A Different Kind of Right, or Why Medication was Right for Me

Depression and Anxiety were things that never left me in my 30s. I was haunted by trauma and PTSD from my childhood and thought I had managed through them in my 20s. During my early 30s, I had a lot of environmental fluctuation, changing jobs, becoming the full-time caregiver for a live-in family member, navigating my sex life, and navigating what I wanted from my personal relationships. I remember a specific instance where something small set me off at work and I had burst into tears in front of my boss. That was not like me at all. I began having crying spells in public spaces like on the bus home or outside the post office.

I began to leave my house with clothes and overnight things and spend the night at a hotel just to escape my family member. It was a hard time for me to pretend to be a human all the time. I had no space to be myself, I still struggle with this today.

I have had my selfish plans canceled due to family and financial obligations. I’ve learned to keep my expectations so low that there is no possibility of being disappointed. My heart is too hurt to take another break.

I have become better at being selfish. This sounds strange, but it is a necessary thing I need to do. Only I can take care of myself and if I don’t put myself first in my life no one else will. In this body and in this mind, I am its only caregiver.

Caregiver burnout is very real. It isn’t a topic that is up for an open discussion. It is not a paid position. There are few resources to get respite care set up, if only just for a day or two.

I don’t think it’s appreciated enough that we don’t consider the full-time job of caregiving for ourselves, especially if the body we have is living with a chronic illness. It’s called ‘self-advocacy’ and it can be intimidating and exhausting.

Since I’ve been living with inflammatory diseases like asthma and osteoarthritis since the age of eight, self-advocating was something I had not realized I began doing at such a young age. As I struggled for air in the nurse’s office in fourth grade asking for an ambulance but instead getting a lesson in breathing exercises, I felt that something about that response from an adult was not right. When I began to have ‘special time’ carved out of my day in grade school to go see the school psychologist something inside me knew that wasn’t right that I will be singled out as I was. It took me a long time to find my voice and speak for myself.

Post-traumatic stress can be used, the lessons learned can be the building blocks for Post-traumatic growth. Post-traumatic growth is the idea that resilience can be built, that bad behavior can serve as an example of what not to do in a confrontation or challenging situation. It is choosing assertiveness over aggressive behaviors. Assertive behaviors are often received better in the workplace and at home than aggressive behaviors.

Knowing that assertiveness works better than aggression is not enough. Over long periods of time, my brain was hard-wired from childhood. I had not experienced a flood of serotonin in decades. I knew I needed help. I tried meditation, yoga, running, mandala drawing, peer-led group meetings, writing, and yes these things helped but they are only components to the whole plan to treat my depression and anxiety for the long haul.

I’m on other medications to regulate my thyroid, my asthma, and my joint pain… So why not my brain function? Zoloft and Abilify have been working for me, but what is right for me is not going to be right for someone else.

I tend to frame things I want to write about in my journal as letters. The last Journaling Workshop I attended had a prompt, “Write a letter to your Medication”. It felt overwhelming, a very loaded prompt to tackle. I reflected on it and ended up writing about the prompt later in the week.

A Letter to my Medication

Thanks for keeping me alive, I guess. You are the constant reminder that my general maintenance is different from other people. You are the constant reminder that I can’t plan anything spontaneous. I truly am always tethered to the nearest pharmacy that could fill my needs in case of an emergency.

Thanks for being a reminder of the time passing. A reminder of how much or how little money I actually have. You stretch my resources thin or make me not think about them at all, there is no happy middle.

Thanks, medication, for singling me out when my items were stolen in high school and I had to make a big fuss over it until someone of authority made it enough of a priority to scare the thief into dumping my things in the bathroom trash.

Thanks, medication for being the constant reminder that I am not entitled to a good time without encroaching anxious thoughts of a life without you.

I can appreciate what my meds have done for my physical wellbeing while at the same time resenting the fact that they are that marker in time that holds me from being irresponsible. I would like to be reckless and spontaneous just a little bit, but honestly, I could do everything right and take all my meds on the perfect schedule and still get an arthritic flare-up or an asthma attack. That is just reality, resenting it does not mean I can’t also appreciate it at the same time in different instances.