I think there is a lot of taboo surrounding the topic of antidepressants. As if taking medication to help with mental illness is somehow shameful or seen as a “failure” to cope. My issues with antidepressants stemmed from this same belief: Why take a pill to help me “feel better”? Why take a pill to fix this chemical imbalance in my brain — I did not want to rely on a pill to fix me.
But that all changed when nothing else was working. I tried it all: therapy, group sessions, social work, psychologists and psychiatrists, walk-in clinics, and everything in-between. It began to feel as though I was going to be like this for the rest of my life. No one could help me get better. I thought to myself –– some people on this planet are just born to be sad.
And I was one of them.
But then I realized I was missing so much of my life. When I was diagnosed with mental illness through the Ryerson Medical Centre, the doctor prescribed me Lexapro. He told me that there was a 50 per cent chance of it working, and to try it out for a month to see how it affects me.
Every day since then I’ve been taking 10 mg of Lexapro –– and this is my experience.
Upon picking up my prescription at my local pharmacy, the pharmacist was telling me all of the side effects, like headaches, nausea or weight gain.
In my head, I kept wondering if this was even a good idea. But the very next day, I took my first dose.
One of the first things I noticed was my bones becoming stiff. Especially after taking a few doses, my bones were aching. Every time I moved, it felt as though they were cracking. It took about a week before this went away, although even now, I notice my body has been a bit stiffer.
The biggest noticeable difference, however, was my mood. Upon being prescribed antidepressants, the doctor told me these would eventually help regulate my moods and I would begin to enjoy the things I used to. I would begin to feel connected: both to my mind, body and the outer world. And I did. Within the second week of being on Lexapro, I felt more connected to myself. I was able to think more clearly and rationally before approaching something full of emotion, which usually led to outbursts or lashing out on others because I simply feel too much: too overwhelmed, too frenzied, too stressed – too many things going on at once. I was able to articulate my thoughts before communicating them to others. I was able to breathe and calm myself down before approaching a situation or problem. I felt my communication about my feelings had overall improved, and I actually enjoyed socializing with other people more and more.
However, within the third week, I began to feel down again. Even though I could mentally feel sad, part of me did not feel connected to my sadness. It was being blocked by the chemicals I swallowed every morning, and I wasn’t able to feel a connection to it like I once did. It’s kind of scary and odd living without that much stress.
You never realize the toll being sad all the time takes on your body until you have to live without it.
I can’t even cry anymore. For a whole month, I have not cried. Even when I am very stressed and terrible things are going on around me, I simply cannot produce tears, even though the urge to cry is there. It feels as though I’ve become a person-shaped shrug; I no longer am able to feel sad or too happy. I just feel meh. In the middle. Undecided.
When I told my friend I could no longer cry, he asked, “Isn’t that a good thing?”
You could tell me my house was burning down, that I failed a test or I lost my job, and I would not cry. I simply could not feel the tears well into my eyes; I could feel the need to do it, yet nothing was coming out of me. He proceeded to tell me he wished he couldn’t cry. But I want to cry.
My body just will not allow it.
A part of me doesn’t miss the crying because it just serves as a reminder of how much my depression and anxiety overcame me and how much I was missing out on life as if mental illness was a personified extension of myself. It feels as though not being able to cry is also a reminder of entering the medicated world — a world I struggle to accept in which I am now a part of. Crying was a symbol of my body still being my own and not owned by Lexapro.
According to Huffington Post, Rachel Rogers states that there is a belief that medication is not necessary for mental illness. Instead, Harvard Medical doctors suggest that good exercise and a healthy diet will “cure” your mental illness naturally and can work similarly to that of antidepressants. But changing my diet and going to the gym will not curb the thoughts I face each day.
Dominique Michelle Astorina says that antidepressants can be stigmatized as “crazy pills” and “addictive toxins”. This gives antidepressants a bad reputation. This taboo is especially overlooked within communities of colour, who are more likely to experience common mental health problems. Erica Richards, chair and medical director of the Department of Psychiatry and Behavioural Health at Sibley Memorial Hospital, states that Black women are more likely to experience common mental health issues such as depression or anxiety and South Asian women are more at risk of insomnia and self-harm. Yet there is still a stigma around taking antidepressants within their communities.
Within my own family, there is a lot of shame and ignorance that made me not want to reach out for help. Especially considering how I grew up, it’s not uncommon for many families to want to cover up the problem rather than admit they need help. To others, it could mean that you are too emotional, too weak or are seeking attention. Others assume that once you start taking antidepressants, you will be hooked on them for the rest of your life. I know because I had the same belief. I feared that once I started taking antidepressants, I would be relying on those little white pills from the orange bottle for the rest of my life, that I would never be able to function without them. But this fear deters people, even myself, from trying medication and reaching out for help.
We all know the jokes pop culture makes, picking on people who have passed out from Xanax or Percocets. We have too many overdoses on medication every year. There’s even this misrepresentation of medication in TV shows and movies. We have all witnessed a scene in a television show where someone is taking medication they’re not supposed to. But medication should not be looked down on. And most importantly, medication is not a “one-size-fits-all” approach. Medication is not going to fix all your problems, but it can be used in combination with other approaches — whether it being therapy, counselling or group sessions — to find real life changes.