Turns out, I was right. Prescription medication is bullshit. All along, this past decade, I knew it was bullshit. However, I hit a weak moment. I listened to what others told me to do. I got on medication. Then, they turned around and told me I was on too much medication. I’m sorry, but what is the exact amount of medication that you feel comfortable with me being on, exactly? Do you know of a magical cure-all pill that solves all my fucking problems? No? Okay, then let me do me.
I watched my mom struggle and go through hell with her medication. With her doctors, her insurance, everything was a pain. I watched her have no life in her. I watched her suffer in pain even though she took countless pills. Nothing helped her fully. Now, I’m feeling her pain.
Let me say this, first. I do not believe that getting medical attention and taking medication is a sign of weakness, not at all! This is the bravest thing I’ve ever had to do. It takes all sorts of strength I didn’t know I even had just to make it out of bed each morning. So, if you’re fighting this battle alongside me, know, you’re a badass.
“Hm… well, this last one didn’t do anything so let’s try this one, hopefully it doesn’t make me want to kill myself.”
You may think I’m being dramatic, I’m not. One of the many side effects of antidepressants is literally, “may cause suicidal thoughts.” Yes, wonderful! Let’s give a suicidal person, or better yet, someone whose never seriously contemplated suicide a freaking medication that, well, may cause them to want to die. Great idea, guys. Brilliant.
My first ever interaction with an antidepressant was when I was about 11. It made me want to stab something, just to see what it felt like. What kind of messed up world is this? At 11 I was so violent I scared myself.
At age 21, I was prescribed Prozac. Guess what, any change to this medication and I’m suicidal. Yeah, dose going up? Want to kill myself. Dose going down? Want to kill myself. Dose staying the same? Want to lie in bed and cry all day.
At age 22, the real fun began. My Prozac had stopped working completely. So, I was given a new antidepressant. It wouldn’t be for about four months before my psychiatrist finally realized, it wasn’t working. After straight up telling her, it does nothing.
Then, I was given a medication for my ADD. This medication was a life saver. It cured my anxiety, depression, and ADD in one go. It was perfect. That is, until it wore off. As I would crash from this medication, I would fall into some of the deepest pits of depression and anxiety I had ever seen. The isolation and loneliness was all consuming. I was lost. I would desperately reach out to absolutely anyone for help. They tried their best, but they couldn’t help me.
After that, I had my dose go up and then she added yet another ADD medication. This one worked even better than the first! So much focus, so much energy. Then, I took it while feeling anxious. That was a mistake. I had an anxiety attack so odd that I was being asked to please, go to the hospital. I didn’t. My friend came over and helped me. I flushed them the next day.
So, we decided to try a different ADD medication and take those two away. All while still on two antidepressants that weren’t doing a damn thing. This medication, I couldn’t sit still, I couldn’t focus, I was uncontrollable. It was hell that week. I got off that and went back to my other two.
Now, we’re caught up to where I currently am today. The two ADD medications work much smoother now that I’m used to them. I don’t get that “high” anymore, and I don’t get the crash, either. That’s pretty much taken care of. Now, we need to figure out what the hell is going on with my depression. Nothing has been working.
I was taken off that new antidepressant and put on a lovely, antipsychotic. Basically, a mood stabilizer. For the first week, I was in heaven. I was finally myself after years of being this other person. I had my motivation back. I was happy again. I was content. Then, I fucked up. I forgot to take it one night. Now, it no longer works. I’m back to self harm, doing nothing, feeling as though there is no purpose to my existence. I hate this medication the most. It gave me myself, then viciously took it away from me. I hate it with everything I have.
Now, I guess I’m back to square one with depression? I don’t know. Maybe she just needs to up the dose, maybe I need something completely different. Maybe I have an issue I have yet to be diagnosed with that isn’t being treated properly. Who the hell knows?
Tomorrow, I will be as honest as I can be. Straight up, and straight forward. This shit ain’t working. I want to try something else. I want to try something I know for a fact helps me. And I believe that along with the medication, can almost cure me. Medical marijuana. I so desperately need to try this. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, my PTSD is driving me insane. I’m miserable.
I’m beginning to wonder if this path was even worth it. I know that if I can feel the way I felt when I started my antipsychotics, it would be worth it. But this, this is hell. Medication for mental illness is ridiculous. Why do we not know more? Why do we just play a guessing game with it all? Sometimes, the pain that comes from these drugs can be worse than the pain you originally dealt with. I don’t even remember how it felt without medication. Was it worse? Was it better? Did I really suffer enough to the point that it makes all of this worth it? I don’t remember. But, I’m here. And I’m not giving up just yet.