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"About a year ago I went off my medicine. I was just feeling so goodish and normalish and I decided it was time to try life again without meds. It’s a good decision sometimes. Sometimes medicine can be used as a life boat to get you from drowning to solid ground. I thought I was on solid ground. So anyway, I went off and had some good months. But then — do you remember this? Well — I kinda went downward from there, you guys. "It's clear your depression and anxiety are not under control."
I knew those words from my doctor were coming -- I'd already come to that conclusion myself -- but hearing them still stung. "I think we need to talk about medication again," she continued. Again, a conclusion I'd already come to, but I couldn't help but cry a little as she went on to add that based on my symptoms and history, she recommended I prepare myself to stay on them for the foreseeable future, possibly (probably?) the rest of my life. I know I shouldn't be upset. As a mental health activist and published researcher, I know medication is nothing to be ashamed about. I know mental illnesses should not be treated any differently than physical illnesses; when my asthma acts up, I don't have any problem puffing my inhalers. But for some reason, it still hurt to hear. I think a big part of me thought by taking Prozac again, I was "failing." I worked so hard to ease off my medication in January 2020. I wrote about that decision here, but in sum, although I’ve dealt with clinical depression for most of my life, I was only prescribed Prozac in 2012 to assist with my recovery from bulimia. Because I’ve been “in recovery” for the last few years and I feel like I have healed from my eating disorder, I wanted to see if I still needed medication. Looking back, even though I didn’t think I had internalized any stigmas, maybe a small part of me thought relying on meds made me weaker than other people, a little bit broken. Idk. Honestly, I think the overly optimistic, slightly arrogant, wannabe-hero side of me really liked the idea of being an ~*iNsPiRaTiOn*~ -- “Look at all these mental health struggles I’ve conquered! Anything is possible if you put your mind to it!! Health equals wealth!!! Hashtag blessed!!!!” Ugh. She annoys me sometimes. Anyway, I worked with my doctor to taper off my dosage, I focused on sleep, I rarely drank alcohol, I made sure I was eating enough, and I started regularly practicing yoga again. I was trying to be proactive, and I thought I was doing everything right. Unfortunately, I discovered for the millionth time that my brain chemistry needs help. Without medication, my mental health was in the shitter, to put it spiritually, for most of 2020 and early 2021. It's difficult to describe, but things were just… hard. Yes, I'm sure a global pandemic and a cross-country move didn't help, but honestly, it was more that small, everyday moments would build up. For example, I didn't tell anyone this, but driving had begun to terrify me. I had lung-crushing anxiety over tiny things -- what if that person merges over and hits me? What if I sneeze right when the car in front of me slams on their brakes and I hit them? What if there's no parking? What if my phone dies and I get lost? Stupid little "what if" questions, but they got so overwhelming that my heart would race whenever I got in my car. I could and would do it -- I'm what doctors call "high functioning” LOL -- but it wasn't fun to live with. You see, for me at least, being "mentally ill" doesn't look the same as it does in the movies. No hallucinations, no psychotic break, no violence. It looks like debilitating anxiety that my brain can only turn off if all the light switches in my house are pointing the same direction. It looks like having a misunderstanding with my husband and immediately thinking he's going to leave me. It looks like ignoring phone calls and walling myself off from the people I care about. It looks like lying about how I'm fine, really! At my darkest, it looks like believing the world would be better off if I wasn't in it. It's fucking exhausting, is what it is. For me, and for people who love me. I started taking Prozac again in March, after the above conversation with my doctor, and I'm finally starting to feel like myself again, thank God. It was that last thought that made me call my doctor. I've been suicidal before, but not for many, many years, so when I started getting creeping thoughts like, "why are you here? Life is too hard. It would be so much easier not to be here," I knew I needed help. When I was off my medication, I wondered why I was so bone-tired. Why my sense of humor was gone. Why I was irritated and nervous all the time. Why I cried so much. Because I’d been on Prozac for almost a decade, I wondered if that was just my “real” personality. But it wasn’t. It was just a dark cloud that held my best qualities in shadow. It took a little while, but I had to remind myself who I was -- I am curious, I am adventurous, I am easygoing, and I love to laugh. Just because these qualities are smothered when I’m depressed doesn’t mean they’re not “me.” I deserve the best quality of life possible. I deserve to be free from the grayness that sometimes dims who I am. I deserve to experience this magical world in color. And if that takes medication for me, then so be it.
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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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