Today marks a very special day for me. It is one year ago that I got off my depression medication, and it is something I am immensely proud of. I will never forget sitting in that waiting room in Harley Street, waiting to be seen by my doctor. My sister-in-law came with me. She was holding my hand and trying to comfort me, but I was inconsolable. Things were really bad. I wasn’t just overwhelmed with my feelings of sadness, I was also furious. I was angry because not only did my ex take every THING I owned, but he had also taken some very intangible things that I took for granted, such as my sanity.
It had been a week since Dr ManWhore kicked me out of our home. I loved that man with all my heart. I would have died for him. Isn’t it ironic though when the person you think will always protect you is the one who the trigger? I would wake up with my heart racing, and I kind of wanted to die. I didn’t want to live without him, despite everything he had done to me. The pain was unbearable. I just wanted it to go away. I had never faced this kind of overwhelming sadness before.
Now truth be told, I had always looked down on people who used medication to solve psychological issues. My mother suffers from bouts of them every once in a while, and I always thought of her as “weak.” I used to think, this is what people do when they aren’t strong enough to handle their problems by actually facing them like an adult. Now that I was suffering from it myself, however, I had been toppled from my high horse and my smug way of thinking. Now that it was happening to me, I felt a little bit like I was dying.
Finally I was seen by doctor. It didn’t take me long before I started blubbering like a baby. She prescribed me a high dose of anti-depressants called Citalopram (I don’t know what this drug is refereed to as in the US). The next week was spent in a drowsy fog, until eventually I got used to them.
I don’t know if it helped. I was still very sad, but slowly I started to feel a little more human. I will never know if it was it the medication, the passage of time, the counseling (I had an awesome counselor, I’ll never forget him) or a combination of the three that helped me. But I remained angry. Why? Because I didn’t want to give my bastard of a husband the pleasure of my mental breakdown along with everything else. No, I was a good wife, a good person, a daughter, a sister… I didn’t deserve this, and I would not let him destroy me. I was determined to get off of it… and that is exactly what I did. I slowly weaned myself off them (without the help of a doctor because Dr ManWhore had completely cut me off and I couldn’t afford help). Of course this is something that should only be done under the supervision of a health professional, but I did it anyway. I did it myself, and I feel proud.
There are times when I still get extremely low. Sometimes I wonder if I made myself come off them too fast. I think perhaps I did, but I have no regrets.