Search for Pollyanna, Part 2

First, a Google search; then, tell the truth.

I was slow to act. The mantle of negativity settled over me, and I naturally assumed it. During my two years in therapy, I never once thought to mention it to my therapist. Instead, I came to her with the various fires that needed putting out. In those 50 minutes which, during year two, she reduced to 45, I never even thought about bringing up the gloom I couldn’t shake. It was a given, this dreary background state that my pop-up crises were set vividly against. Also, my upbeat act is so instinctive and convincing that even I believed I was dealing effectively with my problems, rather than ignoring my existential plight. My therapist actually graduated me from therapy because she felt she’d done as much she could. I think she was right.

That was a few years ago, pre-pandemic, and I stopped thinking about how I felt because there were so many more urgent things to consume me. But not thinking about it didn’t make it go away. One day last week I felt particularly off. I had a particularly horrific dream that I literally could not shake. I dragged it around with me all day. Why can’t I stop being sad? I typed into Google, who suggested talk therapy and exercise. Okay, both things I have done and/or currently do; nothing has moved the needle.

Drugs were mentioned, but for those, I would need a prescription. To get a prescription, I thought seeing a psychiatrist was necessary. But guess what? It’s not.

I sent my general practitioner an email. He responded immediately, scheduling a virtual visit for 7:45 the next morning. I have known him for thirty years, and feel comfortable being honest with him. He asked questions, listened, took notes. His assessment: what I have isn’t depression, but a symptom of depression: anhedonia, or the inability to feel pleasure.

If you just sighed, I did, too. This is a sad- in a small, human way, not sweepingly tragic- state to be in, and when he told me, it felt like the nail being hit squarely on the head. He suggested the lowest possible dose of Prozac, which I started immediately.

Today is day five. I feel the same. Generally, it takes a couple of weeks for Prozac to kick in, but from what I hear when it does, you feel it. One friend described suddenly feeling light. Just the thought of this happening to her, and the thought that I might, too, experience such a lightening, makes me Pollyanna-hopeful that the optimist I once was waits for me like an old friend, just this side of possible.