Since the beginning of the year, I’ve talked with more than one woman who told me how much she was struggling – with life. The women were so different from each other, yet they all seemed burdened by sadness or numbness or pressure. They also all felt no one else had these feelings, only them. And each woman was surprised when I told them this: I take an antidepressant every day. I have for years.
I have to tell you, it was a lot easier confiding in those few friends than it was writing that last sentence in a column read by a whole lot of people – people I know, and people I don’t know. But I’ve become more and more aware that lots of people are in pain, and I don’t want them to think they’re alone. So while it took me quite some time to have the confidence to write this column, here it is. And here I am.
I started taking medication for depression before I had kids. I remember those days well. I remember what it was like to feel down and dark and almost paralyzed with this feeling of despair. Some days you just don’t do anything. Other days you go about your life, doing everything you’re supposed to be doing, talking to who you’re supposed to be talking to, smiling when you’re supposed to smile, but you just don’t feel any of the good stuff. You’re aware that you should be happy and you want to be, but it’s just not there.
Then there would be days where I experienced joy. Or on other days, I wouldn’t say I felt joy but there was this pleasant feeling of contentment. When those days happened, I tried to figure out what I was doing that was making me feel better. Was something going on at work? Had I changed what I was eating? I kept thinking there had to be a reason that would explain those really sad days. But I never found one.
At least, until I described how I was feeling to my doctor. She told me it wasn’t anything outside my body that was causing my depression, it was inside my body – chemicals in my brain. It wasn’t something I was causing. It wasn’t something I could control on my own. It wasn’t…me. There was one moment when my doctor stopped what she was doing, looked me in the eye, and said, “Marianne, this isn’t normal. This isn’t you.” (That’s something I’ve repeated to my friends when we spoke. Those awful feelings, that wasn’t them.)
When I started on the medication, I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t lie about it, but it was never something that came up in a conversation, so very few people knew. After a while, it was just a pill I took every day, something I rarely thought about. Over the years, I was open when someone confided they were struggling, but I’ve told more people this year than probably all the other years combined. Maybe it’s just because people talk about mental illness more. But maybe it’s because more people are struggling. Not sure, but it’s scary.
What really moved me to share this in my column was the reaction of those women when I told them about the antidepressants. They were shocked. It was obvious they never thought I would need help like this. One of them even said, “But you’re always smiling.” I hope no one who reads this column or follows me on Instagram or sees me at an event thinks they know how I’m feeling. Because of course they don’t. And I don’t know how they are feeling.
I do know that antidepressants have changed how I feel. And I know if a doctor recommends them for you, you should consider it. One of the women told me her doctor had suggested medication, but she turned it down because she just felt like it wasn’t something she should do. When I told her about me, this look of relief came across her face.
I’ve shared a lot about my life in this column, but this is probably the most personal. It has occurred to me that I might get emails complaining about relying on pharmaceuticals or that I shared way too much information, but I did it anyway.
I think there are so many people in pain. I hope it can stop.
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