Independent

Today, we celebrate our nation’s independence.  In two days, I will mark my independence from anti-depressants.  The link between the two may be a reach, but for artistic purposes, I’m going with it.

About six months after losing Mike, my primary care doctor gently persuaded me to consider trying an anti-depressant.  He thought it was a reasonable time to do so considering my frame of mind.  I am not a pill person, so reluctantly, I gave it a go.  Over the past couple years with two doctors in two different states, I went on and off several meds, switching and juggling them based on my needs.  Some meds were meant to calm my overall sense of sadness, while others were supposed to give me a little boost in energy and motivation – something I told every doctor and therapist I was severely lacking.

I could never be sure any of the pills were doing any good.  I couldn’t say I felt different.  They surely didn’t make my loss “OK,” nor did they displace my sadness or change the amount I missed Mike.  I did, however, feel a huge difference when, on two separate occasions, I unintentionally went off my medication – cold turkey.  Man, did I crash.  I felt like I had the flu.  My skin had a funny sensation.  My hearing was weird.  And worst of all, my heartache bowled me over like a dam had broken.  The sadness was as real and raw as ever, and it included flashbacks to all the horrible images and experiences from the hospital.  Following those episodes, I went back on the pills, and I knew it wasn’t time to stop them.  Even if I couldn’t be sure of them making a difference when I took them, I sure as hell felt the difference when I stopped them.

About a month ago, I decided to give the pill cessation another try.  I have been feeling fairly good, and some positive changes have been going on in my life.  This time though, I was going to stop the meds properly.  I didn’t inform my doctor, mainly because of a bad experience at my last scheduled appointment, when I showed up to a closed, empty office.  (I later got some lame excuse that they tried to call me and couldn’t reach me.  B.S.  At that point, my stubbornness took over and I decided to do it alone.)  I finished one of my pills a couple weeks ago, and will finish the other Sunday.  Then, I am on my own.  So far, I am handling it well.  This method is night and day compared to what I unwittingly subjected myself to in the past.  The quitting of meds hasn’t been completely without issues though.  While I haven’t had any extreme withdrawal or terribly haunting flashbacks, I have noticed some not-so-pleasant side effects while my brain is learning to operate on its own chemicals.  I have been short-tempered, getting aggravated with many things, great and small.  I have gotten frustrated over things that I’d normally shrug off or simply not notice at all.  I have taken my anger out on those closest to me.  I have been brought to tears easily, over things that are both sad and happy.  I have been a mini “emotional wreck” at times, but still in a manageable capacity.  And, of course, I have missed Mike more intensely.  It hasn’t been the physically and emotionally crushing grief of the past, but it has been enough for me to take notice.  I get more twinges of “Why?”, “How can this really be?” and things of that nature, but I am able to handle them better than I have before.  Maybe that’s due to time, maybe that’s due to better coping skills, or maybe it’s due to the ugly, deep-down realization that my questions won’t change my reality.  My brain has been through enough.  Maybe it’s just too tired to keep having to come up with an answer to an unanswerable question.

I’m happy to finally be rid of my medication.  I still have my Ativan for the occasional sleepless night or the God-get-me-through-this-moment moment.  Even though the transition to pill-less-ness hasn’t been seamless, it was something I had to try.  I often try to handle too much on my own, and ask for help too little, but that’s the way I was made.  Whether that stubbornness is a help or a hindrance, it’s the only way I know.  I’m comfortable with my choice to handle my loss on my own again.  I know my meds were designed to get me through a terrible transitional time, but now the training wheels have to come off.  I am on my own again, alone and independent, but better equipped than I was before to live with my loss.