Maybe She’s Born With It, Maybe It’s Circumstance
My antidepressants hadn’t stopped working, the rest of my life had.
When it comes to the still nebulous world of depression treatment, I’ve been one of the lucky ones. Though I’ve been on antidepressants since age 13, a laundry list of SSRIs and monthly talk therapy have worked well enough through the years to get me by with acceptable — if unspectacular — results. Until a few years ago, I had never even heard the phrase treatment-resistant depression.
But at some point last year, I can’t say when exactly, my medications stopped working. I was mostly functional, but down enough that my family noticed, and I noticed too — unhappily, when I was already beginning a slow slide into a full depressive episode. I was unfocused and unmotivated, often feeling like not much was worth the effort. I lost interest in longtime goals: writing, traveling, and exercise. After talking with my doctor, I tried upping my dosage, adding another medication, mindfulness, and all the other exhausting things required to maintain mental health for those of us who can’t take it for granted.
I had spent many a therapy session lamenting my Bummer Era, revisiting again and again the idea that I was hopelessly stuck, rudderless, sad. I complained to anyone who would listen that I never had the…
