"Happy Pills"/Pills That Make Me Happy

I hate how when you want to write something important, the words just don't flow as they should, in the order that makes a lot of sense. Bear with me. I'll just start at the beginning:

A few years ago, I lived in another state at attended a small community college part time. Also, I was going to work full-time, so I was constantly busy. I went to school from 8 am to noon, and then I went to work from 4 pm to midnight. I was usually off from work during the week, so I never really had a full day to myself.

My grades were pretty decent, even though I didn't have very much time to study. Whatever spare hours I had was spent resting; I did my homework during my lunch breaks. That is, what I could complete.

I began to miss assignments, and show up late for class. When I would pull into the parking lot, a Fear would grip me and wouldn't let me move. I spent many class hour just hiding in the parking lot. And when I would see people walk out of the building, I would start the car and drive home, as if I'd been in class the whole time.

My Fear began to effect my working life, also. I worked in customer service, and on really busy days with really angry customers, I would leave my post and just go cry in the bathroom. I knew I shouldn't take it personally, but I just couldn't help it.

I began to realize that I'd been having those kinds of feelings for a very long time. I was terrified of failure, terrified of making a complete fool of myself, and terrified of not meeting people's expectations of me. I usually sequestered myself in my bedroom, coming out only to grab something from the refrigerator or to use the bathroom. I'd always been nervous about meeting new people. Then there were the thoughts of suicide.

I can't remember when I first started thinking about suicide. I do know that it was years before I started attending that college. I would sit in the bathroom and cry, and plan how I was going to do it. But then I would back out, and become more down on myself because I felt like I was a coward.

I did discover that I liked the feeling of direct heat on my skin. So sometimes I would hold my hand over direct steam for the soothing pain. Or, I would settle my arm against a hot iron, and I'd take it away before my skin began to blister. It got so bad, however, that when I was at my worst, I began to bite my arms. I concentrated on the pain, and not at the crippling, irrational Fear that gripped my body.

Despite all of this, I never thought - never even considered - that something may be wrong. I remember when I was in high school, and my mom sometimes asked me if I would like to see a counselor. I blatantly refused. I was scared that, if I said the wrong thing, I would be misunderstood and c0mmitted to a hospital. I hated the idea: Miss Overachiever had a breakdown and wound up in the loony bin.

Then something happened.

I had changed jobs and taken the semester off in order to get used to my new work environment. I adored my new position (at the time - but that's a whole other story ^_~), and my new job wasn't as stressful as the old one. One day, a staff meeting was scheduled on my day off. I pulled into the parking lot about 5 minutes late.

And I couldn't move.

My heart was racing. My knuckles were turning white because of my grip on the steering wheel. My breathing was fast...I was terrified.

I didn't understand it. It had been weeks since I last felt The Fear. I thought that changing my pace by not going to school that semester and switching jobs would help, but there it was again. That's when I realized that I really needed help.

I drove back to the house where I lived with my parents, and told my mom everything. About skipping class, about the pain, and about The Fear. She suggested I go see a doctor, who diagnosed me with depression and generalized anxiety. He gave me a prescription, and I was to increase the dosage over time, until I felt comfortable.

I'm not going to lie: The first night I took those pills was a blast!

I was so freakin' high! I remember a comedian who once said, "Have you ever felt so drunk that you're holding onto the ground so you don't fall off the Earth?" That's exactly how I felt! I was woozy and dizzy; I laughed hysterically at the smallest thing! I was having a blast!

That initial high lasted for about 3 days. Then, my brain and my body got used to the medication and I had fewer bouts of depression and anxiety.

At the time, I was doing well at my new job, and I rented an apartment of my own. Even though I made a little more than at my old job, money was still tight. Aside from rent and utilities, one of my biggest expense was my medication. One day, I realized that I needed to sacrifice my meds to pay the rent. I went without them for a couple of weeks; I had convinced myself that maybe I didn't need them at all.

That's when I started biting my arms again.

I began to snap at the slightest upset. I cried at the drop of a hat. At times, I couldn't even get out of bed because of The Fear.

My mom noticed a change and asked me about it. When I confessed about not taking my meds and how I began to hurt myself, she gave me the money to go refill my prescriptions. After the medication was back in my system, I came to the conclusion that I had to accept the fact that what I was dealing with was, in fact, mental illness. My mind was wired incorrectly, and it was the medications that stabilized me and allowed me to function in my everyday life.

The reason I posted this story (sorry if it's "tl;dr") is because mental illness, and the medications used to treat it, is still stigmatized in this country, despite the fact that more people are taking antidepressants than ever before.

Having depression isn't just being in a bad mood. (Have you ever had the urge to cry, even though, at that moment, there was nothing to cry about?) Having anxiety attacks aren't just a case of the "heebie-jeebies". (Y'know how when someone sneaks up on you, you become startled for a moment? Your heart races and your breath catches, but after you realize there's no danger, you calm down. Imagine if you never calmed down. Imagine if there was nothing to startle you in the first place. Imagine waking up from a peaceful sleep with an unexplainable fear so incapacitating that you can't even get up from the bed.) It's a chemical imbalance in the brain that makes people feel things that they shouldn't. Being terrified of absolutely nothing isn't normal. Having thoughts of suicide on a daily basis isn't normal. My brain is not normal.

If you're reading this, and you have had thoughts of depression or anxiety, and have used methods like relaxation techniques, exercise, change in diet, or other homeopathic remedies to feel better, good for you. I've tried many things besides the medication. Unfortunately, it's the meds that keep m relatively sane. I've had people tell me that all I need to do is pray and that God will clear my mind. I've had people tell me that I just need to be more active. How can I be more active, if I'm too terrified to get out of bed in the morning? How can I pray when I'm so out-of-whack at times, that I can't even form a coherent thought?

I'm not going to pretend that pharmaceutical companies don't make big money on "treating" illnesses and not "curing" them. I also know that there are doctors out there who get a nice little stipend for a every prescription they write. Yes, it sucks ass. But for me, it's working.

The reason I'm posting all of this was because of a couple of posts over at Feministe. Kactus wrote a brief post about how she finally found a doctor who was actually willing to listen to her complaints and not just attribute her illness to being "fat, female, and over 40." (I know how that is, except for the age 40 part. *ducks rotten tomatoes) Her new doc prescribed her medications to deal with her depression, and aside from the side effects, she's doing better. Unfortunately, there are people out there who think that, despite not knowing you, not being a medical professional, and not living in your body, they can tell you how you should treat your illness.

Fuck 'em.

Y'know what? There are people out there who can take a teaspoon of NiQuil and be up-and-at-'em the next morning. There are others, however, who need to a humidifier, a kettle of warm tea, and a bucket of antibiotics just to feel well enough to go back to work in a week. People are more accepting of that reality than the reality of clinical depression. It's called mental illness for a reason, people!