I’ve been toying with the idea of going back on Lexapro. I probably won’t, but I think about it sometimes, under the impression that it’ll stamp out this malaise I’ve fallen into this summer.
If I remember correctly, I’ve been on and off of it for anxiety ever since Rob was first diagnosed with cancer back in 2019. But I was never really sure if it worked. Sometimes I’d accidentally stop cold turkey (something you’re not supposed to do, apparently), and wouldn’t go back on it until the refill alerts got too annoying, or until I had some kind of anxiety spiral and figured returning to my generic Escitalopram oral tablet would cure what ails me. One of the last times I suddenly stopped taking my meds was in fall 2023. Yes, I got brain zaps, but more importantly, I hooked up with an Australian guy in LA and got way too emotionally invested for, like, three months afterward. I like to blame that embarrassing aftermath on my medication lapse. It’s easier to blame it on that than admit that an endorphin bomb went off in my brain after being touched Like That for the first time in over a year. Something about that is so needy.
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