I know that a lot of you have been telling me this from day one, but please believe me when I say it was something I needed to figure out on my own:
My brain? It ain’t right.
I’ve made the decision to go back on my anti-depression medication. Yesterday when I was at the doctor getting a refill of my anti-baby and anti-Ronaldo pills, I had the random doctor (I really need to find a doctor of my own instead of just using the walk-in clinics) write me a prescription for 75mg of EFFEXXX0R!!@#!!@!1. So, I’m back on it. Now, let the good times roll!
As obviously smart and charming and beautiful as I am, for some reason I still feel a huge stigma (stigmata? now that would be something to write to Ma about) against being on medication for being sad. I KNOW that’s not what it’s about. I KNOW it’s a chemical imbalance, and I KNOW there is no shame in fixing what’s wrong. For every other person out there on medication for depression, I applaud them mightily for taking the steps to have a better life. It’s awesome. Good for you!
Then there’s me, and I think I am a giant failure for needing brain pills to get through the day.
How much sense does that make? None, that’s how much. I can be a right bloody idiot sometimes, and this is definitely one of those times.
I know I had some of you up in arms about my decision to take myself off the crazy pills, but I really did need to see if I could do it. I think I needed to see what my life was like before the medication; remind myself that while things may suck right now, you wouldn’t believe how much worse they could get. I spent about 3 months off the medication, and things were .. not good. When I wasn’t angry, I felt dead inside. When I wasn’t a zombie, I was thinking about bus tires. Last weekend, when things were as bad as they’ve ever been, I came to the conclusion that the only reason I couldn’t kill myself right then and there was because I had dinner reservations on the 18th. That’s alarming for two reasons: that I’d started to think about offing myself again, and that wow, I really have no life the only “good” thing I could think of was that I had reservations for dinner. That isn’t normal. That isn’t me. Why the hell would I want to kill myself? I have a SCOOTER, for christ’s sake. Ain’t never seen no zombies riding around on scooters, snacking on the living.
So, things were bad. I am hoping they get better soon. I only started taking the medication again last night, so it’s a little early for me to start breaking out into song with every step – except this morning I woke up in a good mood, something that hasn’t happened in .. months. It’s quite possibly psychosomatic, but I’ll take it. Bus tires are dirty, and it’s wet out there.
*cheese*
delicious juice dot com 
*hugs*
wanna sell your Wii?
No, because then I could not play my Wii games. I like my Wii!
A longtime user of antidepressants, I would occasionally rebel and go off of them. Usually after about two months, Karen would aske me to please, please start taking them again.
It’s not really something that you can see from the inside, y’know?
And just knowing that you’re doing something about depression always has a good effect… you know that, sometime in the future you will feel better, and Lo! You feel better!
Good luck!
going on anti-depressants was probably the best thing I ever did in my life.
I’m happy that I successfully got off of them as well, but not nearly as happy as I am for having gone on them to begin with.
Please don’t do suicide-by-bus, though. My mother is a duty manager for translink and her days are sucky and depressing when there’s a translink-involved fatality. :(
As a long-time sufferer of chronic (sometimes low-level, sometimes not-so-low-level) depression, I am slowly resigning myself to the fact that I may not ever be off meds.
It’s a scary thought…but not as scary as my life (or non-life, as it most likely would be) without them.
*hugs* You are not alone.
My doctor told me I will likely be on antidepressants for most of the rest of my life…it wasn’t really until going back on them last year that I made peace with it. Your thoughts about needing them, going off of them, and realizing why you need them are mirrors of what I thought.
There’s a real pain in realizing that your brain ain’t right. But really, it’s the same as having a thyroid that’s wonky , or a pancreas that doesn’t work the way it should.