I came off my antidepressants about a month ago.
I’ve done this before. I’ll do it again. It’s a very cyclical thing with me. Definitely par for the course. It’s just… something I do, and I’ve come to accept that about myself.
But if you remember, a few months ago I did a State of the Mental Health Address in which I unloaded a lot of the things I’d been bottling up for awhile. My depression had become worse than usual, which was also leading to physical side effects, and life just felt a little like a black hole. My doctor and I devised a plan: doubling up the dosage of the antidepressant I was on, plus starting on a new medication that would help me sleep AND (hopefully) prevent migraines. Not everything worked as planned, but I saw some improvements, especially with the sleeping and the migraines. Where I DIDN’T see an improvement? The depression.
I saw my doctor again a couple of months ago and told her that I didn’t feel like my current antidepressant was working anymore. I was still feeling overwhelmed, joyless, and even hopeless on some days. Every day seemed like a hurdle and every little task felt like moving mountains. I’d be rushing out the door every morning, trying to wrangle up the kids and make it to work on time, and it’s been feeling like running a damn marathon. Every. Single. Morning. I swear under my breath, yell at the kids to hurry, and feel like crying because it all feels like too much. Every day. And this is just ONE example… there are many more.
My doctor switched my medication. I tried one I hadn’t tried before. I gave it a month. When it was time for me to go pick up my refill a few weeks ago, I simply didn’t get it. I ignored the reminder texts from the pharmacy, and they eventually went away. My thought process was: it’s not helping. I still feel terrible. If I’m going to feel like crap, I might as well do it NOT on medication if the medication isn’t working anyway.
Well, it turns out the medication was working. At least somewhat. While I STILL didn’t feel like my best self (or anywhere even CLOSE), I’ve discovered how much worse I am when I’m not on medication at all. In the last few weeks sans medication, I’ve started to feel pretty bad, and my emotions without the meds have felt like a loop-de-loop, upside down, crazy fast roller coaster. Before, while on the meds, it felt a little like a roller coaster, but not like I was going upside down, simply up and down a bit. We all have swaying emotions from time to time, right? But this…. this wasn’t good. I’d been finding myself crying at random songs in the car, swearing under my breath at every little thing, and reading less than usual. You know how you tend to stop doing things that bring you joy when you’re going through a depressive episode? Yep, that’s me right now.
Friday night, Jerry and I went to a concert, and when we got home, I promptly popped my first antidepressant in over a month (that’s the picture you see above). I decided that being on medication and feeling at least a LITTLE better is better than not being on it all and feeling horrible and super emotional all of the time. I do recognize that this medication isn’t working fully as it should, so I’ll be going back to the doctor to try something else soon, but in the meantime, I’ll stick with this. It regulates my moods to an extent, but I feel confident there must be something better out there for me.
What’s funny to me is that anytime someone talks about their depression or anxiety and feels badly about it, I’ll be the first one there telling them that it’s okay, it’s common, it’s a chemical thing in your brain, and not to be ashamed. And yet… I’m not ashamed, exactly, but I hide how I’m feeling, and I think I hide it very well. I’ve always felt like I needed to be strong and that I could rely on myself. When people see me, they would think I was feeling perfectly fine because I cover it up. I always have. I have a hard time being vulnerable with certain things, and asking for help when it pertains to my feelings and mental health honestly feels like an impossible feat to me. I hate it. I hate showing people my weaknesses. I hate to tell them that I don’t feel okay… but I don’t. Not right now, anyway. I will again soon, but I still struggle to share what I’m going through NOW. There are some people who simply don’t believe in the mental health struggle, who think it’s fake or made up, who don’t understand that it’s still an illness, even if it’s not physical. And while I’m very open about the fact that I HAVE depression and anxiety, that’s generally all that anyone will usually get from me. I don’t go into it more, I don’t let people know when I’m feeling particularity bad, I just plaster on a smile and keep on going. It’s what I’ve trained myself to do.
I take pride in being a very functional, successful person who doesn’t let her mental health stop her. I always have. I’ve been a strong proponent of living a normal life despite sometimes struggling. I get over confident and think “I can do this on my own. I don’t need this medication. I’m fine.” So I stop it. I don’t tell my doctor. I don’t devise a plan. I stop cold turkey. I’ve done this several times over the years, and I always end up going back on. Whenever I throw in the towel and start the medication up again, it feels like defeat sometimes. It feels like letting the monsters win. It feels like me saying “you’re right. I can’t do this on my own. I need a little help.” But don’t we all need a little help sometimes? So what if mine is in the form of a medication that regulates my moods? That fixes the chemicals in my brain that aren’t working quite right? That stops my lows from dipping a little too low?
Not everyone will understand my struggle, and that’s okay. We all have our own struggles and burdens to bear, and this is mine. I haven’t been defeated just because I need a little help along the way. The only defeat would be to refuse the help that’s available to me. To be too damn stubborn (hi, me) to recognize that we all struggle and that we all need a lifeline, regardless of what that is.
So I’m here. I haven’t been defeated. I’m stronger than before when I thought I could do it alone. I’m stronger for making this decision. I’m stronger for taking this medication. I’m stronger for recognizing that something wasn’t quite right.
And I’ll be even stronger again soon.
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