I come from a culture (Midwestern and white) where we say one word more than any other. No, that word isn’t “ranch” or “dressing", it’s “fine.” I’m celebrating today the one year anniversary of saying I wasn’t that.
It took me almost six years to admit I was depressed. One side-effect of being extremely online is the constant reassurance by anonymous posters that “it’s okay to ask for help!” When my IG timeline switched to entirely depression and anxiety memes, maybe that was a sign. They were funny, don’t get me wrong, but still.
Part of my worry was just that— that my sense of humor might shift, or even my sense of me. After all, my depression brain whispered, who would you be if you didn’t agonize so much? What if your humor is from chemical imblanace? What if it was anxiety that made you meet your goals at all? Like many millennials, I grew up in a Matrix-fevered world. Red pill. Blue pill. What if Neo had just not taken any pill? Pills are bad, my internal fifth-grade hall monitor brain shrieked. “This is your brain on drugs” /say no to drugs/DARE to be drug free maybe even if you might need that drug to be a functional person.
After an honest conversation and some tears in my annual physical appointment with my doctor, she prescribed me a low-dose of Zoloft. I pictured the little Zoloft blob from the original commercials following me around like one of those toy ducks on a string.
Filling the prescription for the first time, I felt my heart rate increase and my palms sweat. What if the pharmacist is judging me? After two months, and some dosage adjustments, I had enough distance to be able to state with confidence that no one was thinking about my exact behavior in the pharmacy, especially about a prescribed medication, because we all have our own baggage to lug around. My baggage is not all that interesting or unique, and honestly, what a relief that is.
I’ve described the effect of the drug on me as a perspecive bringer. I’m not suddenly sunshine and rainbows, nor the zombified version of myself I feared. Instead, I can get distance from stressors enough to tell what is worth stressing about and reprioritize. I have more time, and more quality time at that. Small tasks had felt insurmountable. I was losing deadlines for silly things. Life is better a year on, genuinely. I laugh more often. I am present more often. I’m less addicted to social media. I don’t drink alcohol any more. I play more with my kids.
This is not to say I’m perfect. I still don’t write with the regularity I’d wish, nor do I exercise enough. I’m not a perfect friend, and I still forget to bring the soccer snack when it’s our assigned week. I don’t expect Zoloft to fix me, but I’m grateful to have dug myself back from what I assumed ‘me’ was at this point in my life.
All this to say, hi. Life has been hard the past few years (or more) for you. Maybe medication isn’t what you need, or maybe you’re already on a path that works for you. Maybe you just need to hear that it’s okay to say you’re not fine. Just because you’ve had your baggage for years and dragged it with you from terminal to terminal, doesn’t mean that it’s not okay to check it once in a while. I hope you find something to make your journey a little lighter.
Currently reading:
Lay your Body Down by Amy Suiter Clarke (a thriller/mystery set in a megachurch)
Tatami Time Machine Blues by Tomihiko Morimi (a wild, funny sequel to The Tatami Galaxy)
Recent dog pic:
Having lived with a depressed/suicidal mother, I thought I knew all the signs, and that was never going to be me. I was strong. Didn’t need help with anything--ever.
One day I decided to walk away from the job that kept me distracted from the mundane demands of life. It was soon after depression took hold. A kind physician assistant picked up the subtle signals during a routine visit. My denial was strong. I saw what antidepressants did to my mother and I wasn’t going that route. I would work through the darkness on my own. She educated me on the newer SSRIs and I agreed to a low dose.
It took years of coming to terms the depression was real and going off the pills was not an option, because as soon as I stopped taking them and the medication left my system, the cycle started.
Prozac has been kind to me.
When I first started taking antidepressants, my sense of humor returned - losing it was what really scared me. That's when I knew I was depressed. So, after I found the right one for me, I've been taking them for years, with no ill effects. Good for you for getting help. Hoping you feel more like the real Rachel again...