It's been over a full year now since I went on antidepressants. After a lot of fits and starts, I found the dose that quells the anxiety and leaves me an almost functional person.
Almost.
The frustrating thing about depression is that I second-guess every message my mind sends me. How do you discern the real from the deceptive when you've learned how many ways the brain can trick you?
So I don't know if this occasional distance, this numbness, this absence of feeling what I think I should feel is me, or is my drugs. I feel like I'm caught in this horrible position: choose to go off the meds and hope it doesn't get ugly again, or stay on the meds and always wonder if what I'm feeling is enough.
I haven't written since I started the drugs. Did I mention that?
But I don't want to go back to the soul-crushing anxiety either, the kind that leaves me breathless in a knot of nausea and panic. And I don't want to find out that this numbness isn't the drugs, but me.
I feel damned if I do and damned if I don't. I know we all have our burdens to carry and mine could be so much worse, but I still hate this. So very much.
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