Saturday, October 6, 2012

This Is My Brain on Drugs

I suspect that fall has always been rather beautiful in Michigan.  This is my third fall here, but this is the first time I have really appreciated the beauty associated with dying chlorophyll.  Trees have burst into flaming shades of red, yellow and orange.  My three year old and I sit at the window and watch the leaves gracefully cascade toward the earth while she squeals and I breathe it all in as though I were observing it intentionally for the first time.


Allow me to back up.  I am a girl who adores summertime.  I love blue skies, warm water, peaches, and sundresses.  I love the sunshine and the way it makes me feel.  I begin to fret at the beginning of September because I know, from experience, what lies ahead for me as summer comes to a close.  The days get shorter, my brain becomes foggy, and I become as lethargic as an old house cat.

This year I decided to be proactive.  Per my GP's referral, I visited a psychologist/ therapist about a month ago before the weather started to change.  To my surprise she told me that year after year I have been doing all of the right things (i.e. using the light box, eating well, exercising, getting outside).  I assumed that I was missing something.  I felt confident that she would tell me that I just wasn't trying hard enough to be happy and energetic.  The therapist recommended that I start taking a low dose of anti-depressants before my usual lethargy set in.  Before I could stop them, the words flew out of my mouth, "Are you sure this doesn't make me a failure?"

I didn't mean to say it.  I didn't really even know I felt that way.  I have been suffering with seasonal depression for the last seven years because I believed that seeking help and not defeating it on my own made me a failure.  To be fair I did visit a young doctor one dreary morning in Wales about five years ago after I'd had a scary moment of complete, foggy out-of-it-ness and lost track of my three year old in a crowd of school children in town.  He basically instructed me to suck it up and try to take a sunny holiday soon.  Apparently I internalized his advice, and I have indeed attempted to suck it up and deal with my seasonal depression on my own ever since then.

The psychologist assured me that I was not a failure.  She quickly confessed that a daily dose of Prozac had helped her conquer her own anxiety disorder and live a more balanced life.  So I left her office with a prescription for a pediatric dose of an anti-depressant, which I filled but did not start taking.

I waited until the official first day of Fall.  On Saturday, September 22nd I did not want to get out of bed.  Nothing was wrong in my life.  I was surrounded by the usual happy children and dirty dishes.  I stayed in bed until ten and felt tired all day.  The next morning, I dragged myself to church but felt  languid and droopy.  That afternoon I took my first tablet, and I am writing about it now because it has helped and it is not shameful.


I wake up on my own in the morning now.  My eyes open without a great deal of difficulty, and my thinking is much more clear.  My children no longer need to tiptoe to my bedside at 7:30 and attempt to rouse their cantankerous, comatose mama bear from hibernation.  I am conscious of the seasonal beauty all around me for the first time in a long time.  The trees are the right height (ha) and their vibrantly colored leaves have suddenly snapped into focus.  As I am out in my car or on foot, I gaze around in absolute awe.  All of this is punctuated by my three year old's chirpy narration, "What a beautiful day it is, Mom!  The leaves are so colorful."

And now I answer her back sincerely, "Yes, my dear, it IS a glorious day!"

 

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