I went to a psychiatrist for the first time since essentially high school. I have a history of poor compliance with drugs that cross the blood-brain barrier because I fear that I will lose the essence of me or that it will trigger even more destabilization in my brain and general health. I’m also super duper sensitive; I’ve had so many side effects from drugs people eat like candy, it’s not even funny.
It’s not the place I want to be right now – considering drugs – and yet, I am there. I’ve given up on therapists, though I’m sure there might be decent ones out there (I just have yet to find any that will continue to work with me past 4 or 6 months, stating they don’t feel they can help me any longer). I told myself and the last therapist last September that if she didn’t work out, I was done. I meant it. Which leaves me with…drugs. I guess.
It feels like I’m giving in. It feel like I’m giving up. It feels like I’m starting over, as the last time I tried psychoactive drugs was so long ago and it was a shitshow.
I know that I know more going into it this time. I know I’m more self-aware. I know that I’m better at verbalizing what I need. But what do I do when what I need is convincing that I need to put a pill in my face every morning?
I shared this with the doctor. He said “Well, it’s obviously up to you. I guess my question for you would be: Don’t you think you’ve suffered enough?” I teared up. Apparently not. There’s still some part of me that holds onto depression like a security blanket.
As stupid as it sounds, depression sometimes gives me the excuse to swaddle myself and do nothing for days. Depression is what I know. Suicidal thoughts are like “home” even when they’re scary as fuck.
In my brain, I know this isn’t true, but in my heart, sometimes…I feel like depression is me. I’m most creative when I’m depressed, most insightful, most able to be the observer and see things I wouldn’t otherwise. Or at least that’s what I believe. Maybe that’s all bullshit given to me by (surprise surprise) depression.
It reminds me of when my guidance counselor so many years ago sat me down and told me to make a list of pros and cons to my depression. Once I got started, I realized that I perceived more pros to depression than cons. And apparently, there’s still a part of me that believes this.
But what brought me in to the doctor today, entirely of my own accord? I have to ask this of myself because *I* made the appointment. *I* drove there. (Although, to be fair, I did convince myself the appointment was half an hour later than it was and I was almost too late to be seen.)
My answer to the doctor with this question was “It’s complicated.” But I think the real answer is actually not so complicated. I think the real answer is that there is a part of me that hasn’t given up and is scared, but believes there is healing out there and that I am deserving of it. And even after all this time, there is also still a part of me that thinks I am the one who causes these cycles in me. For perspective? For insights? Maybe. But…it’s pure emotional masochism to wish this on myself. Perhaps there is a part of me that thinks I deserve to be punished or that someday soon my brain will find the answer without drugs. There is also a tiny part scared of emotional addiction. (AKA with a neuroscience and psychology degree and a masters in counseling, I basically just know too much)
And yet…haven’t I been through enough? Haven’t I tried hard for 16 years to find a way out of my brain without success? When will I give myself a chance at a different brain? Maybe this is my way out…
I just hope all the parts of me can agree on trying it wholeheartedly…just this once.