It has taken years for my doctors and psychiatrists to finally work out a cocktail of meds that actually work to balance out my moods and keep me stable enough to pay my bills, brush my teeth, make my bed, feed my kids. Well, my kids are old enough to feed themselves these days, but if they were still young it’d be nice to know I could feed them when I needed to.
You’d think that being stable would put me in a grateful state of mind; gratitude for stability and ability. Gratitude for normalcy. Instead I just feel frustration. I feel… angry and irrational about being on them. I hate them. I hate that I know I need to take them. I hate that everyone thinks it’s in my best interest to stay on them. I hate that I know it’s true.
For me, meds are a blessing and a curse.
They bless me with the ability to do the things I mentioned. They bless me with stability and allow me to do average, every day things that need to be done to live a life that is not roiling in turmoil. They bless me with the ability to avoid the deepest of lows~ which is one of the greatest blessings of all.
But they are a curse, as well. They curse my ability to be fun. They curse my ability to write well and be creative and inspired. They curse my ability to focus long enough to hold a decent conversation and read an entire book. They make me slow and impair my thought processes. They reduce my libido.
Is the lack of turmoil worth the lack of all of those other things that I hold so dear? It’s a question I ask myself almost daily and most days I really can’t find the answer to that question. But I go with the flow. Mostly because I am scared. I am scared of what might happen if I stop. Scared of depression. Scared that if I stop taking them all of the things I miss won’t come back to me and I might be ruined some how.
So, where does that leave me today? Right now? In this moment? It leaves me pondering, once again, if it’s worth it. It leaves me going with the flow. It leaves me stable.