I am me. Even with pills to keep me sane- I AM ME.

I’ve thought about it at moments, when someone else voices that opinion or when I think it myself. If I need drugs to help keep me stable and happy, then is the happiness fake? Am I dependent on little white pills, small and easy to swallow, to be myself? Without them… 

NO.

I know who I am more than anyone else does. I’ve seen every corner of my mind. I’ve watched sadly from the inside out as I sobbed, tucked in between the little corner of my dresser and the wall, hidden with my nose pressed against the dark blue paint, letting my tears run sparkling down the shadowed walls like shooting stars… of course, everyone knows themselves best. This isn’t exactly a mind-blowing realization. But going through my monthly PMDD symptoms, where there is absolutely nothing wrong with my wonderful, suburban, lucky, beautiful, love-filled, supportive life and feeling guilty as fuck that I’m depressed, I’ve caught myself trailing down this second-guessing hellhole.

Who am I without drugs? A chemically imbalanced person, that’s what. Is that my fault? No. I was born this way. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to deal with this depression every month of my life until menopause because I don’t want to be a drugged up robot, as my Dad constantly predicts I will turn out to be.

“Crank out those zombies,” he rants. “Stock those kids up on drugs until they’re so passive and stupid the government can do whatever they want!” D’aww, thanks Dad! Look who’s in your passenger seat!

My uncle, handing me a disk (which I promptly tossed in the can the minute I got home) about the horrors of medication and what doctors don’t tell you about anti-depressants:

“Now, just keep your mind open Sarah. You shouldn’t accept everything those doctors say, of course they want you on drugs, it makes them money!”

Oh, alright then, if you say so. I’m sure the psychiatrist who watched me go through an eating disorder, the pediatrician I’ve been seeing since I was a baby, and the kind-eyed gynecologist who helped me discover I’ve been suffering from IBS (the most common treatment for which is a low anti-depressant anyways) have no idea what they’re talking about. I’m sure, although you aren’t the ones who held me like a baby through the hardest time of my short, privileged life (shoutout to my wonderful mother) you know what’s best.

And even though you were never there when I was breaking down, you sure as hell can tell me how to help myself back up. I don’t think so.

Medication has helped me in more ways than I think I am prepared to admit. And damn straight, I’m a little scared of life without it, although I don’t have to worry about that for a long time… but see, the medication doesn’t fix me. I fix me. Medication gets me to the stable point that everybody else already seems to be at, unless they’re on medication too. It’s the point where I am able to function. That word is really important- function.

I am a person who relies on my feelings to get me through the day. I’m sensitive, emotional, and highly insightful and in touch with what’s going on inside me. Depression rattles my bones and shakes my world to the core- there’s nothing to be upset about, yet I’m crying endlessly, uncontrollably, the blackness is swelling and the weight is growing, I can’t stay here, I need to move around, I need to get away from it, I want it away from my mind, get away, get away you are not welcome here leave blackness stop STOP STOP!!!

Suddenly, a deep breath. My head clears, though it aches. 

Sarah, I think. It’s okay. This is just the PMDD. You knew it was coming this week, you know what it is. Don’t let it touch you- you know who you are, you know what you feel. 

It doesn’t help when you’re home alone all day because you have mono.

It used to be, without medication, I didn’t even get those moments of clarity. It was just endless, and when you feel that depressed you begin to really be depressed. As in, even after the PMDD might be gone, I didn’t know it was ever there. I thought that was really how I felt, so my mind was stuck, I kept thinking sad, negative thoughts, and it kept wrapping me up in despair. I can’t tell you how relieved I am to know that it’s coming and to have that chance to prepare for it.

And, with the medication, it’s not nearly as strong. They’re even increasing my dose, so next time I might not even have a meltdown. Wouldn’t that be nice? That would be nice.

Medication does not control me. When I take medication, it gives me the freedom to be me. This is not a fake happiness- I earned every smile. I think this must be a common misconception… anti-depressants don’t make you happy. I could easily be, and sometimes am under the stress of school, unhappy. It just gives me the opportunity to be happy.  Who I am and how I feel is suddenly all my doing, not my hormone level’s. And if modern science can give me that, and if doctors I trust and more importantly, people I trust and care about recommend this for me, and even more importantly it’s WORKING, I will not second guess myself or question my integrity as a personality because I am chemically imbalanced.

Fuck, I bet half the people who are reading this are, whether you know it or not.