My diseases are liars. When everything is going well, they lead me to believe I’m “fine” or “cured.” If I take my meds for long enough, I start to think I have beaten depression and might be able to live without them. Every now and then, the thought sneaks into my head that my alcoholism is gone and I could handle “just one drink.”
And then I miss my meds for a few days, and crash into familiar territory. Sad for no apparent reason. Overreact to seeming slights. Take criticism too personally. Irritable as fuck.
(Thank heavens I’ve never acted on the thought of “just one drink,” because Bad Shit Would Happen – worse than what I describe above.)
All it takes is a few days off my meds to knock me back into reality. I can’t live without chemical support. And fuck all if that isn’t really depressing. I mean, I’m not going to physically die without it, like someone with diabetes who needs insulin, but living with untreated depression isn’t really living.
It shouldn’t be a big deal. There are millions of people with chronic diseases who take meds. Most don’t have the shitty stigma of mental health problems, but then I don’t really care if someone disapproves of my Prozac. So I’m really not sure what it is that bothers me. Maybe it’s the long-term nature of it; that I probably will have to take a pill every day for the rest of my life in order to be happy or “normal.” That’s kind of tiresome, especially for someone who sucks at remembering to take pills.
I just hope the drug builds back up in my system quickly. I’m sick of these nighttime downers.