Seasonal depression always hits me pretty hard. I’m surprised it didn’t really make a dent until December this year. Usually, my mood drops pretty dramatically in early September (cool holdover from past trauma!). Finding a way to cope in the past was, frankly, not as important to me as it is now. Having a toddler who depends on me has made a huge impact in my desire to find solutions rather than just sitting in bed and eating dry ramen.
Been there, done that. It’s still an oddly appealing option, but I don’t succumb to the urge. I thank my meds.
After my daughter was born in October of 2015, a social worker came into my hospital room and asked me questions about my mental state. In the past, I may have dodged these questions out of self-preservation. Sobriety (not just abstinence, but a commitment to personal growth) has taught me to do otherwise. Giving birth terrified me. It was the reason I didn’t want to have children up until this point in my life. The inevitability of giving birth was, to me, a thousand times more daunting than any part of motherhood. I admitted that I had suicidal thoughts and that I self-injured during my pregnancy.
She called CPS.
The woman my family and I worked with during my daughter’s early life had no desire to take her away from me. She told us flat out that she didn’t think she needed to be involved, but we were required to continue through the process anyway. We were required to have routine inspections, take Lorelei (my daughter) to her checkups, and I was required to go back to therapy and see a psychiatrist. The idea of trying medication again, after many failed attempts, was daunting, but I was not willing to risk losing my little newborn.
I tried a small handful of medications before landing on the ones I’m on now – Rexulti and Effexor. I know it disappoints some people that I’m on medication (namely, my mom), but I’m not sure if I’ve ever had such clarity as I do when I’m on the correct dosages. If there is some amount of mental willpower that I need to exert in order to feel this way, I don’t without my medication. I don’t have the drive. I am too easily distracted by my anxiety and my mind racing with absurd hypotheticals (if you don’t hold your breath until the light turns green, a car will smash into the passenger side and you’ll die!).
To bring it all back, I am sinking.
Today is my last day before I move up to 2mg of Rexulti. I am making this adjustment because the suicidal thoughts have come back. When Lorelei sleeps, I sleep. And she sleeps a lot, so I do, too. My paranoia is creeping back in, too. I recently half-convinced myself that my partner was cheating on me. A friend brought me home from work and I decided to surprise him by not telling him that I had gotten a ride, but when I reached our apartment door, I was struck with the realization that I should have messaged him to give him time to let his lover leave. At least I haven’t deteriorated into believing that Greg (my partner) is in touch with my rapist and that they’re conspiring some way to ruin my life and then murder me. I’ve believed that one before, with many of my partners. (I would venture to say most.) (Yeah, I still write stories, they just don’t typically leave my head.) This paranoia caused tension in a lot of relationships, but I don’t feel it so much when my medications are at that sweet spot. My unfounded paranoia is one of many symptoms of my mental illness.
May tomorrow be better.