As my 31st birthday quickly approached, I realized that I had been on the pill for well over a decade. I was not only shocked to realize that I had reached the age where things started happening in decade spans (which entitles me to wisdom and perspective, but also means I’m getting old) and that it was time to take my health seriously. Life was great, but I felt like it could be better: specifically, I had an unhealthy relationship with food (give me ALL the crab rangoons!) and I had the sex drive of a small toaster oven (not even a big one). I thought that this was normal until I realized that it wasn’t and the small white pill I took every day could be the culprit.
I had been on the pill since I was 19 years old, a sophomore in college, still figuring out who I was and what I wanted out of life, and in the meantime having a lot of sex with my hunky new boyfriend. My parents met this boyfriend over spring break and were sent into a tailspin that resulted in my father, an eye doctor who had no idea how to handle this situation, calling to let me know that a prescription for The Pill was waiting for me at the local pharmacy and I should pick it up immediately.
Rather than having any further terribly awkward parental conversations on the topic of sex, I acknowledged what they knew as soon as they set eyes on that new boyfriend: their sweet innocent daughter was no more (“He looks like a Greek god,” my father said worriedly after meeting him). So I picked up the prescription and started taking it, having no idea what impact this would have on my body and mind over the next decade.
Twelve years and 20 pounds later, a husband had replaced that boyfriend and life was so good, but I had the sex drive of a kitchen appliance—which means that it was nonexistent, for those of you wondering how small machines feel on the inside. When did I become an inanimate object? I tried to think back to those pre-pill college days, but they were a distant, foggy memory and offered no insight into how I had really changed over the past 12 years.
I turned to the best source I could find: internet message boards, and I was shocked to find that I wasn’t alone–there was a whole slew of women out there trawling the internet with their experiences, and they were eerily familiar: deadened insides, moodiness, general malaise, an unhealthy craving for food and (shockingly) an inability to lose weight. WOW. I had always known the pill could impact your body, but what about your mind and personality? All of these things that I took to be parts of who I was could actually be the product of that small white pill I took every day.
Was mac’n cheese really not a necessary part of my life, was the soul-wrenching desire for crab rangoons not a true part of my heart-of-hearts? This was pretty profound news since I spent a large part of my day thinking about and plotting how to acquire these foods in a seemingly normal way. Could it possibly be that it was the hormone I was taking every day that made my body think it was pregnant that caused these intense desires for food?
A light bulb went off and I was really excited: maybe I could be less fat and maybe I could end this unhealthy addiction to food, but even more than that–maybe, just maybe, I am a much more pleasant person! The women on the message boards complained of short tempers, rage and general moodiness. I could relate. What a bonus it would be to shed these disagreeable personality traits (or so I thought, after 12 years) along with the pounds! Maybe I am a nice and thin person, and this pill has turned me into a somewhat bitchy pudge of a woman–it’s not who I really am. Could it be true?
I am now three months pill-free. Did I open my eyes one day and wonder how I got here, in a kind of Matrixlike experience that revealed a frightening yet better world? No, I am still me. However, food no longer has an unhealthy hold over me, and I feel liberated. Mac’n cheese no longer calls to me with a siren song that I cannot resist. This is huge for me. And I feel things inside me, naughtybad things, and I am relieved to know that I am not in fact destined to be a dusty kitchen appliance for the rest of my days. I also feel like my moods have leveled off. Am I still kind of a bitch? Maybe. Quitting the pill hasn’t turned me into the saintly and kind (yet naughty) woman I was hoping to be overnight, but there’s been a distinct shift— I’d call this experiment a success.
