my prescription, I headed straight to my local diner and kicked back one of the tiny tabs with a cup of decaf. “Piece of cheesecake?” asked Demetrios. “Nah, not today,” I said, knowing I didn’t need the cheesecake to make me happy anymore. After three sips, an uncontrollable urge overtook me. I grabbed Demetrios by his grease-stained apron, kissed him on both nubby cheeks and yelled at the top of my lungs, “Why do I dance? You might as well ask why do I live? Why do I breathe?” The next thing I remember is waking up the following morning with a splitting headache and my wife saying to me, “You better call Dr. Kavanaugh and have her change your prescription.”
All I have to say is they should have called it Zo-Crash.
After three weeks, this one turned me into a strange combination of Bob Saget and Harry Belafonte but they sued me so I had to quit.
Lexapro™, Wellbutrin XL™, Effexor« XR, Celexa«:
I lump these together because for some reason they all made me speak Mandarin, and since I don’t understand any Mandarin, I don’t know what I was thinking for two months. One positive byproduct, though: I am a master with chopsticks and that’s a skill you never lose.
“Well, this is the last one we’ve got in our cupboard,” Dr. Kavanaugh said.
“Do we know of any side effects?” I asked.
“Nausea, dry mouth, constipation, erectile dysfunction and irritable-bowel syndrome.”
“We’ll pass on it,” I said, walking out of her office singing “The Banana Boat Song” while knitting a scarf with a pair of jade chopsticks. Day-O. Daaaaaay-O.
Ken Krimstein has published cartoons in The New Yorker, Punch, The National Lampoon, and The Bulletin of Atomic Scientists. His writing has also appeared on McSweeney's, The Morning News, ▄ber, Prose Toad, Monkeybicycle, Del Sol Review, (parenthetical note), and The New York Observer and he has read as part of Trumpet Fiction at KGB bar in New York City. You can visit Ken at kenkrimstein.com.