Without a doubt I have been in a major dry spell for posts for the past few weeks. My apologies for that because I miss it and I miss talking with other bloggers out there in the community. With that in mind I thought I’d take the chance to talk about the topic I spoke about in a post awhile back, The Struggle To Talk.
Because as it goes, once you get diagnosed, in comes the medication. It’s not going to take long and it’s a simple fact apparently.
As I believe I said in my last post about mental health and my life, I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety, that was done over a year ago now, during March 2015 as my mother found out for the second time that I was suicidal and I hit a new all time low in my short life. Before long I was going to the hospital an hour away from home to see the doctors they had there dedicated for teen mental health. The psychiatrist appointments began along with counselling for the umpteenth time in my life. The new part? Medication. Or, my meds.
I can’t remember the name of the first one I tried. Honestly the names are complex and annoying and recommendation wise don’t matter anyways because they all work differently for everyone.
What I do know is this one was dedicated more towards my anxiety and holding back that little problem. So it began, starting at a low dosage, moving up as the weeks went by. Problem is I still managed to be depressed regularly and had one of the worst and most terrifying panic attacks I’ve experienced. So after those long months of experimenting, we switched it around to my latest med of choice once it became obvious the first wasn’t going to cut it even with the highest dosage.
Now I want to address what’s going on for my second drug and the latest struggle I face thanks to it and my bad habits.
As some of you may have figured by now, I am a sports person, hockey, soccer, rugby, give me a sport and I will try it and do my damnest to succeed at it. That doesn’t mean I’m always in my best shape sadly. In February I managed to hurt my knee, patural femural pain syndrome is the fancy term. Knee + running = pain. I was out of working out and sports and feeling shitty began to eat badly. Gained some weight. Now I’m back on the path to losing weight as I am admittedly the heaviest I’ve ever been. I’m not overly self-confident. It’s a big blow to my self-esteem and sense of worth in so many ways.
Then just the other day my mom reminded me of my medication. I admit, I don’t think of it much anymore, really it’s just a fact of life. Some people are against it, some people are all for it. I settle on what my first counsellor, Nicholas explained, medication and counselling combined is best. The counselling gives you the tools to help yourself and the meds help keep you stable enough to learn to use them. I like the way that works and I deal with it. Not to say living on meds doesn’t rankle on my pride sometimes (dependence and daddy issues).
The thing that I forgot though, getting back to my point, was the psychiatrist told me I needed to keep track of my weight. Because among a huge ass list of possible side effects, weight gain just had to be one of them. And here’s that list just so you know:
- Acid or sour stomach
- blurred vision
- difficulty having a bowel movement (stool)
- dry mouth
- inability to sit still
- need to keep moving
- runny nose
- sore throat
- stomach discomfort, upset, or pain
- trouble sleeping
- unable to sleep
- weight gain
Except that while a few of those side effects are present, I feel the most stable I have in a long time. And now thanks to this I’ve reached an impasse in my mind.
I could be stable because I’m simply learning to cope better, true. But it’s also summer and I’ve always been better during summer; longer days, lots of sun and no school to stress me out. So it leaves me with a need to change up the meds because I despise the extra weight I really do. It kills me actually. I’m not in as good a shape and as I said before, the self-esteem is always an issue. That being said, I’m back on a healthier route again as I fell off the health wagon long enough to be mad at myself as well.
So the struggle in my mind continues every time I look down at my thighs or in the mirror. Can I fix it like I could before? Or are the meds actually preventing me from the weight loss? And of course, can I go off my meds altogether?
That last question hits the closest because while I’m not against people being on them in any way, I support it, because if it helps it helps, I still have this hypocritical idea that I shouldn’t be dependent on these drugs.
Not a good thing, but it’s there, I acknowledge that at least. So the struggle begins again on taking meds, looks like my counsellor will have some interesting stuff to hear next time I see her.
What kind of experiences have do you know about with medication?
Good? Bad? Thoughts?
I’d love to hear it, comment below or email me privately if you wish
Until next time,