Posted by admin on Dec 23, 2015
Prior to my mental illness I was happy with my life. I loved my job and persevered despite not always getting what I want. I didn’t have the relationship and children but I had my health and friends and I was genuinely content. At work I watched people with less experience, and sometimes less knowledge than me, move higher up the ladder and become my supervisors. With strength I accepted that and just kept ploughing through and believed my time would come when I was ready. Eventually the right time did come. The great job and opportunity came but it was halted with my mental illness. I had to start all over again and I had no idea why.
After I packed up my books I sat next to the boxes and curled up in a ball and started to cry. I cried and cried and cried and could not stop crying. I was wet with tears. Well- meaning friends offered me advice to keep moving forward and told me to fight the depression, but instinctively I knew that to fight was not the answer. I had to sit, live and be with the depression. I had to feel it, express it and be it. It was a part of me at this present moment and to get rid of it would be denying a part of who I was.
So I sat with my books and just cried, the tears wet my face, my neck and my clothes. I felt the pain, I felt the sadness. I just felt for most of the night until I was too tired to feel anymore and fell asleep.
The next day I had the prescription for the anti-depressant medication filled. After the night with the flying books I decided that maybe taking the small dose wasn’t such a bad idea. I read up on all the possible side effects such as nausea, loss of appetite, increase in appetite, dizziness, feeling tired. But I was definite in my belief that I was not going to stay on the medication long. I would work out a plan with Sandra and the doctor to slowly reduce the dose.