not the fun kind

When I think of all the ways I'd like to better myself, a whole slew of bullet points begin to take shape on my mental yellow notepad. It might look something like this:

• tone my body
• start running again
• go to church once in awhile- explore
• stop finishing other people's sentences (a habit recently brought to my attention)
• which means LISTEN more
• don't jump to conclusions
• eat healthier
• stop taking anti-depressants

And that last one sticks and holds and goddamnit will not come off no matter how hard I think, pray, and try to stop taking them. I went on anti-depressants a little over 5 years ago after senior year in college. A toxic mixture of some hard times and the fact that I was thrust into adulthood- living alone (albeit by choice), being solely responsible for rent, finding a good paying job, and an overwhelming feeling of, "What now?". It was a recipe for disaster. I had tried a different medication a couple of years earlier, but I wasn't good about taking them and they left me feeling like a robot (not the fun kind). So the second time around I admittedly had apprehensions about trying something all over again. My mindset was that I should be able to kick this. I should be able to GET A GRIP and just deal with things, and mostly realize that I was not the only one bartending as my "career" at the ripe age of 21. But the other part of me knew that this was chemical, genetic, out of my hands. There was always this lingering pile of goo that settled at the bottom of my brain and reminded me every so often that I wasn't good enough and for the love of god I was ALWAYS tired. I remember the first couple weeks of taking the medication the second time around. Dad was vigilant in checking in with me and making sure I was taking them on time and I can remember him stopping over one time after work and I was.a.zombie on the couch. I couldn't focus. For all I know I could have been drooling all over my shirt. I basically couldn't do anything but sleep. But slowly, as the days went by, my body got used to the new juice and I adapted.

So here we are, five years later. Since starting a mild dose, I have lowered it to the lowest dose possible, and I'm taking them every other day. There are days when I think, "If it's working and making me feel okay then what's the harm?" but there are days when I hate the idea that I am who I am, right now, because of a pill. I honestly think my need for starting them came at a time of circumstantial depression- I simply did not know what the hell I was doing with my life and what would become of it. I was still learning how to deal. Mostly, I want to stop. I could go into a song and dance about research I've done about long-term side effects (memory loss...which, oh my WORD I can't remember things) and the withdraws. OH, the withdraws. I hit day 3 sans pill and I can barely function. I feel like someone has kicked me between the eyes and all I want to do is sleep. Remember? That sleeping side-effect? Same goes for weening off of the good stuff. So, consequently, I'm scared. I know I have to do this in increments if it's going to work and work well. I know you can't just stop taking them. I could not or WOULD not ever be able to because of the crippling withdraws. You truly feel like you are floating (not the fun kind).

I know what you're thinking. If you feel fine, why stop? I agree, but I am happy. I am content, and frankly I feel like an adult who can handle things now. That's where I am with this whole slice of my life. The end.