Hello, dear readers! If you have been following my blog for quite a while, you might remember my previous posts about panic attacks and depression. If not – here is a quick recap. I have been on and off antidepressants for several times since I was twelve. For quite a while I was on Zoloft which should have made me more calm and not so emotional but made me feel suicidal instead, even though I never really considered taking my own life before. Later my therapist changed my medicine and prescribed me Venlaxor which had to increase my productivity, energy level etc. I ended up feeling like a sleepy, emotionless robot instead, who could not focus on anything. In June 2017 I realized that I am done with medication, it made things worse instead of making them better, so I decided to quit. Not right away because you can not just stop taking your medication without experiencing terrible withdrawal, so I gradually decreased the amount until I finally stopped taking it. Am I proud of my decision? Yes, I have not swallowed another pill ever since. Is my life struggle free now? No. And that is what I wanted to talk about today.
Living with depression and not relying on medication is still tough. Some days seem good enough: I am spending time with my friends, laughing and enjoying the moment. On other days I feel empty, unproductive and just want to sleep, hoping that one day I will wake up but it is not how things work. Even for those, who do not suffer from depression, some days are better and some days are worse. Now, imagine, how it feels for a depressed person. Good days might be just as good but bad days are worse. Sometimes those bad days follow one after another. I can barely get out of the bed, even making myself a cup of tea seems like too much work. I would rather stay in bed and keep sleeping because that is the only activity that does not require energy and any emotion. On my bad days I feel helpless. Going grocery shopping and cooking is too much work, I would rather starve for a little longer. Going out to see my friends takes too much energy and effort. And… are they even my friends? I hate that in adult life it is normal to talk to people you call your friends just once a week or less. In my eyes that makes them turn into acquaintances. Friends are those, who are with you through good and bad times, not those, who you resist to call because you feel like such a meaningless person in their lives.
Since January of this year something terrible has been happening to me. Or I should probably say that something happened and I have been living with consequences ever since. Someone that I just started seeing and getting to know, really let me down. He lied to me about something very serious and then had the nerve to tell me he has nothing to do with it and it is all my fault. We have not talked since and I was left alone to deal with the situation. I am still dealing with it. Still feeling anxious and getting panic attacks because of it. It is the worst thing that has ever happened to me and it sucks to feel alone in this situation. I have talked to my family and few of my so-called friends but it still hurts. It feels like physical healing is way faster than the emotional one because I am still crying about it until this day. Maybe in the future I will talk about this even in depth but right now I am just not ready for this.
So I keep living: breathing, writing and trying to function like a normal human being. Sometimes I fail and sometimes I succeed. Sometimes I spend most of the day in bed with my laptop or simply sleeping. Sometimes I get out of bed, go to work, meet my friends and actually manage to be quite productive. I have not given up. As long as I am breathing, I am still trying. Sometimes I fail to take care of myself and get drunk or sleep all day but that is okay. Living without being on medication is not easier but it is worth it overall. Even if I do not write or play the guitar every day, I am still more inspired to do it than, for example, two years ago. Even if I do not feel happy every day, at least I have emotions instead of the dull, empty feeling that was caused by antidepressants. Even if all I can manage to do in a day is do my laundry, cook some pasta, shower and clean the bedside table, it is better than sleeping all day and not caring about my surroundings.
This is my recovery – it is messy, unpredictable, with its’ ups and downs but it is happening. If you are in a similar position right now, you are not alone. Stop being too hard on yourself. Stop expecting fast recovery but know that it gets better.
Love, Porcelain Doll.