Back to life, Back to reality 

Tell me maybe I, could be there for you oooohhhh! However do you want me, however do you need me? 

This is the song that springs to mind. A few months ago I stopped my meds. Almost cold turkey. I guess it had been a gradual build up. After checking myself into a clinic again, I started to lose trust in my shrink.  I can’t bore myself with the details, let’s just say there were a few run ins with a few nurses which ended in my writing a four page letter of complaint to the clinic head. I was tired of the ridiculousness of it all. The irony at my expense, accusing me of drug dependence whilst handing me prescribed drugs. I tore into my shrink. Wondering when he’d stopped trusting me, and if I would ever trust him again. Deep down I knew I was done. But it wasn’t until I decided to switch medications a few months later that I really knew my relationship with the medication was over. It’s been real, chemicals that kept me depressed. But I gotsta move on.

I feel like I’ve woken up from a 4 year coma. Suddenly bring able to control my emotions again, hold tears back. Laugh confidently, socialize. With adults. Out in public. Those meds made me a fraction of who I am. I lost confidence, didn’t know how to have a conversation without discussing the side effects of my meds. And I certainly wasn’t able to handle any kind of relationship. Not with family, not with friends. The slightest hint of emotional turmoil and  was done. Years of friendship thrown away. A bizarre spiral of medication to control moods, but moods responding to medication. The meds kept me depressed. To be fair, it’s a listed side effect of mood stabilizers- that’s that they can actually bring on depression. It’s true. It happened to me. 

Yes I know stopping treatment on my own wasn’t the best idea. But I knew I was done. With the meds, with therapy, with the lifestyle that comes with it. Or lack thereof.  I feel… Well I’m just glad to feel again. I feel ready. For life. A late bloomer. But better late than 10 pills a day. 

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