Of course you hate it, sweetie. Who wouldn't? Unfortunately, menopause is something all women must go through. Some find it short and relatively easy. For others, including my mother and my wife, it drags on and on, and in the middle of a freezing night they will throw off all the covers and lie naked on the bed in a vain attempt to cool off. There are hormone treatments that will address the most severe symptoms, but many women prefer to just tolerate them and get it over with.

As to medications, I've mentioned that Abilify and Cipralex were sweat-inducing in the extreme, and Remeron, Paxil, and Seroquel came a close second. My psychiatrist, a beautiful young Hindu woman I have been seeing for almost a year now, weaned me off Cipralex and onto Venlafaxine. In the middle of the transition I crashed horribly and found myself in a situation that was literally life-threatening, but once I got over the worst of it (with the help of Sublinox, which allowed me to just check out and sleep when things became unbearable) we gradually increased my dosage until now I'm taking 300 mg/day, plus Clonazepam morning and evening to help fend off anxiety. I have experienced few side effects with Venlafaxine, other than the urge to think out loud -- but most people think I'm crazy anyway, so they're not surprised to hear me talking to myself. I've become quite loquacious.

One of the chief symptoms of my depression was anhedonia -- the complete loss of interest in things and activities I used to enjoy. This has not changed: I have no desire to renovate my house, do woodworking or blacksmithing, canoeing or swimming, walking or biking, publishing books and negotiating with printers, graphic design. But I do find that I am developing interests in other areas. I have subscribed to two magazines that I have always enjoyed but felt somehow I didn't deserve to have coming into the house. After a hiatus of several years I am writing again, and have two books making the rounds of publishers -- one a collection of poetry I have written over the past forty years; I stopped publishing poetry in the 1970s, and then I stopped writing it, but the urge has gradually returned.

Life still hurts, and I often go through the day waiting for bedtime and oblivion, but these things give me hope. God bless you, #Mx. He did not make a mistake when he created you.