I was on medication on and off for a couple of years. I didn't know any better. I told the doctor my symptoms and he was supposed to make me better. My hair was shedding like a dog, my skin had the acne of teenage years, my head ached a deathly pain, and my stomach seemed to be upset with me--to name a few...

He gave me my first antidepressant. I was so embarrassed because it was such a popular, yet controversial medication. People were committing suicide because of it...or so my mom said. And on top of that, he didn't tell me he was giving it to me for depression. It was for "somatic complaints." He told me that this antidepressant was used to treat chronic conditions, like migraines. But it was more than that. HE knew I was depressed.

I came back repeatedly over the course of 12 months to get the medication, two, three, four times. The side effects were further straining my marriage. I was so groggy sometimes, and very hard to awaken. One time I felt like I was spinning around in circles. All I could do was hold on tight to the pillow, with my head.

One day I woke up and decided I didn't need any meds. I wasn't sick. My body was angry with me for not letting the things in my mind and heart get heard. It was erupting. Against the doctors orders, I stopped using the meds abruptly. The only thing it had helped me to do was feel dead. DEAD. The opposite of ALIVE. I could not feel anything. I was indifferent. I knew this wasn't right. In order to feel, I had to be alive. In order to think, I had to be alive.

Un-medicated, I was able to make a plan. And that's how I got out.

0 advocates for peace: