A New Journey
Last week, I started on medication for anxiety and depression. I never imagined I couldn’t handle it on my own. Life has been pretty good, all things considered. People don’t have homes, or access to food, water, or safe housing. Fortunately, I’ve never been without any basic needs. White privilege and two working parents provided me with access to a good education and medical care. What do I have to be stressed about? Nothing. I should be grateful for what I have and leave it at that. Listen to music or read books whenever I get overwhelmed. That’s easy, right? It’s not normal to always expect failure or expect something bad to happen.
Medication wasn’t an option for me before because my previous counselor had personal experience of being overmedicated. I was okay with that at the time because I was worried I wouldn’t be able to write anymore.
One of my favorite authors talked about how she felt her creativity turn off after she started medication. Eventually, her ideas came back, but even the temporary loss of my story ideas terrified me. My characters have gotten me through everything, and I didn’t think I could survive without the constant stream of thoughts in my head.
Worst Fears Realized
I knew I wasn’t writing because of my constant anxiety and realized that if I continued down this path, my stories would never be finished. The medication confirmed my worst fears. I couldn’t think about my stories. My characters were gone. There were no images or scenes to spark anything. It was just my anxious thoughts about the world around me. After a week, I had an idea of a conversation between two characters, and I was so happy. There are still a few things I have to work out about my mental health, but my stories are still here.
Please don’t stop yourself from getting the medication you need. You will still be you.