It’s true. I take an
antidepressant daily. You might not
guess it. But it’s a fact.
I am so thankful for the positive impact a small pill has
had on my personal emotional and mental health.
I assure you, despite my sunshine and rose coloured Facebook posts portraying
a near-perfect life and rarely a down day it’s not been all rainbows and
skittles. This medication business has
been going on for nearly a year. And
likely should have happened years ago.
The story behind my final straw experience to take “the
plunge” into medication? Anxiety. Health anxiety to be more specific. It’s something I’ve struggled off and on with
for years. Especially since watching my
dad die from cancer nearly 16 years ago when I was 18. I likely tended toward the worrisome nature
before those difficult events, but watching my dad fight and lose his battle
solidified my fearful habits.
Over the years I’ve feared irreversible infertility, skin
cancer, ALS, MS, brain tumors, pretty much anything extremely difficult or
terminal. My morbid thoughts had me
clenching my teeth, holding my breath, and often on edge for when the floor
would fall from beneath my seemingly stable life. That continual battle against fear of the
future and of disease took its toll over the years.
My psycho-somatic symptoms began preying on my ever active
mind until I felt regular tingles, tightness in my chest, inability to relax,
shallow breathing, and a sensation that I was very often in fight-or-flight
mode. I would share my struggles with my
husband, with family, with my closest friends very openly, but I’m well aware
that my usually outgoing, chatty, and upbeat nature made my inner fears and
battles against anxiety nearly invisible to the general public.
Last year my personal struggles came to a head when I was so
taken over physically by my worries that I couldn’t tell the difference between
sensations caused by anxiety or whether I was actually suffering from something
horrid and definitely lethal. My fears
and constant attempts to rationalize and talk myself out of them took over my
enjoyment of life. I no longer had the
ability to sit contentedly watching the kids play, I had difficulty sleeping
because my mind wouldn’t stop. I would
wake up and feel a rush of terror and imagine my worst fears (death, suffering,
watching someone die) come to reality.
It sucked. Bad. I would hold it together to the best of my
ability while in public, in crowds, or around my kids, but my elastic abilities
were only so flexible. I would snap
faster than a tiny twig and unfortunately Brad got the worst of my pent up worry and
anxiety by way of unpredictability and a tendency to make mountains out of mole
hills. I tried hard to be strong, to
battle it on my own, to use my openness and willingness to talk to friends,
family, and councillors as my sole means to gain mental and emotional
stability. I have found that I am
strong, but I am not super human. I am
aware, but actually way too aware. My
awareness was handicapping me with a deer-in-the-headlights, frantic be-ready-to-drop-everything-and-run-at-any-moment
kind of aware. I am rational for the
most part, but also rational enough to know that worst fears sometimes do come
true.
A few months in a row of personally absorbing every horror
story I heard on the news, engrossing myself in every excruciating loss I read
about, and frequently picturing myself in the position of losing myself or
someone I loved most to a savage flesh eating disease (see? I know, so morbid), I succumbed to the
reality that I couldn’t fight my anxiety on my own. I had to accept my fearful nature and seek
the help that is available beyond myself.
The day I decided to begin taking the small dose of medication that I
now take daily was a wonderful day marking the biggest turn around and reprieve
from my anxious pattern that I had in years.
I can now sit and think about glorious nothing when I need
to relax. I can hear a story on the news
and think “wow, that must be so devastating” or “that is terrible and
horrifying” and then continue peeling potatoes without feeling like my head is
about to pop off for the fear that I will soon be living those exact
experiences. My doctor referred to my
adopt-the-worst-case-scenario-to-my-life as over-empathy. What a nice way of putting my selfish
ambition to be so absorbed in non-reality that I couldn’t even enjoy the moment
or be thankful for what I had.
The point of this post?
Not to reel in your sympathy or pity.
Not to prove that I am bold and brave and able to conquer. And definitely not to promote a single pill
as a solution to all mental and emotional problems. No.
This journal is my attempt to join the chorus that is letting us know
that it’s okay. It’s okay to have
weakness and seek assistance to deal with our devils. It’s okay to admit our struggles without
shame or feeling like we are playing a victim.
I’m quite certain that too many people either choose or feel forced to
struggle in silence and put up a front.
Our personal portrayals don’t have to reveal the nitty gritty dirty
laundry that we all have hiding in our closets or under our beds (literally or
figuratively), but I also have a drive to be authentic, and I believe authenticity
is essential in order to build real and deep relationships that also aid in
healing and dealing with our individual ghosts.
So before you think I have it altogether, or that anybody
(including me) is stronger, braver, or better than you, think again. We all have our demons. Not one of us is exempt. But there is strength in numbers and in
sharing our successes as we wade through the mud.
I’m thankful that I am not currently in a state of medical
emergency, but I can now handle the thought that those events could become a
reality one day. Although I still feel
horrified and deeply saddened when I hear about dire circumstances that people
have faced in the past or are in the midst of, I am no longer fixated on them
until they overtake me. My adoption of
horrors, my clinging to anxiety led to significant mental anguish and I’m
grateful to God that fear has a lessened grip on me. I’m thankful for my ability to open up about
it and I wish to inspire others to feel free to share their own stories with people
they love and trust. I’m grateful for my
confidence and that I am more equipped to deal with a tragedy should it become
a reality in my life once again. I am
thankful for my little white pill (safely prescribed and ingested of course).
I am medicated, and it’s okay.
