My Insulin

Recently, I decided I was “cured” from the anxiety and depression I have been suffering since I was a child. I was seemingly happy, working full-time at a job I loved, living in my hometown with my parents and dog, and traveling and visiting friends on weekends. So, I decided to get off my Zoloft (sertraline), which I have been on for almost three years, after various different medication regiments since I was 15.

Getting off the Zoloft started fine, until it wasn’t. I left the job I was comfortable at, moved to another city 4 hours from my family and stable atmosphere, started working very early morning/late night hours at a new, higher-stress job, and was in an unstable living situation. Everything hit the fan all at once, and I no longer had my Zoloft to lean on. I became an absolute wreck. To be fair, I have been in these “states” several times before; I can’t eat, sleep, talk without crying, breath correctly, or stop my heart from racing. Sounds like a panic attack? Sure, but this lasts for days, sometimes weeks, on end with no relief.

I immediately felt ashamed of myself. It had been over a year since my last bout of severe, unstoppable, longterm anxiety. I thought I “grew out of it”. I thought I had “beaten it.” I had to “flee” the city and go home to my family, as I typically have done in the past in these situations. Going home has always brought me great relief, not only because my anxiety decreases with familiar surroundings, but because I can also get some life-affirming sleep, relax with my dog, eat a nice home-cooked meal, lean on my parents and church family, and find some form of relief.

However, this time, going home made me feel defeated. I felt as if I lost my battle and gave up, even though I came right back to the city and my new job after refreshing myself over a 3-day weekend.

When my anxiety flares up, the first thing that happens is an internal battle between me being anxious, and me being upset with myself for not being able to stop my anxiety, which makes me feel defeated, crushed, helpless, hopeless.

It wasn’t until I read something online comparing anti-depressants to insulin that I felt any less angry at myself for having anxiety. The analogy of insulin to a diabetic being what psych drugs are to a person suffering depression/anxiety (or a variety of other mental illnesses) made me feel the slightest bit of relief.

Neurodiversity (mental illnesses, disorders, and the like) although generally invisible, is often the result of a chemical imbalance in the brain, in addition to mental health and past experiences. Therefore, taking my medication was critical to my wellbeing, especially when placed in more stressful situations-ie, moving, new job.

You wouldn’t tell a diabetic who has been feeling really healthy to stop taking their insulin. The insulin is allowing them to feel homeostatic. So, I’m changing my mindset. I’m not going to shame myself anymore for needing medication to feel stable. I refuse to feel embarrassed, and I will not be quiet anymore when it comes to advocating for myself and others like me.

This was a lot, and if you read this far, I am grateful. My only hope from this journal is that I can share an experience that makes someone feel less alone, share a helpful insight, tips or tricks, or educate allies.

Warmly,

A