Writing Out My Heart
A few months ago, I made the decision to stop taking antidepressants because of the side effects. I’ve struggled with clinical depression for a long time—I think it’s actually PMDD, because my issues are super concentrated during those two ever-so-lovely weeks of the month—but the side effects of the medications finally became too much. One made me super anxious. I don’t need the help with that, thank you. Another worked so well, but I all I could do was sleep. Every SSRI I’ve tried (a fair few) make me eat, eat, eat. I’ve lost the baby weight from my twin pregnancy and then gained it all back with this most recent medication. And to top it off, it stopped the sadness during that time of the month, but it made me so short-tempered I hated even being me during those weeks.
I like being me. So it had to go.
But I feel it, folks. Without that help, every client who snaps at me, every driver that honks impatiently…even benign and friendly exchanges like meeting new neighbors…they wear me down.
Another client just pointed out how late I am on a project. They’re all correct—it’s our busiest time of the year, and I am DROWNING in the editing work I do for my day job (my 20-hour-a-day job right now, thank you very much)—but I can’t physically work any faster. When dealing with this much stress, and justifiably uptight people trying to meet deadlines I’m struggling to make, the extra beating from my hormones does. not. help.
But taking 5 minutes to write out my heart just did.