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“I wish grace and healing were more abracadabra kind of things. Also, that delicate silver bells would ring to announce grace's arrival. But no, it's clog and slog and scootch, on the floor, in the silence, in the dark.” My brain is not prime real estate right now.
I’m currently in the process of coming off the antidepressants I’ve been on for the past eight years, and while I haven’t had any truly severe side effects, I haven’t exactly felt like myself. Creatively, I feel spent. This post will not be highly edited, well thought-out, or contain any clever answers, and I'm not happy with the title. I know writing is good for me when I’m in my head like this, but nothing comes out (or, at least nothing I like). The perfectionist side of me doesn't even want to post this (but her opinion isn't needed right now, so I'm posting anyway). Things I typically enjoy, like writing, take an absurd amount of energy to make myself do -- reading, walking my dogs, cooking, etc. It’s odd; this is kind of like depression, but without the melancholy. It’s just… tiredness (plus the body aches and headaches… so fun!). I’m not writing this blog post to be dramatic or to worry anyone, but because I try to live by something my therapist told me close to a decade ago: “Secrets have a lot less power when they’re out in the open.” It’s been a long time since I’ve been “secretive” about my mental health struggles, but it is still very easy for me to smooth over -- if not outright lie -- about how I’m doing. It’s always been hard for me to verbally talk about how I’m feeling, and I know I tend to ignore problems or numb myself to them (#Enneagram9Probz), so I’m writing it down. (Another reason I wanted to write this is because through this blog, I’ve been a huge advocate for mental wellness and not being afraid of the treatment it takes to get there. It felt a little hypocritical to not document all aspects of my own journey.) I will forever be grateful to antidepressants. I’ve written about it briefly, but I wrestled with taking them for a long time. The final straw was my college team doctor making me choose between in-patient treatment for my bulimia or trying medication (along with out-patient therapy). Taking Prozac was a huge part of my eating disorder recovery, as well as getting my depression under control. And I want to be clear: I’m not against going back on it if these side effects worsen. I think God gave us humans brilliant, inventive brains for a reason, and I fully support taking advantage of medical technology. However, I do not believe in taking medication just for the heck of it, and I think ideally, it should be a last resort. Also, I love to travel and camp, and remembering to pack enough medication can be a pain (as can the side effects if I forget). So, I’d like to see if, by using the tools I’ve gleaned, it’s now healthy for me to live without antidepressants. Maybe February in North Dakota isn’t the perfect situation for this (sunlight is hard to come by, and my body wants to go into hibernation with this extremely cold weather), but for whatever reason, I feel in my gut this is the right time to try. I put a lot of thought into this decision, and I’m taking steps to make it easier (forcing myself to exercise, avoiding alcohol, giving my body good food, trying to cut down on social media, trying to get enough sleep), but that doesn’t negate the fact that these next couple weeks might still be hard for me. This was just sort of a “checking in” blog post, so I’m struggling with writing a conclusion, but I guess the point is to say that we’re not always ~living our best life.~ If I'm being honest, I'm not right now. Being human is messy! It’s ok to feel down every now and then, as long as you don't keep it all inside. We're all struggling. Let's lean on each other to make it easier.
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About the AuthorConfessions of a failed southern lady. I've got messy hair and a thirsty heart. Writer, photographer, career wanderer. Archives
May 2023
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