When I talk about my personal disability experiences here, I’m usually referencing my physical disability. But changes in my life lately have brought the other to the forefront: my clinical depression and anxiety. It’s been a major factor in everything in my life, which is probably why I don’t talk about it that much; it’s so big that it’s background noise. But the truth is it runs me.
Everything I do is tailored with an eye toward my mental state. Will this cause me anxiety? If so, will it be a good kind of anxiety such as before a performance, or will it be tolerable and temporary at best? Will this cause me depression? If so, will it be a healthy, progressing kind, or a guilt-filled, pointless kind? I don’t have thoughts like, “Rock climbing? That sounds fun!” I have thoughts like, “Rock climbing? That sounds like it would be good for my self-esteem and isolation. I should do it.” (I did it.) I just don’t have that many spontaneous thoughts of doing something just because it’s fun. Perhaps I haven’t learned that yet. Because if I want to keep my brain healthy, fun sure is a good way to do that.
I’ve been going through some major medication changes over that past couple of months or so, and it has been difficult. My doctors have started pulling me back from an anti-anxiety drug I’ve been on for years and put me on something else to try and help my stubborn bouts of depression. I’ve found my outer self to be more happy and productive, but inwardly I feel tired, burnt out, and confused. I can’t tell if I’m happy or sad, energized or sleepy.
I’m being productive at work but I can barely keep my eyes open. I gave a presentation yesterday to about 30 people and I could feel my tongue tripping over itself, something it doesn’t normally do. I just don’t stumble around my words, yet that’s what’s been happening. My typing is affected as well, like the thickness has spread from my tongue to my fingers. It feels like I’m losing precise movements.
But I have not had suicidal feelings since the med changes started – and those feelings were what spurred me to the doctor’s office in the first place. So, is this what success will look like for me? And is it worth it? It’s just hard to know that these changes in me are visible, and people who know me well can see them, and this makes for awkward moments. Twice people have mentioned my eyes being “different”; twice people have commented that I’ve lost weight; believe you me, if I had gained weight no one would have said a thing because thin = good and therefore we can talk about it. Hunger for me is an only occasional guest right now, it’s true. I do have two sets of clothes, and I’m moving to my skinny bitch clothes.
At the same time I feel like I’m getting a glimpse of a normal life. Wow, I was thinking the other day, so this is what it’s like to be awake for twelve hours or more at one time (what the heck are you supposed to do?). This is what it’s like to take a goal of yours and realize it. This is what it’s like to do something you’re afraid to do. Is it all worth it?
I don’t know yet. I’m about to start another, different medication today. Who will I become?
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