I thought I was doing okay off my anti – depressants, until yesterday when I totally lost my shit. On the back of two days of drinking, three swims and a few sessions at the new gym, a bunch of social activities and bad food, I woke up yesterday feeling awful. A sore throat. No energy. A cough. A very dark cloud hovered over my head. A sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I have not felt like this for a very long time.
We went for breakfast, the view was nice, but it gave me no happiness. I felt flat. I felt nothing.
Because I am not very good at relaxing, I have this super crazy lengthy list of all the tasks I wanted to get done while on holidays. These include, re – potting the plants on the balcony, cleaning out the kitchen cupboards, washing the blinds and scraping the food fungi off the kitchen ceiling. (I really think these things need to occur, at least on an annual basis, plus I like a summer clean, it makes you feel ready for the year.)
Anyway, I digress. Yesterday was the designated fridge and kitchen day. Even though I woke up with razor blades in my throat, nothing was standing between me and that kitchen fungi. The Husband in the meantime is reading on the couch, frothing out in front of the air con, while I am knee deep in the kitchen scrubbing away like a mad woman. He is saying ever so gently “babe, you’re not feeling well, why don’t you just chill for a bit and do that another day”. Sensible right?
But this is what I planned! How dare you!
Then there is a monster eruption.
I sit up quickly, accidentally bashing my head on the top of the fridge, then there I am sitting on the floor, HOWLING in a pile of vegetables and stainless steel wipes. “You don’t love me anymore”. Waaahhhh. “Why don’t you just go out, then you don’t have to be near me”. Waaahhhh. “Put your headphones on and block me out like you always do!”
I am totally in the cray cray zone now, nothing can stop me.
I took the rubbish out to the bin, and stood in the driveway, howling like a banshee. (Sorry neighbours.) The Husband tried to coax me inside to stop crying, meanwhile the cat started meowing off the balcony because she thought I was being murdered.
I could not calm down. All I could see and feel was black.
I knew my thoughts were irrational, but they just kept coming.
Eventually I came inside and calmed myself down and went to sleep for a few hours (like I probably should have done in the first place). I woke up feeling much better and sheepishly apologised. That was not the real me, that was the crazy version.
I vowed to take better care of myself, to write more, eat healthily, meditate and listen to my body, if I am going to kick this thing drug free.
Today I am left with the question, is it possible to go of anti-depressants and manage depression yourself?
I lived my life without them for a very long time. I managed anxiety without them for a very long time.
Is it okay to have days like this when you bawl and bawl and for no good reason?
Why does The Black Dog rear its ugly head again?
Why?
