Antidepressants. To do, or not to do? That was my predicament for about 5 years.
I didn’t want a drug changing my personality, (at least not beyond the weekend) and I didn’t want to be a full-time zombie. Drugs are bad, man, drugs are bad.
The years passed; and so did two courses of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, one really dodgy therapist, and one evening spent in a drunken heap on the kitchen floor after a tearful DJ set. This time I was in the darkest, most sleepless fear-filled hole ever, and I really couldn’t clamber out. So I went to my doctor, unable to speak through self-pity, snot and blubbery tears so she gave me 20mg of Citalopram. It is a Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitor (whatever the devil that is.)
“You would be very surprised if you knew how many people are on these” She said. I then pictured all the people in my life and tried to work out which ones were doing it. There must be at least two or something, right? I also later googled which celebrities take them, and for some reason it made me feel loads better to know that Sheryl Crow (yes) probably took them at some point. If it’s OK for Sheryl, then it’s OK for me.
“What does it actually do in my brain, does it rewire it?” I said desperately. I very much needed some rewiring, but I also needed to know how these tablets worked. Most of all though, I needed a boost of happiness, a chunk of rainbow joy and I was now ready to pop some pills to get it. “Well, not exactly.” She then mumbled something about serotonin that didn’t really make sense. I don’t think my Doctor really knew how the pills worked apart from the fact that they could make my symptoms worse for the first few weeks or take months to work at all. YIPPEE.
The next fourteen days in actual fact were an absolute JOKE. I downloaded the soundtrack of ‘Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat’ onto my iPhone and listened to ‘Any Dream Will Do’ on repeat on my way to work very loud.
I cried tears of ecstatic joy at the children’s chorus part, and the crescendo at 3’17” was all a bit too much. The rush of serotonin had allowed me to connect on a whole new level to the lyrics about dreams and weeping and returning to the beginning and being stripped of colour. I wanted to hug people on the tube. I was constantly thirsty. I had sweaty palms. I skipped, literally skipped into the office. I was positive about everything. I declared with gusto to my whole office that if you squinted and looked out of the window (in Camden) it kind of looked like L.A. I felt like I was coming up on a pill of the non-legal variety. I felt high for about two weeks, not very hungry and not really quite able to hold a professional conversation. The problem was that my anxiety was still there, only heightened. This time when my office phone rang I felt a very real and physical buzzing sensation in my heart, as if I had just had a mild electric shock. My eyes must have been on stalks. There is nothing quite like feeling like you’re coming up whilst being in a meeting about meetings and feeling the pressure to say something interesting and constructive about said meetings.
I rushed back to my doctor and told her of my weird anxiety high. She said very calmly that she would like to keep me on the same dose for at least 6 months, and that the drugs would take time to start working properly. It was weirdly awkward, I felt under pressure and I couldn’t argue, so I agreed and I left with another prescription for more pills.
In hindsight, she probably should have signed me off work for a week or so to ‘adjust’.
Over the next couple of months things did balance out, I didn’t feel the need to cry at poodles and old people, or hug them for that matter, and I felt ‘together.’ I was decisive and balanced. Although, I would definitely say that things were a lot more ‘beige’ than usual. I didn’t get as excited about Jay Z as I used to, but I also didn’t get terrible anxiety in the night about cancer and wrinkles and homelessness anymore. In fact, my sleep, which had been disrupted and basically shit for years had started to regulate and I was sleeping better than ever.
The problem was that I couldn’t work out which part of my recovery was down to the tablets, and which part was just me. Alongside taking the medication I was also doing a great deal of meditation, I was going to regular therapy sessions and, alarmingly, I had stopped drinking alcohol. I didn’t want to feel like my recovery was all down to the tablets – but there was absolutely no way of knowing. Nobody can look inside of your brain and tell you what’s going on and why.
I know that some people take antidepressants forever, and they work. In my case, I know that they worked at a time in my life when I needed something to change. They can help coax you out of the hole, they clear the haze and things feel a bit more straightforward. I found that there wasn’t so much negative chatter in my mind, so I had the energy and confidence to do more stuff. As a result of this, they helped me form new habits which in time encouraged recovery and a more positive way of thinking. Basically, they did their job.
I don’t think antidepressants should be given the bad rep that they often get. I was scared of them for years, and I was very ashamed of them at first. I still find them to be the most embarrassing thing to talk about surrounding my mental health. One of my close family members still thinks they are ‘the worst thing you can possibly do.’ (THANKS.) But I’m sure that if they had a headache, they’d be cool with popping an Ibuprofen.
I had a strange time at first, but it settled down in the end – and now I feel well enough to wean myself off them. It might be a long and bumpy road, but I’ll give it a go.
If you think you might need to get some extra help in the form of medication, go for it. There’s no shame. But they definitely aren’t easy and they might not work on their own. But don’t write them off because of fear, or your family, or the Daily Mail.