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For years, I hesitated to consider medication for my depression. I felt trapped in the closet, scared of coming out and disrupting my family life, particularly worried about the impact on my children. I believed that my depression was solely tied to this struggle and thought that living more authentically would naturally alleviate my symptoms.
Coming out and embracing my identity brought me some relief; being in the closet was incredibly challenging. However, living authentically didn’t resolve my depression. My long-distance partner and I have been together for over two years now, and while I experience immense joy when we’re together, that didn’t fix everything. Watching my children adapt with remarkable resilience and find happiness in their new reality didn’t cure me either. Even achieving financial independence through freelancing and finding a lovely home didn’t change how I felt.
My depression persisted. Although I no longer fantasized about not existing, it manifested in countless small struggles every day. Getting to bed became a chore; I’d find myself mindlessly scrolling through social media until the early hours. When I finally set my phone aside, anxiety would grip me, with my mind rehashing both trivial and significant past mistakes. Every morning, my first thought was, “When can I go back to sleep?” I even scheduled naps into my day.
Once an enthusiastic runner and yogi, I lost interest in exercise. My body felt foreign, my muscles weakened, and my joints ached. I craved nothing but carbs—pasta, chips, and buttered bread—while my love for fruits and veggies faded away. I used to enjoy cooking and planning fun activities with my kids, but now I only did so out of obligation, with my enthusiasm long gone. The pandemic, oddly enough, felt like a relief, as I joked about being made for isolation, something I had never felt before.
I found myself crying multiple times a day over anything and everything. My chest was perpetually tight, and even the slightest confrontation sent me spiraling into panic. I often experienced sudden panic attacks with no clear triggers. My memory became frustratingly unreliable; I would forget entire conversations and repeat tasks because I couldn’t remember doing them. My brain earned the nickname “Swiss Cheese.” My notes app was filled with reminders, and I struggled with hair loss.
Yet, I still didn’t consider taking an antidepressant. I thought my depression wasn’t severe enough since I didn’t feel suicidal. I assumed I could remedy my situation with vitamins, better sleep, and more exercise—even though I didn’t follow through on any of those. I fluctuated between wanting to take better care of myself and feeling indifferent. I cared deeply, often breaking down in tears during nightly video calls with my partner, expressing my desire to change.
Eventually, it was my partner who encouraged me to seek professional help. The process of scheduling that first appointment took months—first compiling a list of doctors from my new insurance, then researching them, mustering the courage to call, and finally getting my medical records transferred.
My new doctor was straightforward. After listening to my experiences and the efforts I had made to cope, she recommended starting a low dose of an SSRI—specifically, 10 mg of fluoxetine, which is the generic form of Prozac. I took my first dose on March 23.
Immediately, I noticed improvements in my sleep. I could put my phone down more easily and found myself waking up before my alarm—a first for me. My word recall improved, and after a few weeks, I realized I hadn’t cried in days. My hair loss returned to normal levels.
Gradually, I started to feel urges to engage in activities again, like trying new recipes or exercising. I had forgotten that I once loved these things. It’s remarkable how this small blue pill has sparked these spontaneous desires from deep within me. I’ve been rediscovering myself over the past few weeks.
Of course, the SSRI wasn’t without side effects. Initially, I felt dizzy, even though I took the medication at night to avoid that symptom. I experienced episodes of intense physical anxiety during my morning coffee. Caffeine and the medication didn’t mix well, so I adjusted the timing of my dose to mid-morning, which resolved those issues. Now, I even look forward to exercising, something I would have scoffed at just three months ago.
Perhaps I could have conquered my depression without medication. Lifestyle changes like vitamins, sleep, and exercise can help. But when depression saps your motivation, it becomes a vicious cycle—you know what you should do but can’t find the drive to do it, leading to feelings of failure which only deepens your depression.
When cortisol has dominated your brain for so long, simply thinking your way to better habits is unrealistic. It’s not just about acting your way into change either; the chemical shifts in your brain make it nearly impossible. You can’t just pretend to be okay and hope it gets better.
I’m sharing my story in hopes that others with similar experiences can relate. I wasn’t suicidal and wouldn’t have labeled myself as miserable. However, it’s been through medication that I’ve realized I wasn’t truly myself. Now, I can clearly compare my current state to how I felt before starting treatment. I was unhappy.
Just ten little milligrams of fluoxetine—the smallest dose available—has made a significant difference. I can’t recommend a specific treatment for anyone else, but if you’re feeling off, please consult your doctor. I spent too long suffering without realizing the extent of my pain. You don’t have to go through the same ordeal.
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Summary
In this article, I share my journey of dealing with depression and the eventual decision to start taking an antidepressant. Despite years of battling my condition alone, I discovered the significant difference medication can make. It’s important to recognize that seeking help is a sign of strength and can lead to profound changes in your life.