The meds have returned!!!!
I suppose I could say that the straw that broke the camel’s back was my country’s descent into political madness and the accompanying stress it causes, but in reality, this has been a very slow realization. And it’s not exactly a joyous, willing decision.
I tried anti-depressants almost three years ago, and stopped taking them a year later after receiving approximately zero benefits. Ever since then, I have devoted my life to the stereotype of “pills are for weak people” by doing everything I could to beat my depression the good ‘ole fashioned way: exercise, healthy routines, hard work, and therapy.
For many people, those things might be enough—and they’re a necessary part of living with depression anyway, with or without medication. I so desperately wanted it to be enough, that I was going to work every day, trying to be active, volunteering, and seeing a therapist regularly. But it’s not.
I function, find meaning in my daily work, and read books. I started this blog to try and write, posting publicly so I’d hold myself accountable to the “write every day” thing. None of it gives me real joy, because I don’t know how to share it with people.
The amount of energy it takes to go to work, smile, and dive into the projects that I care about means that I can’t develop or maintain new relationships as well. I spend almost all my time outside of the office alone. Most of the time, this is normal—I am unabashedly introverted and would need solitude no matter what—but honestly, I think I’ve taken it to monk levels.
I realized a long time ago that life is almost meaningless if you’re not able to share the things you love with the people you love (the Harry Potter books were also instrumental in teaching me this). And since I have developed the irritating self-defense habit of being incapable of expressing affection and emotion, life has been consequently dreary.
Most of my unhappiness has come from working towards a life that looks great on paper, but colorless in reality. My LinkedIn profile is at “All Star” level, but I’ve spent all weekend in bed by myself, wishing I’d had the energy to go sledding. I want both, and have finally learned that I need help getting there. I don’t have the physical resources left in my body to overcome the loneliness.
Cue an awkward visit to a pompous psychiatrist, and I had a prescription for Sertraline (Zoloft). I got one of those handy weekly pill organizers for my antidepressants and vitamins and was off to the races.
It’ll be a week tomorrow since then, and so far, I’ve dealt with some nausea, dizziness, headaches, and a devastating inability to have an orgasm. That last one might be a deal-breaker if permanent, but I’m willing to wait out the trial period. If those aren’t the words of someone 100% willing to try anything at this point, then I don’t know what is.