Honest to Blog - Season 3 Ross

Prelude to Post:

Over the past few months I've had a mini hiatus from blogging while trying to sort my life out a little bit.

Essentially, my partner and I had some time apart and I was struggling... A LOT.

Whenever anyone mentions a break I always think of Friends.

Season 3, Episode 15, The One Where Ross and Rachel Take a Break.

Not that the episode is in anyway linked to this post, I just like Friends and can't help but think if season 3 Ross when anyone mentions taking break.

Trigger Warning - This post is about taking anti-depressants. Anyone who isn't comfortable reading about my personal thoughts and experiences on this subject, or isn't comfortable with mentions of suicidal ideation or self harm thoughts should not read further.

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At first I was hesitant. Not just hesitant. Anxious. Uncertain. Scared.

I'd always thought that taking medication was great for some people, but that being head strong meant that I'd just soldier through with my mental illness.

I kind of thought I was tough for going to work full-time, having a relationship, traveling, having an active social life while also juggling crippling anxiety, depression and BPD.

I thought managing all of that together without medication meant I was resilient and capable.

I didn't realise it was actually the opposite.

For so long I refused to be medicated for my mental health issues because I thought that meant I was giving into them, somehow letting them win.

I thought coming home after work and going straight to bed for the rest of the evening was okay because I'd worked, so I was tired.

I thought that it was okay to act like I had it together while crying behind closed doors.

I thought somehow it was then okay to open those doors, to talk to people about how I felt... offloading onto others and assuming that because they don't have diagnosed mental health issues that they could help me handle mine.

In the past 6 months I became entirely maladaptive. I started rationalizing my irrational and unhealthy behaviours.

I gave myself consolation by using humour, saying things to people like, "Oh my gosh I haven't even showered in 4 days, I need to get it together." But using a joking tone that suggested I was entirely okay with this behaviour and it was just a bit silly of me.

In some ways this era of accepting and understanding mental health can also mean we appropriate it. I've had people say things to me like, "you're going through a lot though." As if that makes it okay to stop showering, to cry almost every night, to be so anxious that I break down constantly...

I got so used to being like that... I accepted that I wasn't meant to be happy. That this was just my life.

It shifted into my relationship then.

My partner and I started having issues.

I was in this mind-set that if I wasn't okay, he was meant to be so he could make it better.

I honestly believed he was somehow responsible for my happiness.

And when I perceived that he no longer provided hapinness to me because I was entirely depressed, anxious, paranoid and in some circumstances dissociative - I started poking holes in our relationship.

I told myself that he was the one who created the holes in the first place, I was merely acknowledging them and refusing to live with them.

I was entirely convinced that, because I was unhappy and that I wasn't deserving of happiness, I didn't deserve love.

And as I'm known to do, I pushed... hard. Not just my partner, but a whole bunch of people!

I stopped seeing friends, stopped wanting to go anywhere, stopped visiting family, would cancel plans last minute, started having anxiety attacks at work, struggled to even get through a week of work...

I told myself, you just got to get through until your holiday and then everything will be fine.

I convinced myself that somehow all the issues would dissipate the moment the plane left the airport and we were bound for Singapore.

I turned off my phone and for a few days, everything was okay (not great, not even fine, but it was okay).

And then it wasn't.

Our holiday came to a screeching halt.

We returned home early and went our separate ways for what I can only describe as one of the most excruciating months of my life.

I had to face the fact that things were definitely fucking not okay.

And that they hadn't been for a while.

I then tried to figure out... when was the last time I was happy?

I did a lot of soul searching.

A lot of crying.

A lot of hurting myself.

A lot of hurting others.

And then I realised... This has to change.

Initially I thought that meant that I had to change.

Then I thought, no, he has to change.

Then I thought, no, people's perspective has to change.

But then it hit me... what needs to change is maladaptive behaviours that stem from mental health problems which are caused by an imbalance of chemicals in my brain.

So, fix the fucking chemicals.

Let me just make this super clear, taking medication doesn't "fix" me or change me... but what it does do is help to subdue the anxiety and depression that I have so I can human just a little bit better.

At first I was scared to take medication because I didn't want to lose who I was.

I'd been on medication only once before, very briefly, that made me feel like I wasn't real. I felt like a zombie. I was going through the motions but lacked any kind of emotions.

I didn't want that to happen again.

I was clear with my doctor, the psychiatrist I saw and my psychologist about my expectations of taking medication and what I did/didn't want to experience.

They worked to find the right medication for me and one day I sat on the floor holding the pill in my hand crying as I finally took my first dose.

I expecting something to happen, like some kind of immediate internal relief that I was taking this huge step... but I didn't feel that.

It was just like any other aspect of my day. Something that had to be done, and once it was then I had to move onto the next thing.

There was no fanfare, no congratulations from anyone for trying to change or be better, no shift in the stars and planets.

It was just another day.

Since then I've taken them every day for almost a month.

My partner has moved back home.

I've started working more.

I've started catching up with friends instead of canceling or making excuses.

I've stopped crying every day.

I haven't been having any inclination to self-harm or any suicidal ideation.

I still get anxious sometimes.

I still have good and bad days.

But I cook now.

I have conversations that are more than just, "it's been better."

I've started thinking about progressing my career opportunities by studying again.

Most days, I smile now.

If you feel that you need help I strongly urge you to seek the assistance of friends, family or you can call the numbers of helplines such as Beyond Blue (1300 22 4636) or Lifeline (13 11 14) Or visit www.beyondblue.org.au or www.lifeline.org.au