Aloft
Wednesday, November 17th, 2010
You know, depression is a funny thing. Not funny “Ha Ha,” of course. No. Funny in the sense that it can possess you so completely that you forget where you end and it begins. You lose track of yourself in a way one would never think possible. You are depression.
And then, you try a pill. An anti-depressant. In clichéd marketing terms, you and your doctor “throw spaghetti at the wall” in hopes that something will stick. In hopes that one of the medications will work, the prescribing of which is still very much a guessing game, a gamble, a bit of “How do you like your odds?” You’re already taking Lamictal and Wellbutrin; have already tried Celexa, Lexapro, and Effexor… why not Zoloft too?
You, who’ve been Depression, now morph into The Experiment. You’re willing to do whatever it takes, try whatever is recommended; you need help. In spite of this acknowledgment, you undergo hope and disbelief just as the sun slips in and out of the clouds. Light and shadow. Warmth and chill.
Is it working? How do I know? Is this really me? Who am I without depression? Who am I without a pill? When will I know? What happens if it doesn’t work?
The side effects begin. Insomnia. You attempt to function on 4 hours of sleep pieced together night after night. Loss of appetite. You don’t want to eat and yet you’re nauseous from taking the medication on an empty stomach. Muscle pain, headaches, and fatigue. Somehow, even your teeth hurt. For good measure, you also plow through dizzy spells, shaky hands, and a curious loss of your short term memory.
But, the daily crying has stopped. The panicking has stopped. You’re not cured, no. You’ve merely and quite unconsciously shelved “it” for now. But, you’re calm again. Calm. You begin to wonder if you stick with it another day, will the side effects abate? If you stick with it another day, will it be worth it?
On day 8, you finally sleep. You dream. And when you wake up, you take a shower and arrive at work early. You eat a healthy breakfast. You respond to emails, call your mother, make plans with friends. You come alive again.
Later that night, you think of your boyfriend and how good he has been these past four months. All at once you feel gratitude and love. It washes over you, fills you, radiates outward. It is the first time in more months than you can name. You realize you didn’t know just how empty and impaired you were until then, until you felt goodness again. You breathe deeply.
The Experiment continues. There’s cautious optimism- the medications have worked before, only to fail miserably- but the cloud is lifting. There’s more sunlight than shadow, more hope than disbelief.
And then…I write again.
Boy, have I ever been in this place. I never gave medication the chance to work because the aches, the nausea, the pain was just too too much for me to take, each time I started taking meds I quit after a week. I fought a different way, my way, I had no choice. I think that’s it though, no matter how you fight it, the point is that you fight it. It gets better, everything always gets better.
Keep writing, keep connecting with the real world, it is far too easy to get lost in yourself when you are depressed. Don’t get lost.
((((Hugs))))
i am glad that things are looking a little brighter for you, my dear friend.
Thank you for being so honest about depression and the way it affects you. My husband struggles with depression. Often it is difficult for him to talk about the side effects of trying different medications, and what it is like going through all the physical and emotional symptoms. I know it isn’t the same for everyone, but your writing provides me with some insight as to what goes on “on the other side of the fence” He is about to climb back on the roller coaster of experimentation again as the current medication has ceased having positive affects. I always find it strange how, at least with him, little things that were better start gradually slipping, then one day it smacks me in the face that his depression is winning again. I think it is wonderful you have such a wonderful and supportive person in your life. Good luck with all the positive changes, and please keep writing so honestly.
You’re very brave for putting this out there and it’s an uplifting story just to hear how you’re doing x
I thought a long time after I first read your post. Truth is, I just want to give you a hug. A proper one….and let you see the smile. xx
I want to say thank you to each of you for your kind words. I’m very moved by them in fact.
I think for anyone in my position, it’s hard to know what’s the right course of action…whether to talk about it or hide it, take a pill or try other routes. For me, it’s always been therapy and medication. Until it doesn’t work anymore, as has been the case for the past few months.
I’m finally doing all that I can to get better- actually talking to the people in my life about what’s going on with me, trying acupuncture, continuing with therapy, and giving a different medication a shot. I don’t know that any of it will be permanent. I don’t know that it will always work. What I do know is that, for now, I’m starting to feel like myself again. I don’t think I could hope for more.
Thank you again to each of you. If I could, I’d bake you all friendship cookies.