I had gotten to a place of being okay again. I was in therapy and finally able to put down the bottle in the evenings. I had fitness, antidepressants and even the worlds shittiest therapy cat on my side. I would still have anxiety attacks from time to time and anything related to my brother made me ugly cry, but I could give life a passing grade.
That’s when I got a call from my dad at work.
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In last weeks blog post post I talked about my past thoughts on medications, a tipping point of needing them regardless of what the fuck I thought, and finally talking to my doctor about getting a prescription for an antidepressant.
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I grew up seeing sickly grandparents on handfuls of medication that kept them (barely) living and I knew from a young age that I needed to take better care of myself to avoid turning into them. Doing things that swerved heart disease and type 2 diabetes were high on my list of priorities, but I also never wanted to take any kind of mood-stabilizers that always seemed to have a laundry list of potential side affects (ironically including suicide), or have them change me fundamentally as a person (even though the person I was, kind of sucked).
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Before I kick things off, just a little disclaimer:
I’m not at all suggesting that if anyone does *insert arbitrary number of things* you can be cured of your mental health struggles – that would be a flat out lie and kind of fucked up to say. I’m just a regular unqualified person (with a potty mouth) sharing my thoughts, feelings, struggles and newly inspired goals. I am very aware of the fact that mental health is deeply personal and it’s possible that absolutely none of the things that helped me will help you. What I am saying is that in my over 30 years of life, I’ve never experienced this level of calm in my brain and I can only guess that the things I did leading up to this state are the reasons why.
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