Let’s be honest here, I don’t really want to write about this one but I need to since things like this need to be said. They do. They need to be said since for too long, they have gone unsaid and too many have dealt with this in silence.
I take Lexapro. I do. And have for a while… I cannot give you a timeframe since I haven’t been religious with taking it. I fought it for so long. I’m talking years. Yes, I fought it for years… I’d take it for a few months and then would feel fine so I’d stop and then I wouldn’t feel fine. Not at all. So I’d start up again after I’d gone deep into my hole again. The whole cycle repeated itself for months and months and months until I finally realized that it needed to stop.
I am a scientist by training. I love biology. I love science. I love seeing how the human body works. I understand depression and why it happens and why medication helps. I get it. I do. As someone who understands the science behind it, I get it. But I still fought it. I still ignored it. I still denied it. Because I wasn’t depressed. Not me. I can deal with it. I can beat it by myself. I was just sad. I used to explain that there was a difference. I thought there was… but there wasn’t. I was sad and depressed and for me, they were the same thing.
It took me a very long time to realize that being depressed didn’t make me any less of a person. It didn’t make me weak. It didn’t mean something was wrong. It meant that I just needed help. It meant that I was going through a terrible situation and my body couldn’t handle it and it needed help. I refused to ask for help. I hate asking for help still… but I needed help.
Depression is terrible. It’s draining. It hurt. I ached; physically, mentally and emotionally. I was angry. I hated life. I acted out and yelled. a lot. I yelled at my child. I yelled at the quad. I yelled at the dog. I yelled at the universe. While yelling, I made it about others. It wasn’t ever my fault. There wasn’t anything wrong with me. I was fine. It was every one else.
Turns out it wasn’t. And that made me feel even worse. I felt ashamed. I felt alone. I felt out of control. I didn’t want to think that I needed medication to make me feel better or to make me okay. But, it turns out that I do. And it does make me feel better and it does make me okay. It helps. so much. Every night, I take one pill. And that one pill gives me the ability to cope. It gives me the strength that I need to go to bed and get ready for another day. Another day of living. Of living a life worth living.
And I hate my pills. But I will never, ever stop taking them unless I am full ready. I have accepted that I may never be fully ready. That’s okay. I deal with a lot in my life and taking medication helps me deal with it. It helps me keep the clarity that I need and keeps the fog lifted. It keeps me out of the deep, dark hole of depression that I was in at one point. It lets me laugh. I lets me enjoy things. It lets me smile. It lets me be happy.
It is not the answer to my depression but it is a tool that I use to keep going and moving forward. It lets me be the superwoman everyone thinks that I am. Superwoman I am not. I am human. As one, I fight with depression and anxiety every day with Lexapro at my side.