Showing posts with label antidepressants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label antidepressants. Show all posts

Friday, 8 September 2017

worry


We worry a lot. About all sorts of things. ‘Did I lock the door?’ ‘Will so-and-so do well in their exam?’ ‘What will happen at doctors?’ and ‘HOW WILL I EVER GET TO THE LEVEL OF CAKE CREATION ON BAKE OFF?’ All sorts of worries – some big, some as small as questioning our own culinary skills. Often questions we don’t know the answer to but one day will. That’s the concrete truth in all this. We will have the answer, one day, maybe in a few hours or maybe in a year, but the answer will almost always come. So why, oh why, do we waste time with worry? Or perhaps if we are worried about someone’s health, panicked about the result, worried about the aftermath – what use is our worry to the person who is suffering?

And then there's the suffering that comes with our worrying. It might be small, but on occasion my worry has lead me to be slower at job, it has caused arguments with family, it’s even made me accidentally smash a plate or a cup or a glass or some other smash-able object – and it has gone further than that. But that’s another story. The worry I’ve dealt with has caused me pain and also troubled and harmed the people around me. 

The basic fact though is that it is incredibly easy to stop these troublesome thoughts. The hardest part is realising that you can. We have control over what takes up space in our brains but of course we cannot necessarily control what enters them, but we can decide which thoughts stay and which thoughts get shoved out of the metaphorical skull door. Because worrying isn’t helpful to anyone. It’s harmful and painful. So now, how do we stop it? We just stop. We come to realise that almost everything that happens is out of our control, the health of a partner or the results of a test, they aren’t things we can change. We can’t be heroes. Unless of course you’re a doctor or a nurse then I suppose you are a hero and please keep up the bloody good work. You’re totally fabulous and you should not worry either, in fact, I have a theory that those in health care worry the least, because they cannot possibly have the time. They are possibly masters of the worry-less life.  There’s so much to worry about right now, big huge massive things – Trump's America, wars, austerity, hurricanes, you only have to switch on the news to be fraught with anxiety within seconds. But I ask you this, instead of letting that panic grow can you ask yourself – ‘What can I do to help this situation? Is it do-able? Can I change anything here?’ Perhaps you can, maybe you can slip on your dressing-gown and check if the door is really locked. Or you can sit with your distressed teenager while they revise, buttering them hot crumpets and making copious amounts of tea. But if the answer is ‘no’, if nothing can be done but waiting, or hoping, then have that hope, hope for better tomorrow, be more compassionate and kind and loving. And start by being kind to yourself and saying - ‘I accept this problem, but I cannot directly help, so I shall not worry because you sir, are a highly distressing thought and you will cause me pain.’ Let the thought dissolve with the knowledge that you did your best to be helpful. Centre your focus on something that IS helpful and continue your day. Because it is your day. And you have the power to make it a day to be proud of. Now I understand there are those worries that can’t get out the skull door, they’re too fat and cruel. So talk them out, find a friendly ear (a non-judgemental buddy), pick up the phone, chew it out till it’s shed it’s heavy weight and it’s no longer exhausting to carry around. Or write it out, paint it out, meditate it out, run it out, find your thing that frightens that thought away. You're so much stronger than that "thought" can ever be. Because the crux of it is, worrying is exhausting, it’s the mightiest, most pointless weight to carry and you have the power to put it down. It’s not always easy but it’s doable. My worries still come at me, but I give them a little shove when they squeak ‘you might never own a house,’ ‘have you seen your student debt?’, and 'what the hell are you doing with your life?' and I say- ‘that’s future Megan’s problem, how the hell do you expect me to be happy now, if I worry about all that stuff that I can’t change or that I'm already fighting for?’

Friday, 22 January 2016

being

I am on medication for depression.
I have been on and off. 
Tried so many types.
Different variations. 
Cocktails. 
A pick-a-mix of anti depressants, sleeping pills, anti anxiety, and so on. 

Meds that dull the senses. That stop tears in their tracks. That hold me. That let me sleep. My medication lets me 'be'. It takes the racing heart and sweaty palms out of ordering coffee. It lets my head creep up from staring at the floor. It takes some of my pain away. On the darkest of days it gives me a slice of light. It gives me the ability to be. This medication helps me and many others turn days of despair into days where getting out of bed is a possibility. 

However there is a foggy stigma when it comes my little tablets. It rears it's ugly head whenever this subject is mentioned. And I am angry. I am angry that mental illness can sometimes hold hands with shame. I have felt that shame. I have clasped my mouth closed with quivering hands when I should have shouted the loudest. I have whispered when I should have screamed. I have said those words 'no, I doing fine' hoping someone would hear the hidden meaning, that had sunk so deep I didn't even know how to breathe. This stigma scares me. This stigma must leave. 

No one smuggles in a secret Lemsip when they have a cold. No one asks a patient in a coma if they've tried 'getting up.' No one tells someone with a broken leg 'to go running.' So why do we do this with mental illness? Why do people tell me to 'cheer up' when there is something damaged in my brain? Just because it's not visible does not mean it's not there. And the stark reality is that people die. These illnesses are vicious. They kill. If a little pill can stop that, if medication can save a life, or even just make a life livable. Then it must be okay. It has to be. 

It might not be the only answer. Medication is not the one and only. There are therapies. There are other answers. It just so happens that it helps me. And that is okay. 






we will not forget who we are.