The smooth green and blue capsule rolled around in my palm. It weighed no more than a raisin yet its intangible significance weighed mightily in my hand.
On Friday I sat on the plaid couch across from my psychiatrist. Dr.B sunk back into his chair and kicked his legs up and onto his desk as I scrambled to collect my racing thoughts to string them into a coherent sentence.
It had been 2 weeks since my last emotional purge.
All I wanted to do was have a big girl cry but the emotions were buried under the obvious cluster fuck of problems resting on my shoulders. My employer, my denied medical benefits, my increasing back pain, the Canadian physical therapist who told me that kegels will cure me, over $12,000 US in unpaid medical bills, Shawn’s back injury, my neighbor’s passing and everything in between.
And I always feel guilty for whining about my problems. Not that it’s my fault that these things are happening, but because I feel like I’m preaching to a choir that has heard things far far worse than I can ever imagine. I feel foolish sometimes, yet Dr.B never minimizes the impact that these problems have on me and me alone.
It makes me feel semi better, but deep down inside I’m embarrassed for complaining.
I explained to him the overwhelming sadness that has stolen my smile, my laughter, my strength, and my motivation that all forms from deep within. It comes in crushing waves that pulls me down deeper into an oppressive tide. I feel as if I’m watching my world from beneath these waters. So far removed and no matter how hard I swim, I cannot break the surface.
Some days it’s just easier to not swim at all.
But every day I try.
“You wouldn’t be able to handle this when I first met you”, he said. “I won’t let you get back to that place.”
And for a brief moment, I reflected about the time when I was so wrought with pain that I couldn’t even talk. I shuddered in my soul and quickly nodded back at Dr.B in hopeful agreement.
I’m am better than what I was.
We discussed options and possible solutions and trying an additional 60 mg of one of my antidepressants. The impact of this 60 more milligrams didn’t hit me until AFTER I left his office and was standing in front of my kitchen sink with the pill in my hand.
Will this 60 mg fix everything that’s going on around me?
Will 60 mg really take my pain away?
Will 60 mg really help me cope more with the problems?
Will I always need medications to help me through tough times?
I wanted to wean this year.
I foolishly thought that I was well enough.
Why am I not strong enough?
I feel weak.
I feel guilty.
I feel broken.
I feel defeated.
I feel like I’m letting my family down.
Will this 60 mg really make me well?
And I looked down at my hand where the green and blue capsule rested heavily, and placed it on my tongue then swallowed.
All 60 extra milligrams of it.
Because I want to be happy again.