Pre–Lexapro
I’m dri­ving through life, just tool­ing along, occa­sion­ally enjoy­ing the scenery, mostly filled with a bland kind of lone­li­ness and melan­choly, but fre­quently excited — either by my own crap dri­ving, some­one else’s crap dri­ving or a ran­dom hic­cup of cir­cum­stance like a cup in the road — into extreme, hyper­ven­ti­lat­ing, weepy, glass-completely-empty, wishing-to-disappear, no-hope depres­sion and anx­i­ety. Decision-making shuts down at this point. To con­tinue the road trip metaphor, sud­denly I come to the end of my map. Since I have no direc­tion, and my abil­ity to drive has become impaired by the previously-mentioned anx­i­ety, and, as often hap­pens dur­ing these for­ays into the uncharted, I lose my will (and my belief in my abil­ity) to con­tinue, I end up either will­ingly or acci­den­tally dri­ving off the cliff that is always there, where the map ends. It is a long, hard, muddy, painful climb back up that cliff, and when I am down there, I am loathe to climb back up because it means get­ting back in the car and try­ing to get back on the road — some­thing I have no faith in my abil­ity to do. Peo­ple to try to extend a hand down to help me are often bit­ten by the ani­mal I become down in the muck and shadow. Luck­ily for me, the climb was always com­pleted, even though it usu­ally took days.

Post–Lexapro
Still dri­ving, still tool­ing along, still pass­ing through a mix of emo­tions most of which are noth­ing to brag about. I occa­sion­ally arrive at a bit of joy, but I also hit the edge of the map just as often as I did before. This time, how­ever, there is no cliff. I do not fall, but rather stall, right there on the edge of the world. I am still depressed and anx­ious, but now am unable to hide from it. One would think that this would make get­ting back on the road an eas­ier thing, but it doesn’t. I am just as lost, and often­times end up wish­ing for a cliff, for my dank, dark val­ley, my hid­ing place. I have no more infor­ma­tion than before — the map is not wider or eas­ier to read or fold and unfold. I am no more capa­ble. From here on in, I am to study the roads that take me to the edge of the map and learn to avoid them, or not suc­ceed­ing in avoid­ance, to per­fect my U-turn… or so say the experts. I under­stand this goal, and I agree for the most part, but I still find myself wish­ing for a nice high, slip­pery cliff when the hori­zon looms.

Now what I need is a drug that draws maps.