It’s hard to believe it’s been 10 years since my last major depression. I have had ups and downs but for 10 years now, there has been a floor below me and ceiling above me. I credit my medications for those gifts.
When I first started taking them I my depression finally lifted, anxiety set in: How long could this last? What if my life remained inbounds and I stopped waking up at night with voice in my head saying “Oh, she killed herself.” What if I never again felt like a racehorse at the gate, nostrils flared and a hoof pawing at the dirt?
Would I like that kind of life? Would the medications wear off and stop working? What would it be like taking medications every single damn day? How come I can’t just appreciate the fact that I’m no longer in a black hole and keep worrying about this?
My nurse practitioner explained that this is what a normal, healthy life felt like. And yes, it could be like this for the rest of my life. I still had the ability to be very, very happy and very, very sad but neither would consume me anymore, she explained.
How did that sound? Freakin’ weird.
A decade later, it’s not so weird anymore. I actually like it.
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