Ativan and celexa

I have been suffering with a form of depression called Cyclethemia(not sure of the spelling) almost all my life. I have been on CELEXA and it works very well, except after taking it for a few years I began to lose all my sex drive. I discontinued taking the drug, but now I have decided to start taking the drug as I feel that at my age (59) I would rather feel good and treat everyone good rather than worry about being able the want sex.

First I wanna say is that I’m a fan of the work that I’ve read of yours so far. And that I am no critic I am just a guy that reads six stories on the website and it has eternal writers block myself.
That being said I like the set up for Geo and his background to a certain point although he did seem a little gullible about how much porn in the book he read and then didn’t realize how much he would be desirable he’d be and up with the length of his equipment.
Then his sister being protective of him was one thing but then pretty much jumping his bones of the first Ativan was a warning flag to me. But after she enacted her playing with the twins he went from sort of geeky fun brother character to a bullying asshole in the span of a blink.
When he told the twins and then eventually his sister that he was going to breed them that kind of took me out of the story because it didn’t seem to jive with his attitude before him and his sister had sex.
He just didn’t read is this kind of automatically alpha male type jerk who was more of a bully then the people that bully him. And I have a deep part of me as a person who grew up as a good person myself for what he was dealing with an economy that took me out of the story a great deal when he turned into one.
Now the whole bringing these three girls thing also seems a little out of the blue and kind of the antithesis of a teenage boy. Why would any teenager even if they do have a BBC. Big brother cock, want to be saddled with two children by two girls who started off the story hating him and one by his own sister that just stretches believability even for a silly sex story.
And now positive things descriptions of your sex acts are very well done taking you to the count the logistics of someone having a Lexington Steele size dick. Geo started off as a guy I can see myself hanging out with what he turned into in Chapter 2 just kind of rub me the wrong way.
The mom she’s all right milf be Milfing. And the twins dad he seems all right to.
Overall I’m liking the story and I’m hoping things improve in the next few chapters but I’m gonna keep reading your work and I want nothing more than you continue to put these sex stories out for us horn dogs to read.

As a chronic depressive, I had to learn some very painful lessons on the way to dealing with my depression. Denial is a very formidable enemy. It takes a lot of guts to admit that you're sick, particularly with an affliction for which society is more than happy to stigmatize you. Understanding why you no longer like to do the things you previously enjoyed doesn't come easy. Dealing with some of the syndromes associated with chronic depression like low anger threshold, sleep deprivation and logical function disorder is terribly difficult because they complicate your treatment and make a bad health situation worse.
The pills aren't necessarily the answer, despite what the pharmaceutical industry would like us to believe. At least they weren't for me. My psychiatrist tried three different medications in the two and a half years I was under her care, those being Celexa, Welbutrin and Prozac. The first two gradually lost their therapeutic value to me as mood stabilizers, and Prozac is nothing more than cruel and unusual punishment invented by some sicko in the pharmaceutical industry. Imagine life in a neurochemical visegrip of mood neutrality, no ups, no downs, just a flatline like you're a zombie. That's a glimmer of what being on Prozac is like.
Don't get me wrong: the medications helped me but the cognitive therapy techniques that my other doctor, a physiopsychologist, taught me helped me more. I agree with a previous poster who said, Don't be afraid of alternative methods. because frankly the shrinks and psycho witch doctors don't have all the answers. I'm a scientist by training and disposition, and throughout my life, I have always been a very forceful personality. That's why denial was such a problem for me. I became severely depressed in 1998 when a lifelong friend committed suicide due to job stress. His suicide almost pushed me over the edge with him, and I struggled for three years, denying that I was sick, using willpower and brute force to overcome chronic low moods to keep on keeping on. It took me seriously contemplating suicide to realize that I needed professional help. I was lucky because I was able to get that help, though my long delay ended up costing me my career when I became so depressed that I could no longer do my job and was let go.
My physiopsychologist came to understand much of what makes me tick. He showed me the distortions in my EEG from the fault in my brain's neurochemistry. He explained how that fault causes my moods to spiral down and stay down. He put me in a frame of mind where I knew I could beat the disease if I acted positively instead being a passive victim. Best of all, he helped me deal with the stigma of chronic depression. I'll never forget his words: We don't damn people who suffer a heart attack or fall victim to cancer because they're sick, do we? Chronic depression isn't any different. It's a physical ailment and there is no reason, none, that we should look down on the victims of depression any more than we do the victims of cancer. That meant a lot to me because my self-esteem had been trashed by depression. It helped me put matters in perspective, and now I spit in the general direction of anyone who makes light of depression and suggests that It's all in your head. Strangely enough, they're right -- it is all in your head -- but they haven't a clue what they're talking about. Ignore them because they're ignorant.
I remained under my psychologist's care for another year and a half until he and I agreed that we had done all we could together. My condition is better today but I'm not cured. I doubt that I will ever be cured of the affliction. I don't have that many bad days any more, and I have some good days every now and again. I'm off all anti-depressants. My diet is better and, while I don't exercise as much as I should, my daily walk does help. My psychologist told me that as I got older, my condition might improve with age because your brain chemistry continues to change. I think he's right.
Want to know what I really miss? Having a beer. Anyone who's seriously depressed should avoid alcohol completely. I've seen what alcohol does to a healthy person's EEG, and it's not pretty. When you're depressed, imbibing takes a bad situation and turns it into a mental trainwreck. But while I miss a brew at the end of the day, I don't miss feeling so depressed that nothing matters. That emptiness I hope I never experience again.
I leave you with some sobering statistics, no pun intended. It is estimated that twenty-five million Americans suffer from depression in one form or another. I've no doubt that many of those cases are mild but consider this: one of every twelve Americans suffers from this form of mental illness. There's a good chance that you know someone who is a victim of depression. Still think it's all in our heads? Think again.
Thank you, Emerald_Dragon, for a thoughtful essay on a very painful subject.

God damn give it a rest. Repeating the same fucking things over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again!!! STOP!!!!!

And more and more and more and more and more

Way to much fucking and to little of the story.
Not everyone wants to read about fucking and fucking and fucking and fucking and fucking and fucking and fucking and fucking and fucking and fucking.