I will be the first to admit. This post is b-o-r-i-n-g. I don’t have the foggiest idea how to present this information in a clever way. It’s medicine for goodness sake.
But to get through it, I have the song “Lord, Is It Mine” by Supertramp playing in my mind. It speaks to the reality of my sadness yet also provides hope as I reflect on three decades of my relationship with meds navigating depression and anxiety. Perhaps you can think of a song that fits your mood if you wish to continue reading :)
- I was first prescribed Zoloft – a Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors (SSRI) when I was 34 and had to go on bedrest with my third child (but my fourth pregnancy as I had miscarried several months earlier)
- I had it filled and then threw out the bottle. I didn’t want to need it. A few months later I
knew I needed it
- felt a change in one day
- worked well for months (remainder of bed-rest pregnancy and post-partum)
- then months of feeling no lows but also no real joys
- started taking randomly because it
did
calibrate me when I was really down
- four years later and on bedrest again, new doctor changed dosage, not med
- once Zoloft’s patent expired, too expensive to take, family doctor had me try six different meds in same class, none worked like Zoloft
- family doctor contacted insurance company to get cost reduced
- maintained, gradually increased dosage, maintained, increased again
- began having anxiety attacks, prescribed another med that did nothing but make me feel nauseated
- battled with drug and insurance companies to increase recommended dosage of sertraline
- ran out of it two days before Christmas 2024
- cried at that Christmas Eve Mass with a depth I had not felt in quite some time
- didn’t pursue getting on meds, lived through the lows and appreciated the highs
- started back on 50mg sertraline in December of 2025 during the second week of the three-week episode, not the same effect as when I had taken it before, but felt a bit better
- reluctant to try anything else because I have already experienced the frustration of feeling worse than better
Oh yes and there’s this little thing about self-medicating with beer sprinkled in throughout a good portion of those years. I mean beer is a depressant, what did I think was going to happen? But I know why. I drank because I was hurting and trying to calm my anxiety. I thought that would help me hurt less. And it did – for a while. Then I realized it was actually making things worse.
What does it all mean? Heck if I know. I’m living it and it doesn't make sense. I just know that it’s hard. And confusing. And frustrating. And I’m going to keep going and recognize, like many things in life, I have to adjust, and then readjust. This is reality. It is mine.
What has been your experience regarding medication for your diagnosis?
#anxiety #depression #reality
