Life Lesson #78917892428: Don't Try to Ween Yourself Off Your Depression and Anxiety Meds Without Talking to Your Doctor

I didn't mean to.

I just kept forgetting to go pick up my refill.

And then I thought, "What if....?"

What if I'm better?

What if I'm not a crazy lady anymore?

What if I can be me again without any "help"?

So I decided to experiment.

I just didn't go get the refill.

Monday was not so bad. By midday, I started to have some weird vertigo episodes and head rushes and increased heart rate. All normal withdrawal effects so I wasn't worried.

I knew Tuesday would be harder when I woke up with my head spinning. I got to work just fine, but staring at a computer screen only made things worse. I broke into my migraine emergency Diet Coke storage hoping a surge of caffeine would help, but I didn't notice much of a difference. Throughout the day, the symptoms just got worse.

Besides the withdrawal crap, I could feel myself starting to sink.

It's a weird experience feeling the depression and anxiety creeping in. It's a bit like standing on a beach, and as the waves wash under  you, your feet sink lower and lower in the sand. If you stay there long enough, you're stuck up to your calves. Or it's a little like being a bug in a glass jar watching the walls getting taller and taller above you. The more you search for an escape, the more frantic you get. And trying to sit and remain calm isn't doing you any good either because the glass just keeps getting taller. So you might as well freak out. Right?

Tuesday got worse and worse. By mid-afternoon, I called in my prescription and asked Tucker to go pick it up before the pharmacy closed. By 5:00, I was so done with the day, and I still had one class left. I sat in the back, trying to hold things together. Juries were the next morning, and my music wasn't memorized. Not only that, but what text had been in my head started slipping out. Sheets of music and words started jumbling together. If I paused for a second, I could feel the tightening in my throat start. So I just didn't stop. I paced in the back, muttering French lyrics over and over until it was my turn to sing in front of the class. I tried. The lyrics weren't in my brain anymore. But I still had until the next morning.

Tucker picked me up from class at 7:00. The last day of the semester. Over. It started to rain, and I got pretty damp in the 20 feet to the car. I climbed in and exhaled, slumping down into my seat. He surprised me by driving to pick up pizza for an end-of-semester celebration and shared some really incredible news with me. I tried so hard to be happy for him, but I was exhausted. While he went inside to get the pizza, I climbed in the back to feed Annie. Suddenly, I just felt everything all at once. I tried to cry, but my sobs were mostly dry. I just wanted to curl up with a blanket and sleep forever. Back at home, we ate pizza and watched TV, and Tucker tried to cheer me up. I tried to make a joke, but it came out mean and biting. Then I started to cry for real.

That's when Tucker stood up, took the baby, and said, "Alright! That's it! Where did I put your meds?!"

After a couple minutes, he brought me a pill with some water.

We took it easy the rest of the evening.

I put Annie to bed and eventually went to bed myself.

The next day, Tucker and I had a talk about how important it is for me to take my meds. I need them to function. I need them to be happy and calm. I need them to be able to handle everyday life.

Ok then.

I realized that despite knowing there's no shame in being dependent on medication, I didn't actually believe it. It annoys me that I can't be my normal self without that little pill. Why can't I just tell myself to chill out and be able to move on? Why does my brain build trivial, little issues into huge, insurmountable fortresses with armed guards and long-range archers waiting to shoot me down? Why does Annie's crying stress me out more than other moms and babies? Why is a mildly cluttered house fine one day and turning me into an impatient, panicky monster the next?

I don't know.

But I'm working on being ok with it.

And by ok, I mean happy.

I'm already ok with it.

But I need to be happy with it.

This is who I am now. Maybe just until I'm done breastfeeding. Or maybe forever.

Doesn't matter either way.

Time to accept it and stop waiting for the someday when I'm not dependent on meds anymore.

Because for all I know, that day might never come.

But who cares?

Because I can be happy right here. Right now.