Crazy Pills – My Mental Health Journey

I want to start right off that bat… I have anxiety- a clinically diagnosis of depression and anxiety to be more exact. What that’s actually worth or truly means, who knows, but because of that, mental health is something I don’t shove under a rug. 

Crazy Pills – My Mental Health Journey

Wow, she just said that she’s a crazy sad chick on the internet where trolls run free and judgement flows like a waterfall.

Yup, I sure as hell did. I was first diagnosed with the chemical imbalance in my brain when I was in 6th grade. My parents were going through a messy divorce, I was dealing with weight issues, I was surrounded by peers that used bullying to feel better about themselves, death was nothing foreign to me- neither was suicide for that matter, abuse was an every day word. Wow, that was a mouthful, no wonder my mom worried for my sanity sometimes. I was barely 12 and had experienced a lot more life than some can even imagine going through in a lifetime.

Can’t she stop complaining about her rough childhood already.

Ya know, here’s the thing, I’m not mad about what I went through as a kid. Would I change some things if I could? Yeah of course, but all of it shaped me to be who I am today. That cliche saying- what doesn’t kill ya makes you stronger- I believe it. I also wouldn’t change that I started seeing someone to help me at a young age. It’s a pretty common-and controversial- topic these days. One person wants their kid to talk to someone professional when there are signs of potential mental health issues, others say that they’re just kids and they’re going through a phase, they’ll be okay.

Look, I’m not telling you what to do, I’m just story telling.

I stopped going to therapy when middle school hit- my schedule got busy and it wasn’t as high of a priority, I started making progress. Full disclosure, I don’t know exactly remember why I stopped or even if I was phased out or abruptly stopped, but I know I stopped. Throughout middle school and high school I continued to work through things with my own coping methods. I made myself so busy that I couldn’t feel, I numbed myself with a busy schedule and bottled up emotions because I didn’t want to bother anyone else with my frustrations and fears. I used my dreams of “getting out of here” as fuel to push through each day. Almost of every hour of my day was accounted for- school, sports, theatre, babysitting, student council, coaching… I didn’t leave myself time to stir in my own thoughts. Well, I rarely did.

When I would finally break down and feel all of my suppressed emotions, I turned to writing.

I’ve journaled for as long as I can remember. I was like a “review site”. When life was rough, I wrote pages and pages… when life was stable, I could be silent for days at a time. Eventually Facebook notes became an outlet for me- poems flooded my notes, without any explanation to the meaning behind them. I remember one time my uncle reached out to my mom, he was worried about something he read on Facebook and how dark it was. I brushed it off and told my mom I was just being creative. Looking back at those notes years removed and as a young adult, they had every right to question me, that shit was too dark, even by my twisted standards.  

High school came and went, I was off to a new state and finally leaving all of my troubles behind.

How naive was I? New state, new people, new routines… same issues. I bottled up all of the things that bothered me until I exploded. But now I’m hundreds of miles away from everything that made me feel comfortable and in a few hundred square foot dorm room with another girl I barely knew. I wasn’t going to let my sadness defeat me or my worries overwhelm me, not this time.

At first I tried to solve my problems by running away.

I thought it was TCU’s fault that I was riding a rollercoaster of emotions. The girls in my dorm are too skinny, the people are too rich, I don’t want to make fake friends. So began looking at my transfer options- and also making an appointment with the on campus counselors.

Here it goes again, professional help for the hyper sensitive emotional nutcase.

Thank goodness I walked into that office. I was close to rock bottom. It’s interesting looking back at things, I have never, ever considered committing suicide- my fix it method was much more run away and it’ll be okay. The very first person I talked to was hyper concerned with the possibility that I was wanting to take my own life. The things shared in that room rose red flags. I wish I could go back and ask exactly what triggered her concern, but I’m sure it had to do with the combination of my episodic depression tendencies, childhood dramatics and how many people in my life had died- and died from suicide.

Heavy.

The next person I saw explained to me that it’s not so much that I was going to just snap out of my sadness or wake up and stop worrying. It wasn’t something I could just make myself do. This was my first experience being personally prescribed mental health drugs. I had seen others on them but always thought I’ll never need that, I’m strong. I called them crazy pills and scoffed at the idea of taking a pill to stabilize my emotions. It took me a few appointments to finally agree to try and see if it helped.

Chemical imbalances are real.

I finally felt “normal”. Before exams, I used to throw up because I was so anxious, now I could go into tests without breaking a sweat. I could deal with anger and sadness without spiraling down a dark hole and not wanting to get out of bed. I eventually stopped my appointments and was living life as a normal college student. One day I decided I didn’t need the pills and stopped taking them.

Stopping cold turkey is never good.

College graduation- check. Moving to a new town- check. Experiencing sleepless nights and stress that makes me sick- check. Instead of letting myself fall down the dark path, I decided to talk to someone again. This time I skipped the therapy and went straight to a Dr. to discuss my history and options for regaining control. My moods weren’t swinging as often and my sadness spells weren’t as severe, but the stress levels had never been higher. I went through multiple tests- both physical and mental- to see what was happening with me.

My Dr. felt that going back on crazy pills would help keep me from spiraling out of control.

Here I am 2 years later, lovingly writing a post about my history of crazy pills. Had I written this 2 1/2 years ago, I would probably have covered my laptop in tears by now, today not one has been shed. Am I saying that I am never sad, moody, emotional, stressed? Heck no. Do I ever get into bed and refuse to get out because I physically can’t? Not anymore. I’ve come a long way in understanding my body and how my chemical imbalance affects me.

I’m aware of triggers and can feel episodes coming. I have strategies on how to deal with things before they’re too much.

A big part of getting healthier is having people around who support you. The other big part is not letting perception interfere with your needs. Had I refused to try pills to help me, I might have not made it this far in life. Do I want to be on them forever? No, not preferably, but I also am at peace with the fact that like any other illness or disorder, I’m taking preventive actions by staying on them. I’m continuing to learn more about how to deal with my anxiety and depression- and how to not simply mask it, but actually go to the root and resolve it.

So what was the point of opening up?

If you’re going through something similar, please know you are so not alone. Maybe you read my posts or see my photos and think that I’ve got it all together- I don’t. I’m human, you’re human. We’re imperfect and that’s okay. At the end of the day it’s way more important to take care of yourself than worry about what someone might think of you if they found your pill bottle.

I didn’t write this to wallow in self pity, I didn’t write this to get attention like a zoo animal in a cage. I wrote a story, my story, to start a dialogue.