Crying on the Commuter Train

Alone and crying on the commuter train in the morning I considered calling the doctor, either for advice on Citalopram withdrawal, or an urgent prescription for more Citalopram. I stopped taking them because of the short term memory loss,  but I intended to cut down slowly as recommended online. (Everybody knows that busy mummies  should source all their pharmaceutical advice from online forums right?) But then we broke down and so actually we left the old boat in a bit of a hurry. I forgot to pack the pills. Short term memory loss wasn’t so bad; but being so short sighted is. Memory loss is better than my serotonin levels plummeting like a wilful lemming¹. For all the rolling stone inner criticism Mothers Little Helper was obviously quite quietly really helping me along. Now I cannot accept honest criticism from friends. I mull over last weekend’s drunken argument and take it all to heart. “Nobody likes me,” thought Mog” (the forgetful cat ²). The woman in the mirror is underweight and overtired. She believes a lot of things that make her lonely. At home, kisses from her eldest child softly break through the mist as her tears fall into The Doctor’s lap. Big Sister pauses, stands back and reflects on the result of her work so far. She asks,

“More?”
Mother smiles through the tears. The child nods thoughtfully.
“Yes, a few more,” prescribes the junior doctor.
The Boat-Wife resolves to call up the doctor and arrange to get her negative beliefs surgically removed. ³

1) My imaginary friend Stephen Fry has begged me to interject that the wilful lemming is fictional; indeed lemmings as a rule have as much self-preservation instincts as the next creature.

2) Mog the Forgetful Cat – by Judith Kerr

3) If the pills hadn’t stolen her short term memory she might have remembered to just listen to her own 20 minute self-hypnosis download.