Well, last night, thanks to my wonderful doctor, I reluctantly joined Ambien Nation. You have no idea how much I didn’t want to do this. One day, I’ll write a longer post about my family and how I inherited its weirdness, but for now, I’ll give you the short version:
My family has the worst damned luck in the history of the western world. Through the generations, our history is one of death, pestilence, destruction, unemployment and a general suckiness of life. Somehow, we’ve eeked through and still managed to set up the next generation in a situation better than the last.
So, two survival skills have been passed down from generation to generation: industriousness, and stoicism. The industiousness part comes because, for some reason, every male member of my family, throughout our history in America, chooses a career in which he will be the least educated person in his field. We get in with minimal qualifications. Then, we outwork and outsmart everyone else in the industry. My grandfather did it, my dad did it, my brother is doing it, and I’m trying my darnedest to do it.
The stoicism? Well, this goes back to the bad luck part. It’s going to happen. I’m sure my mother had a long talk with Lintilla before we wed, warning her what she was getting into. And if you’re part of my family, you’re going to suck it up and work through it. Be brave, and you’ll go down in the annals of a long line of men who kept their chins up even though their lives sucked. And the number one rule of all: no cheating.
No bariatric surgery, no therapists, no riding mower unless you’ve paid your sweat equity with years of push mowers. No “diet pills”. No sleeping your way to the top. No shortcuts, whatsoever.
And no medication (especially mood altering medication), unless its purpose is to keep you alive so you can continue in your stoicism.
Quit laughing. This is not your family.
Compounding this was an episode where I broke the mold and went on antidepressants for anxiety attacks. Long story short, I became a devoted Christian, started exercising, and, gasp, went off my meds without consulting my doctor! A bigger gasp: it turned out great. Later on, I discovered I had been misdiagnosed; this doctor was insane. He prescribed antidepressants for almost every person with any condition that came into his office. He no longer practices medicine . (Please kiddies, don’t try going off your meds at home. My story is extremely atypical)
So, I have an aversion to medication whose purpose is to “cheat”; certain maladies are meant to be trials. Up until last night, I assumed my insomnia was one of those. That being said:
Best. Sleep. Ever.
Good Lord, I feel good this morning. Can’t you tell by how I’m rambling on?
Anyway, thank you doc! I scheduled my yearly exam with her as well, it’s long overdue. Yes, I said “her”. Gentlemen, I have a word of advice. As you know, when you turn 40, your yearly exam will change somewhat, the prostate check awaits. Man or woman doctor, it doesn’t matter; somebody is going to put on the gloves, lube up, and, well, you know…
If you can get over your embarrassment (which you’ll have, regardless), I’ve got two words for you: