I’ve always been hesitant about taking medication. If there’s a way to tackle an issue through other methods, I often prefer to pursue those first. Even when it comes to minor ailments like headaches, I shy away from over-the-counter pain relievers. Medication has typically been my last option.
However, two months ago, I reached that last resort in my battle against anxiety and depression. I scheduled an appointment with my doctor and, for the first time, I confessed, “I often think about ending my life.” It was a statement I had to vocalize. I needed someone to hear my struggles because I was uncertain how long I could keep convincing myself not to act on those thoughts. The weight of overwhelming sadness, helplessness, and paralyzing anxiety felt like it was suffocating me. I feared that the mere act of contemplating it would escalate into a plan, and I desperately wanted to avoid that outcome.
When I finally spoke to my doctor, it felt like a burden was lifted. I was taking a proactive step toward healing. She listened without judgment, and instead of reacting with fear or alarm, she looked me in the eye and said, “It’s okay to need help sometimes. You’re not crazy for feeling this way.” That reassurance was something I desperately needed.
Despite recognizing the positives in my life, I couldn’t comprehend why I had been feeling so low for so long. It’s often said that those who contemplate suicide don’t truly wish to die; they simply want the pain to cease. I was consumed by that pain, which affected not just me but also my family and every aspect of my life.
Many people turn to medication for anxiety and depression, and I had heard it recommended to me multiple times. I had tried it in the past—twice, in fact. The first attempt, about six years ago, lasted only two weeks; the medication worsened my mental state to the point that I didn’t return for a follow-up. The second time, three years ago, was different. The medication quickly alleviated my anxiety, but left me emotionally and physically numb. The numbness felt worse than the anxiety itself.
So, when I decided to give it another shot, I was understandably apprehensive. I was warned it might cause some initial discomfort and that it might take weeks to feel the full effects. I scheduled a follow-up for four weeks later and began taking the medication.
What I didn’t anticipate was that the first week would leave me feeling far worse. I struggled with nausea and a debilitating headache that felt like the worst hangover imaginable. I was dizzy and had trouble concentrating. Driving felt risky, as I often felt on the verge of being unable to focus. During those days, I found myself sleeping more than usual and constantly apologizing to my husband and kids for my state. I lost seven pounds in just five days due to my inability to eat. Yet, the desire to feel better and truly live kept me committed to taking the medication.
After that initial week, I did feel some relief, but I was utterly exhausted—more so than during sleepless nights with newborns. I needed to nap frequently and went to bed earlier than usual. Even after six weeks, I still felt drained no matter how much rest I got. This fatigue, combined with the pressure of falling behind on household responsibilities and work, only added to my stress.
I realized that the decision to seek help was one of the hardest things I could do. Many people assume that taking medication will magically solve their problems, restoring their energy and erasing dark thoughts. However, the reality is often more complex. You might initially feel worse before you start to feel better. But over time, you may notice subtle shifts. You may find yourself navigating busy places with less anxiety, feeling more present in your daily life.
Eventually, you might go a week without any thoughts of self-harm, and that realization alone can feel monumental. When you attend your follow-up and express doubts about the medication’s effectiveness, you may begin to recognize the small, meaningful changes that are taking place. Yes, the anxiety and depression may always be part of your life, but with time, they can become less overwhelming. The exhaustion won’t be permanent, and those small changes can accumulate into significant progress.
Finding a compassionate doctor is crucial. Identify the methods that work for you—whether it’s therapy, medication, or exercise—and commit to them. Even when it feels challenging or ineffective, persistence is key. Lean on your support network; let those who care for you help you through this journey. Remember, your life is invaluable.
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In conclusion, taking the step to seek help and use medication can be daunting, but the journey can lead to meaningful change. Embrace the process, and be patient with yourself.