Whenever I used to take mushrooms, I would have a thought of, oh, right—this is what it feels like to be happy. I mentioned that to someone recently and she said it sounded sad. I also now realize it’s sad. It was refreshing to hear her honesty.
It was refreshing to hear what I think I always knew to be true. That I’d gotten so used to my depression, which has gone mostly untreated for two decades, I forgot there was another way to be.
Last month I hit a new low. Intrusive thoughts returned of the kind where I question my need to exist. I’ve always been able to answer honestly when asked by a professional if I have a plan to kill myself, and the answer is still ‘no.’ But I think I’ve grown too comfortable with the idea that it’s okay, and by okay I mean not overly concerning, to wonder if anyone would care if I was gone.
After oscillating for several weeks between bursts of mania and an inability to stop crying, I knew things were bad. I was already scheduled to start seeing a new therapist after taking some time off when my previous therapist retired. Walking into the office and sobbing for most of an hour in front of a stranger was the data point I needed to seek further help. She asked if I had ever been on medication and I said no, though it’s come up before. This time I was ready to try.
*
On Friday I cleared off all of the junk from my desk and wiped it down. Over a year’s worth of dust clung to the wet rag. I set up the happy lamp my coworker gave me in November, still unused. I took the recommended dose of Vitamin D for those of us who live at the 61st parallel.
This is the first time I can recall not being scared of winter. The first time I feel excited for what the dark and snowy season may bring.
*
It’s been just about a month on antidepressants and my mood is noticeably improved. Perhaps impossible to tell whether it’s the drugs or simply the result of taking care of myself, but I don’t care. The point is, I feel better. Much better than I have in the past.
Naming a thing matters. I’ve known about my depression for decades yet always cast it off. Each time I exited a low period I would (incomprehensibly? insanely?) decide it would never happen again.
For a while I blamed myself. I was depressed because I wasn’t good, or pretty, or accomplished enough. Because I didn’t have the right friends or partner or job.
As it turns out, I’ve inherited my depression from both sides of my family. Unsurprisingly, I also inherited the trait that causes us to not talk about it.
*
Over the past month, I’ve discussed my medication journey widely. The idea that it would be shameful or embarrassing to be on antidepressants boggles my mind. Pretty much everyone I’m close with has experienced mental illness, and I’ve long followed their own attempts at chemical interventions. Per usual, I am late to the party.
But what a great party it might be. Every time I emerge from a down spiral I am shocked by the greyness and the isolation it entailed.
I am embarrassed to write about this now, given the genocide taking place in Palestine. I am embarrassed to write about this now, given my friends who have recently experienced potentially terminal illnesses.
The thing about my depression is that it’s so mundane, so utterly unoriginal, that I’ve chosen to ignore it for most of my life.
Or at least I thought I did. What actually happened was that I’ve been self-medicating with a lot of different substances and behaviors, some of which caused me and others real harm.
It turns out that what I felt on mushrooms all those times was a rebalancing of serotonin, not unlike what Lexapro does. I’m grateful for the drugs, both recreational and prescribed, that remind me what it feels like to want to stay in my own life.
I’m seeing the beauty again and delighting in this magical place I call home. The tartness of a high bush cranberry that glows impossibly red against the bare branches. Cold nights and bright stars and aurora. Warm afternoons on just-frozen marshes, the ice barely thick enough to support human weight. Sunsets at 6pm that break my heart.
My heart! I have one again. It’s pulsing and emitting and alive. It reminds me that I want to be here, alongside other people, in this world.
Sending you love on this cold and bright day. I hope you seek out what you need.
-Julia
"My heart! I have one again." WOW that made me teary eyed. Thank you for sharing. Repeating what has already been said, but you are SO cherished. I'm happy you're here and I'm so grateful for your writing. Thanks for sharing. ♥
I'm glad you are feeling better. I'm glad you are here. We care.