Well, Well, Well... Wellbutrin

Herself speaks.

I've been a bit quiet, because I've been thinking about something that needed my full inner attention. Something small, and yet big. A tiny thing, and yet a Big Thing. A miniscule request, with potentially rippling consequences (some potentially negative, many potentially positive). I thought, and thought, and then decided. 

I looked out over the past six years, all the way back to The Task (since that was monumental enough to be a solid landmark in time), and then looked forward again, and made myself a list of all the Happenings in that interval that were difficult, or required some form of life adjustment or adaptation, or needed a period of time of a month (or more) to get used to/get over/come to terms with the event or change. And I stopped adding to the list after I could reliably identify twenty-five different items -- and none of them were even ordinary daily items like Work or Chronic Migraine or Ordinary Stuff. 

All of them were varying levels of Big: the loss of the Tiniest and Fiercest of Warriors, of my very fine fur friend Mr. Uncle Tio, and of the very fine New Old Dog; the Divergence; minor surgeries and medical events of various levels of annoyance; the loss of my lovely father in law, and of my lovely Daddy (which, in addition to being heartrending, also came with a new set of responsibilities, which I undertook with love to honor my Daddy); the Pandemic and how terrible People behaved, and having COVID -- twice! -- with virtually no support system to help me during that time; the Inflection Point and the arduous recovery from it; and other events of similar degrees of size and shape. 

(I have not included specific mention in the listing here, of events that belong primarily to the Offspring or to Beloved Husband, in which I was a tangential player, for those are their stories; nevertheless, I play a supporting character in their lives, and what affects them, impacts me in certain ways, too.)

As we can see, though, there has been rather a lot. 

I'm Tired. Tired through and through, to the very core of my soul.  And you can read it, too, if you look through the Blog. 

This level of Tired means that my own personal wellbeing became such a low priority, that I could see that I wasn't really taking adequate care of myself -- not finding the time to exercise, not putting in the effort to ensure I was following the best migraine-free diet, not finding activities to do that I enjoyed. Because I enjoyed nothing. There has been no joy. Only Obligation, Numbness, and marching forward, doing the things that must be done. With a little despair thrown in here and there. 

So I gathered all of this, held it all carefully in my hands, and when I went to my annual physical yesterday, said to my lovely doctor: 

Let's talk about anti-depressants, please. 

And she was ever so kind about it. 

We ran through the standard depression and anxiety questionnaires. I inwardly chuckled a bit at the depression questionnaire because the timeframe it asks about is, "In the past two weeks...." Two weeks?! Hell, I can do ANYTHING for two weeks. For two months. For two years, even. And she also asked me what the biggest stressors were, and I told her a few of the twenty-five things, and though I couldn't quite look at her when I mentioned the worst of them, it was pretty clear that what I said was somehow clearly... enough for one person to be dealing with. 

I passed (failed?) the depression questionnaire, though I have virtually no anxiety -- which does not surprise me. Things are going to happen, whether I worry about them or not; at this point, I just hitch up my pants and do what needs doing next.  We agreed on which antidepressant I should try, and it's one that is least likely to have weight gain as a side effect, since one of my side goals is to lose weight. (I probably will, if I can feel my feelings rather than eat them.) The prescription was called into the pharmacy even before the end of the visit. She gave me a hug before I left, and I felt embarrassed that someone actually cares. And her assistant told me, when she walked me to the exit, that it would get better. 

I want to believe that they were being genuine and kind. I am unused to spontaneous kindness from other people. Especially people who don't want something from me. 

It was a tough choice to decide to ask for help.  I spent a lot of time thinking about the ramifications of what it would mean to have a diagnosis of clinical depression in my medical records. Will medical professionals take me less seriously in the future? "Oh, your symptoms are because you're depressed."  Well, it's possible I'll get that. But is that any worse than "It's because you're fat"?  Because we all know that's a standard "diagnosis" for women, too. 

Maybe, with the antidepressant, I'll eventually be able to be less fat, because I'll have the wherewithal to take better care of myself. Really, that's my goal: a few store-bought neurotransmitters, to take the edge off of the level of Terrible, so I can do better for myself.  Someone needs to take care of me. I am that Someone. 

I'm trying not to look at the whole situation as a personal failure. I can only Power Through so much. When I can no longer reach my own bootstraps to power through everything, though, it's time to get some assistance. Even though I would rather chew off my own leg than ask for help, it was definitely Time. 

I debated for a long time about whether I would write here about this issue. The stigma associated with Depression is, as always, very high, and I realize it's a risk to say certain things out loud. (Though I do want to give Kudos to the younger generations for being much more open about mental health and wellness than my generation and older generations.) But perhaps, that's all the more reason to say something. 

If there's a chance that, by reading my story, you can look at your own life and say to yourself, "I have plenty of Terrible and would like something to take the edge off, too", and you can then go ask your own doctor for help, then this is a story well told. 

I will -- either literally, or metaphorically -- be there to hold your hand while you ask for help, too.