A week ago my mother asked a question “do you think the drugs you’re on are working?”
I find the question tough to answer. There are days when I feel like I don’t want to leave my bedroom. Days where all I want to do is sleep. Sure, they’re infrequent now, once or twice every two weeks, rather than almost every day. I wonder if that’s a part of counselling, a part of the medication (citalopram), or a mixture of both.
I know that when I miss a dose I feel worse. Thoughts come back, self-harm comes back. However, it’s not as bad as my early 20s. Sure, I thought about killing myself a week ago, just like I did in November, but was that me, or, was that because I stopped taking my medication for two days to see what would happen?
Citalopram has slowed my thinking. That’s the good. It has allowed me to focus on things that matter, my writing, my family, a business that I’m creating. The bad is that I’m uncomfortable being out with friends, when I ask someone they usually back away. Leaving me with the belief that I did something wrong. I’m pushing people away. A slow burn of belief that I’m not a good person.
I imagine opening a door. There are two choices on the other side and I don’t know who I am going to become. On one side, there’s worry that I am losing myself. The person who I was. The person that others know. The other side, there’s joy that I’m healing myself and getting better. An overwhelming thought that maybe that this worry is for nothing.
The funny thing is that I thought I knew about life. I really don’t, the past month has been a jumbled mess of confusion. One that my medication has helped with. If I wasn’t on them, I think I would be more lost than I really am. Maybe then my medication is working.