Living Beyond Depression
And accepting that medication can save my life
by Stephanie Ivy Whiteside
If I were to trace the history of my mental health, the reality is that I’ve been depressed and anxious for most of my life.
I was a shy, sensitive kid whose favorite Winnie the Pooh characters were Eeyore and Piglet because they were gloomy and nervous, like me. I remember seeing my first therapist in grade school.
As I got older, I began to clutch at things to make sense of the why, the reasons that I couldn’t seem to shake the darkness. Being bullied. Losing my best friend to suicide at 16. Social isolation.
I tried to get better. I went to therapy, which failed much to my parents frustration, to give me the attitude adjustment that would turn me into a cheerfully obedient child.
But there was one thing I avoided, and that was medication.
In my late teens I was briefly put on anti-depressants and it went pretty badly. This was in the late 90s/early 2000s, before they realized that teenagers and anti-depressants don’t generally mix very well. I quit them as soon as I turned 18 and stubbornly refused to try them ever since. It’s difficult to describe what depression feels like, but so far the best depiction I’ve seen comes from Hyperbole and a Half. For years, I fought in an endless cycle; I would try to get better, see small improvements, get overwhelmed and slide back into solitude and self-bullying.
I did my best to hide what was going on inside my brain. I’ve always had one goal, to do work that makes a difference, and that’s where I put all my spoons. My apartment could be a disaster, my social life non-existent, and my eating habits atrocious, but I was going to wake up and go to work and throw everything I had at it.
Which I did. For years.
Then I got into my 30's and hit a breaking point. Not the low, suicidal, want to drive my car into a lake kind of breaking point that marked my teens and early 20s, but a much more subtle one. I was tired. I was tired of being tired. And I looked up one day and realized that I had spent the past three or four years crying. Every single day.
I felt like I had tried everything. Therapy. Religion (several varieties). Meditation. Running. Not running. Faking it. Not faking it and honoring my feelings. Distraction. Crystals. Herbal Tea. Everything.
Except medication.
Like most people I had a knee-jerk fear of medication for my mind. Sure, I’ll toss an antibiotic back in a heartbeat if I’ve got an infection, and I wouldn’t make it through spring without my allergy pills. But my brain? That’s a different story.
I thought anti-depressants would change me, turn me into someone else. The kind of perky, compliant woman I silently loathed. Or worse, an emotional zombie incapable of feeling joy as well as sadness. That I would lose my creativity. I was even afraid of losing my cynicism and snark.
None of that happened. I was lucky enough to find an amazing doctor who worked with me to carefully adjust doseages. The thing they don’t tell you about anti-depressants is that it’s not like other drugs; it’s a long process of tweaking and adjusting, which can be a terrifying roller coaster.
There was the pill that made me feel fantastic, but also didn’t let me have any deep sleep. That was super fun by the end of week 3. Then there was the pill that let me sleep GREAT but also didn’t do a thing for my irrational anxiety. (Something that I didn’t notice until my best friend pointed out that it was not quite rational to freak out because I saw my crush talking to another person, and that did not mean I was destined to be alone forever.)
Finally, we found the winner. I can sleep decently. I generally only freak out at things that actually require it, and I don’t see the world through a fatalistic lens anymore. My work is better and more focused, and I’m able to enjoy time with my friends. Best of all? I can go days, weeks, even months without shedding a tear.
I often hear people talking about the evils of “Big Pharma” and the ways we’re numbing our souls. Rather than continue to keep silent, I want to say this: For some people, anti-depressants are a life saver.
It’s time to let go of thinking of depression and other mental illnesses as a sort of character weakness that could be cured through strength of will. Sometimes it’s not about finding the right therapist or the right faith or believing in yourself. Sometimes you can show up and do the work and still not move ahead. Because sometimes, the reality is that your brain doesn’t work the way most people’s do. Just like any other organ. Sometimes, it needs a little help.
To be clear, meds aren’t a cure-all. I still go to therapy, and struggle with the feeling that depression has robbed me of the majority of my life. I mourn for the typical teens and 20's experiences that I missed out on. I’m surrounded by talented, high-achieving people and I wonder if it’s too late for me to have a chance at success. But in the end, it’s worth it. Life may still not be easy, but now it feels possible.
