Mental illness, medication and me
Medication is still a taboo subject for many people, especially those with mental illness. It doesn’t help that comments like “Did you forget to take your meds today?” or “What are you, bipolar?” have been an easy joke in modern media. These jokes are harmful and come at the expense of those who are struggling or experiencing some heightened sense of emotion.
I’m not a doctor and I don’t know everything there is to know about medication for various mental illnesses. But I do know that a lot of people have reservations about even trying medication, and those reservations come from stigma, misconceptions and fear.
I also know that medication has had a leading role in my recovery from mental lows over the years. I don’t have all the answers about mental illness and medication, but I can speak candidly about my journey with meds in the hope that it might alleviate some fears in someone who needs to hear it.
I was first introduced to SSRIs (selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors) in 2016 when I was in the third year of my degree and experiencing yet another magnetic pull towards the registrar’s office where I intended to drop out. It wasn’t the first time that urge came to grip me, but it was the first time it wasn’t soothed by a few visits to the college counsellor, who I still deem to be The Best Counsellor Ever.
Having previously dropped out of college twice already, I hated the idea of throwing away three years of hard work when I was so close to the finish line. But I also didn’t think I could go forward. My anxiety was absolutely throttling me and my classes may as well have been in gibberish for all that I took in.
With the magic of counselling having dwindled slightly for me, the only thing I could think to do was go to the doctor. I specifically chose my target based on a friend’s recommendation. It was important to me that I go to a doctor known for compassion and for taking mental health struggles seriously. And I was right to do so.
It didn’t matter to him that he had never met me before or that he didn’t have a history of dealing with me; he could see that I was struggling and he prescribed me a low dose of Citalopram, just 10mg to start. He warned me that it would take a few weeks for me to feel the effects and it was likely to worsen before it got better.
But within about two to three days, I was already feeling lighter. The anxiety was dulled and my nerves were soothed. Not perfect, but soothed. Placebo Effect or not, the meds were making a big difference. I happily medicated away until my prescription ran out at the end of the month, by which point I was supposed to return to my New Favourite Doctor and discuss my progress.
The problem? I was a student living on Back To Education Allowance and I couldn’t afford two doctor’s trips within thirty days.
So, I couldn’t go back and I couldn’t get my prescription refilled. It was certainly not ideal and I would have done things differently if I could have, but I somehow found the will to carry on into my fourth year without dropping out. The glimpse of medicated normality carried me through; it gave me enough hope to propel me forward.
For a while.
Then in fourth year, the same drop-out calls beckoned to me, this time from depression rather than anxiety. I was still in counselling and seeing a fair amount of success with it, but not enough to overcome the stress and nerves that came with final-year assignments and exams.
I went back to Dr Q and explained why I had gone MIA even though I found the meds very helpful. Proving his compassion once again, this time he gave me a three-month prescription so that I’d have time to recover some funds for a vital return visit.
The meds, in short, saved me from throwing away my degree — a degree which I had truly struggled to get through.
For years, this prescription worked wonders for me. Of course, my mental health fluctuated like everyone else’s, but it wasn’t until August 2020 that things really spun out of control.
I won’t bore you with extensive detail on this occasion, but I had a neurological episode that resulted in a head injury. According to doctors, nurses and neurologists, the episode was brought on by stress — which makes sense. This was just a month after I launched my video production company, NerdyBird Media, and I was weeks away from starting my Masters programme. So I had a lot on my plate.
The head injury compounded with a Post-concussion Syndrome diagnosis meant that I needed some significant help. It got to a point where I was mostly bed-bound, completely overwhelmed with nausea and severe headaches. Enter, Amitriptyline; my new med and my loyal companion.
The dose was low enough, 25mg, but it was enough to reduce my sick days from approximately five per week down to one or two. My quality of life rocketed upwards, although I was still at a low compared with, well, my entire life up to that point.
And since then, to be honest, my mental state has been in flux. That neurological event, whatever it was, has absolutely had a long-term effect both physically and mentally. Physically, my depression now manifests in my body much more harshly than ever before. On bad days, I wake up feeling incredibly hungover, even though I quit alcohol over two years ago (in fact, I quit when I was hospitalised with said head injury). Mentally, my depression now scares the sh*t out of me because I know that it has the power to cause mysterious and painful neurological events. I’m forever changed by that inexplicable episode.
About a year ago, as I felt myself declining again, I decided to be proactive and return to the lovely Dr Q. He doubled my Citalopram dose, bringing me up to 20mg of Citalopram and 25mg of Amitriptyline. But recently, as I’ve plummeted into my current depressive spell which has prompted me to take some time off work, Dr Q declared my current medicinal cocktail ineffective.
“We’ll get you on something else because it’s clear that the Citalopram is no longer working for you,” he said, ripping away the support that had been with me for so many years.
The idea of parting with Citalopram was a tough one because I had seen such success with it previously, but I couldn’t bank on it anymore. I needed to get better and I needed to trust my doctor.
So he put me on Venlofex, a new friend to add to my circle. We devised a plan to wean me off of Citalopram and onto Venlofex over the course of about ten days, bringing me up to my current 75mg dose. So far, I’m absolutely seeing results, although it’s unclear how much of that is down to the medication and how much of it is because I’ve removed myself from my work environment. I’m also actively endeavouring to rediscover joy by trying activities that I used to love, such as writing, reading and playing D&D.
So, yeah, I’m getting better and I can’t guarantee that it’s down to the change in meds, but it’s certainly a part of it. And like I said before, the Placebo Effect could also be at play… but if it’s effective, then I don’t care what it is. All I know is that I’m making steps forward in my recovery. I’m healing, slowly but surely.
I’m not here to tell you that meds are the solution to mental health struggles. I’m just here to say that, for me, they’re one of the key ingredients in my solution.
And I understand the fear of introducing something new to your system; I understand concerns about becoming dependent on something outside of yourself. But, if it’s prescribed by a doctor and if it could make your life a little easier, I would encourage you not to let fear get in the way.
Mental illness and mental health struggles are like fighting an ongoing war within yourself, and you have to arm yourself with everything you have at your disposal. Meds might not be the thing for you, and that’s fine. But please don’t let misconceptions stop you from trying something you might need. You never know, meds could save your life.
