My story

Yesterday, I was pleasantly surprised to find that, as mentioned above, while checking blogs to see who has written, Monarch had written a wonderful blog. I read the blog from which she was inspired to write, and it gave me so many thoughts, I couldn't figure out what to write in the comments. I spent about a half hour writing different things, then deleting them, because I wasn't sure if it would come out right through the internet. (Things can be taken so wrong, even when they come with the best of intentions, so I figured I would just save it for an in person conversation.)

I am even a little unsure of what I am writing right now, because I have very mixed feelings about the whole topic.

(For those unaware, topic= antidepressant medication, and the stigma society puts on people who are taking them, who need them, just like people who have diebetes need insulin.)

I am not against those medications for the people that they help. Maybe I am in some sort of denial about the whole thing, but I still can't say that I was glad to be on them, that they helped.

I think they may have caused more problems in me than they helped. I think that my doctor at the time should have suggested therapy first, or even just more of a conversation about it.

Sigh. I guess I am going to have to start at The Beginning:

Way back in the day, I went on the pill. It was a screwed up time in my life already, and I started to feel scared of going to school. I was getting anxious, I was feeling sick to my stomach and had physical symptoms just from getting ready.

(Later on, I'd realized that the symptoms had been around for awhile, and I managed to figure out that my issue was that Cold Lake was my safety zone. I could go on trips about as far as Bonnyville. If we planned to go to St. Paul, Edmonton, even, I would start to feel sick. There was a few times when I managed to talk my parents out of taking me, because I would be spending so much time in the bathroom, sick, crying, upset. The very moment that they said I could stay home, I felt better. Within half an hour of their departure, I'd be back to normal.

If I seemed better and they suggested I come, it would slam back full force.

Obviously, that's not normal.)

I made an appointment with the doctor, and whie sitting in the waiting room, I had no idea what

I was going to say. I didn't have the words. I saw this little purple flyer advertising anxiety solutions of some kind, and because I didn't really understand anxiety at all. At the time, I was shocked. Like it blew my socks off. I read it a bit, and it sounded like it was talking about me.

I felt a lot of mixed emotions then, because I felt like someone had put that pamphlet there just for me. So that I would have the words to tell the doctor what I needed to say. I am still thankful for that pamphlet. Otherwise, who knows what I'd have said.

I went through the checklist, and there was one thing, ONE THING, that I didn't check off. I'd had a few minutes to process it when they called my name. He asked why I was there, I put the pamphlet with the little 'x' marks on it on his desk and said "that's why."

While discussing it, he said there was a few options. One was therapy. One was medication. One was both. I was overly eager to just get it over and done with. I wanted a quick fix, and I kind of resent the doctor for not noticing. (It was pretty obvious, I think). So I chose medication. I can't

remember if I went into therapy right away, too, or if I was just going to go back to see him to make sure everything was going okay.

Please keep in mind: I was 16 or 17, I can't remember now. Either way, I realize now, I shouldn't have been allowed to make that decision by myself.

The major factor that made me doubt my decision to go on the medication, was when I went home and told my Mom: "He put me on Paxil." I seem to recall she was baking cookies, and she came out of the kitchen, and was shocked. My brother was on that medication for about 6 months. He came off of it so easy, I thought I could do the same, and then everything would be

okay.

I went into this whole thing with unrealistic expectations.

Some of the things the doctor said really bugged me. Like the long list of side effects. Paxil, especially had been known to cause more problems than it fixed in people under 18, which is

why I think it really screwed me up.

When I was younger, I got so upset about things that I could no longer rationalize. Hell, I moved out when I turned 16. There was nothing wrong with my house. I told myself I couldn't live there anymore, and somehow managed to convince my boyfriend I needed to get out. I still have moments of intense guilt over the whole thing. I can't seem to forgive myself for what I put my parents, my brother through. (My brother was sitting on the couch watching while we moved my stuff out.)

I left a note on the stairs.

I was not thinking clearly.

I switched to the High School, lost contact with some of the best friends I've ever had. I ended

up moving back home.

I went through a horrible experience with folliculitus, right around the same time as the meningitus scare, on antibiotics for over a year and a half, the doctors didn't know what it was. I went to a specialist, got answers. I got a great job, working nights cleaning big trucks just outside of Bonnyville, got into a car accident. It was a slow night at work, I was sort of acting 'man-watch' while they cleaned the inside of a tank.

After driving for about 2 minutes I was too tired to drive, so I pulled over and slept for about 2

hours. I woke up because the sun was coming up, and cranked up the a/c and music, felt much better. I drove home, fell asleep a little past the mall and drove into the ditch, through a barbed wire fence, back out of the ditch, in front of the morning oilfield traffic, and finally stopped on the right side of the road.

A truck who had been following me stopped and the guy got out of his truck to see if I was okay.

At the exact moment I saw him get out of his truck, I freaked out. When I saw him get out of the truck, somehow in my mind that translated into: GET OUT!!! (Panic mode. I seemed to think the car was going to explode. That's movie influence for you.)

I called my parents, woke them up. (sorry). The guy who stopped to help me ended up having to pull me out of the middle of the road. I was standing in the lane while I called my parents. He had me sit in his truck while we waited for my Dad. I sat there, still shocked, and when my Dad came over to the truck, I lost it. I felt so horrible.

(Later on, I could barely believe my Mom was going to have me drive to the police station to fill out a report. I had just gotten into an accident, and she wanted me to drive their car? It's the whole 'gotta get back onto the horse' thing.)

Within a few weeks, I'd made plans to move to Bonnyville, so that I would be closer to the job, safer.

Well, I lost the job (another really long story, still think it was bs. The girl I was working with was cousins with one of the bosses, andshe got me fired for something I didn't do. They refused to listen. Oh well.) after we'd signed the contract for the apartment, but before we moved. So we still had to move.

Paxil was supposed to help. At first for a few months, it did.

I had a really hard time trying to find another job, a cross between stupid teenager mentality and pride didn't help. I got more and more depressed. I sat on the couch a lot, and lost interest in so many things.

A friend got me started in Cross-stitching, (and I still love doing it, just don't seem to be able to find the time.) and when I was doing that, my mood would be a little better. For the most part, I pulled away from everyone. I would sit on the floor in front of the window and just watch people going by, wondering how they do it, how they leave their house everyday.

We moved from Bonnyville to Pierceland - cheaper rent, near a bunch of friends. We all got jobs at the Wal-Mart in Cold Lake, and carpooled into town to work there.

That was okay. (Good part: met my best friend Jarrod there, he really helped me out a lot.)

I ended up hosting my 19th birthday party at our place in Pierceland, invited all of my friends over for hamburgers and hot dogs, and we all went into town that night to go to the bar. I had a great time, but apparently I'd managed to do something to upset one of my 'friends', who ended up telling everyone else that they were all going to stop being friends with me. And they did. (Some friends, hey? Glad they showed their true colours.) I even invited them all out to coffee to talk about it, so that I could find out. They all sat at a different table and didn't say anything to me, even when I asked. (Still kind of have trust issues now; I'm paranoid.)

ANYWAY, they all ditched me and it was really hard to deal with that, too.

I made a few new friends at my next job, working in the kitchen @ Mark's. I had some really bad anxiety about starting there, too. The first time Jim hired me, I called and told him I couldn't yet, explained that I was freaking out. I went back a few weeks later and felt much better. And did great, I think.

I don't remember when I did it, but I switched to a different medication: Zoloft. Thank God for Zoloft.

I think I had been having more problems with depression and anxiety, plus side effects were getting worse.

Zoloft was so much nicer. I wasn't on a rollercoaster anymore. I wasn't depressed. I felt more like me.

My friends at work became out of work friends, too. Nicole and Jim are still very important to me. (And Crystal, Nicole's daughter, is wonderful! I love hanging out with them!)

I still want to go back into cooking, but I think I could only do it if it were with Jim and Nicole.

We were a great team. The line never ran as smooth as when we were dancing on it. (Not literally, it was my term for our seemingly choreographed moves while really busy. We dodged around each other and never had any accidents in the almost 2 years we worked together.)

I still really miss that job. It was by far the best job I'd ever had, solely because of the people I was working with!

I did great for a little while, and started planning to move to Edmonton with Jarrod, where I hoped to go to school (for what, I have no idea, that's why I still haven't gone. Still don't know.).

About 2 months before we moved, my family went to Calgary for my cousin's wedding. We were

all packed, we were loading up the car, and anxiety struck me. I was in the bathroom for about an hour ish, off anf on, and my whole family was waiting. I just couldn't see myself going. I still don't know what it was about being out of Cold Lake & Area that freaked me out. (I'd even gone on a trip to Quebec for a week with school on an exchange thing about 3 years before... why couldn't I go to Calgary?)

I sat on a chair in the dining room and told my Mom, "I'd just as soon not go."

I'm not sure if she was frustrated, stressed out, or just fed up, but she said words that struck deep inside of me, and still do. I hear them anytime I doubt anything or get any anxiety at all: "If you can't even go to Calgary for the weekend, how are you going to move to Edmonton?"

That's all she needed to say. I sat up, felt better, said, let's go.

And we went.

I don't so much hear the Calgary/Edmonton thing anymore, but I hear "if you can't do this, if you get freaked out about this, how are you ever going to do anything else? Just go and do it."

(And now I'm in Hinton... of all places)

I went to Calgary, and had a great time. It was wonderful seeing the animals at the zoo and stuff, I still want to go back.

I moved to Edmonton that summer, met Chris, and found out he as just as, if not more, supportive than Jarrod. (And Jarrod helped him to understand all this previous sh!t I'd gone through to make me as quirky, yes, quirky, as I am.

I tried a few times in Edmonton to come off of the medication, and it didn't work very well.

We moved to Cold Lake, then to Hinton. I was on 100mg of Zoloft (sertraline) when we moved.

Hinton felt so right, so good, that our 3rd day here (September 5th, 2006) I only took 75mg.

(Chris and I had talked about it a LOT before we decided to try it. I told him all of the possibilities, and said that if he noticed any changes in my behaviour or attitude, or if I seemed to be depressed or anything, to let me know.)

We got Marley on January 17th, 2007, and in February, we decided I could try to go down to 50 mg. And I did. (I had talked to my doctor in Cold Lake extensively about coming off of the medications, and knew that if I had any problems at all, any noticeable mood changes, to go back to the previous dosage and go see a doctor.

Thankfully, I didn't need to.

I went to tell the doctor I was coming off of them, and every time I'd say "I wanted to let you know I am coming off of my antidepressants" they would sit up straighter and ask me a dozen questions. "How are you feeling? When did you decide this? Have you talked to a different doctor about this? Do you have someone who can make sure to let you know if you do seem to be having mood swings? etc, etc..."

I thought it was kind of funny. By the end of the appointment, they would just say, "Okay, you are doing everything right, thank you for coming in to let me know what's going on. Please come in again if you have ANY concerns."

I was glad to see that they cared. (Not sure why it was a surprise to me, even my previous doctor reacted similarily when I wanted to come off of the medications.)

Because I wanted to be careful and not come off of them too quickly, I started to take 50mg one day, then 25 mg the next, back up to 50 mg, that sort of thing. For about a week to 2 weeks.

Then after awhile at 25, and feeling great, I started going 25/0/25/0... for about a week. I still felt great, so I took one pill every 3 days instead of every 2. I was going to go to 4 days, but I felt so good, and was sooooo sick of that paper on the table telling me when to take how much (was doing that to keep track, so I wouldn't screw it all up.) that I just stopped taking them. (May

17th, 2007)

I felt great. I was emotional about it. It felt weird to not have to take a pill everyday (was still sort of taking antihistamines, though - but that became very infrequent).

Over the next few weeks, things became more clear, and I realized that I had been numbed by the pills. Everything felt so real. Everything looked real. I know this doesn't make much sense, but things became real again. I was overwhelmed by it, in a good way. Everyday there was something new I would notice, and it all made me so happy.

Now, pill-free for almost 7 months (in 2 days), I can't say for certain that I would be willing to go back onto them. (Dreading finding out wether I will have post-partum...)

They are live-saving for many people, and I think that they can do amazing things for the right people, but I also think a lot of people who don't need them are put on them every day, either by pill-pushing doctors, or just because they don't understand the circumstances, the risk, the side effects.

I was never embarrassed to tell people I was on them, I never felt like it was a weakness, or that I was flawed in any way. (I didn't really have any prescription drug coverage, though, so all of mine were out of pocket expenses, usually stressed out over, too.)

So far as I know, no one ever judged me when I told them I was on medication. They were for the most part very understanding. Some really couldn't care less.

I'm glad that they are helping people, but I am so glad to be off of them, too.

:)

This took me awhile to write. I've never come to terms with everything I went through. I kept blocking it out, I would talk about it once in awhile to certain people, but until I came off of the medication, I never really thought about it. I've been crying off and on throughout this entire

post.

I've been meaning to write this since May. Thank you Monarch, for the inspiration to finally

write it.

Oh crap. I forgot to clean the house. This took me almost 3 1/2 hours to write. Going to start that now...