Pumpkins on Lexapro

First of all, my apologies for the gap in posts, but for a week or so there I didn't have a damned thing to say.

I believe the reason for that is that I have at last succumbed to the delights of the anti-depressant, and all last week I felt sort of dingy, like when you take too much cold medicine. It happened like this. One rainy day in late September I realized I felt inexplicably, pointlessly sad. Everything made me sad. The grass made me sad. I commented on this to Scott, who in turn pointed out that the sun was dying out and winter was on its way; and with winter, the inevitable depression.

Every single year, out goes the sun, in comes the gloom.

So I got out my lightbox, made some tanning appointments, and resigned myself to fighting off another five months of melancholy. Usually at the climax I start considering suicide in a vague way, thinking things like where I would like my ashes to be scattered and whether my children would be better off without me moping around. This is not something I enjoy. In fact, I fucking hate it. In the past I have just rolled with it as I have rolled with every other chemically-induced, low-serotonin, alcoholic, seasonal-affective-disorder depression. This year, I realized I did, in fact, have a choice.

After extensive discussion with my doctor, I started Lexapro. Side effects be damned.

Then on Saturday night, we had a small pumpkin-carving gathering. I can tell you that two weeks ago I would no sooner have been up for a gathering than for serving dinner at the White House, but Saturday night, a fine time was had. Four kids, four adults, multiple pumpkins, music, toys underfoot, markers marking all the wrong things, caramel apples, buttered popcorn. The eating-disordered dog eating pumpkin scraps beneath the table. Seeds roasting in olive oil and salt. Youth Art displayed on curling construction paper, propped along the furniture. Good stuff.

At the party's height I was rinsing seeds in the colander, picking out pale slices of pumpkin rind. The kids were laughing and some song I've never heard was playing on the stereo. Scott and Mike were swapping movie reviews, and Elliott was helping Lisa put the finishing touches on her pumpkin. I suddenly realized that I was happy. It was simple and pure. It had a tangerine light. And it didn't take much, just decent people laughing together.

I'm grateful for that. If the Lexapro was part of that moment, then I'm grateful for that too.

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