"Hey, Why Do You Take Antidepressants Anyways?'

 The discourse and dilemma of prescribed narcotics 

The 6:00 am sun breaks through my window, followed by my alarm's routine cry. "Wake up! join the world!"

Another day, and my body jerks up before my mind has a chance to recapture its consciousness. Habitually, I start my morning routine by brushing my teeth, taking the effort in scrubbing my tongue till I gag. Contacts in each eye, now I can see the streaks on my mirror, and I make a mental note: pick up more Windex on my way home. Coffee, my daily dosage of Prozac, and i’m off.

It was an average day, Monday or Tuesday- Who's to tell? Later, I was joined by my friends- stupid jokes and burning daylight. Looking at their smiles, I felt alright for the first time in a while.

"You're funny today," one of them casually remarked. I smiled because she was right. I was, as they say, "on a roll" and that familiar - almost forgotten- warmness of friendly admiration took hold of my body. Just a few months ago, I was suffering from what people with depression may call a "bad spell." Mornings, my consciousness suffocated me and I would wake up already at rock bottom. I would cancel plans, afraid to see my friends, afraid of mere daylight. Don't disappoint them, I would rationalise; they can't see you like this… no one can see you like this.

But then here I was, funny again.

The good feeling from her complement was short-lived. In its tendency to find a cloud on the sunniest day, my mind wandered itself upon an unfortunate thought, and dread immediately replaced my comfort.

Was I only being funny because I was on antidepressants?

I had been on my highest dosage of Prozac for about 3 weeks, roughly the time my doctor told me it takes to get accustomed to a new dosage. While I had thought I felt the "same," I knew I was incapable of humour a few months ago. I had changed, sure, but was this change brought about by the medication?

If so, I thought, uh-oh.

If I had to take these- needed them, I was now forced into questioning the validity of a life lived on drugs.

You may ask why, how could I concern myself with something a doctor prescribed. Nevertheless, they are a drug. Drugs change people.

As someone who has struggled with depression, let's say I have had difficulty in my life with substances. I fear drug consumption, but I must. It's my defence mechanism to prevent addiction, and it has saved me from my closest encounters with that third kind. I give my rational mind the wheel to steer clear of the upcoming danger. The high- oh god- drugs fly me away from the hardships of complete consciousness- and I always want to keep going- float along just a little longer. I know though that at the end of that road is a dead end and in taking that path, it would kill me.

When we talk of people with an addiction, they're described as "different people," changed people. Inside us all, I imagine there is an innocent self, the inner child, and it is them who is slowly murdered by drugs. The morning after becomes your always, the highs mingled with the lows. Where did your inner child go? Are they watching from the sidelines as you stumble further from the person they dreamed you would become? I wondered about Antidepressants, what made them different.

But what about medicine? Drugs, in an uncorrupted sense, mean medicine.

Antidepressants are prescribed. I would never question a doctor's note for antibiotics when coming down with bronchitis. Medicine fixes things, bad things. Dayquil, Tylenol, these drugs change- but it’s temporary bodily ailments. And hey, you're better after.

But Antidepressants target something- a bit more personal. My stuffy nose has nothing to do with my personality, only covering my bedside table in snot-filled tissues. Depression is more than a bodily ailment where my temperature going down signifies I have beat it.

"Why do you take antidepressants anyway?" A question I've frequently been asked but never have been capable of fully answering.

To cure my brain? To cure me? I guess I took them because my doctor prescribed them, and I could not find the motivation to get through the day.

Let's deconstruct antidepressants because until recently, I did not exactly know what they did.

Antidepressants target neurotransmitters. For those of us laymen lacking in cognitive knowledge, neurotransmitters are the chemicals in your brain that act as the middleman between neuron communication. Stubbing your toe, the neurotransmitters carry the message that it's painful up to your brain. Your eyes see the sun, and the neurotransmitters tell your brain it's time to feel happy.

Well- that's what they're supposed to do, at least.

People with depression have wonky transmitters. The message carriers are cynics who throw away the good feelings, scribbling over the message a bitter new one. That's the medical essence of it. I have employed notoriously poor employees in my brain.

Serotonin, which controls mood, he's all over the place. He mixes up my happy emotions with fear- anger and disgust, how disorganised! Norepinephrine, who's supposed to tell you to feel aroused, to pay attention- he gets lost along the way and great, now I can't focus. Dopamine, the most important of my carriers, is charged with the paramount task of giving me feelings of pleasure, satisfaction and motivation. Well, he's a no-show most days, and when he shows up, he's slow- and it's as if half the messages are missing.

Ever since I was 12, I have suffered from this unwanted ailment, acting like an evil villain, corrupting my employees and making time slow, life-bad. I was diagnosed with major depression a few years ago. After the initial sort of relief sunk in that I could finally name this thing, that my feelings had a scientific basis-I was left to cope with the fact that something was intrinsically wrong with me. Depression is a lifelong illness- "Bad spells" are a constant concern lurking around every corner- they go away, lessen at times- but I know, always, they have that cunning tendency to get me when I least expect it- throwing my life into ruin.

Eventually, after years of back and forth fluctuations, I had to seek help. I was prompted towards my doctor, who recommends antidepressants if you exhibit symptoms such as sadness, despair, hopelessness or -gasp- suicidal thoughts for over 2 weeks.

Check.

So there we go- I got a prescription for Prozac.

Antidepressants act as a new manager cleaning up the sorry state of affairs your illness leaves behind, employing the most astute carriers to deliver messages. They are efficient, for sure, but what next? They are a drug, they too, change you. And hey- what happened to my carriers? I grew up with them- working for this company for 20 years, how can I be sure I’m the one at the head of these changes.

Antidepressants themselves are not all sunshine and rainbows. Believe me.

I am embarrassed to be on antidepressants for starters. It's an uncomfortable discussion with the enforced declaration that I have depression. Depression- scary. mentally ill? - broken.

Also, who’s to say they really - work. I know what my dad thinks- what half the population does, they’re a government taxpayer-sucking placebo and I am a sheep. “why not go for a walk?” groan.

But for me, I struggle with the "emotional blunting" aspect. The idea of antidepressants is simple, that they moderate your mood, fix your machine. However, in doing so, they turn down the volume on all your emotions. I get the messages, but they're in black and white- a printed fact rather than a colourful response. "Oh, okay, feel happy, okay," and I guess I do. But you become numb- somewhat okay with whatever. I can appreciate the sun but don't feel moved to write a poem about it. I don't cry from things which have no trace of sadness in them- but also don't cry when my sister is in the hospital. Moderated - changed- reduced. What's the fix when you tell your doctor this? A higher dosage.

With the doctor as my enabler, have I ignored that it is potentially an addiction? As I increase my strength- am I still the same person as before? Sure, this new manager has my best interest at heart, but he's still messing around my mind. I am not a mere machine, i’m a girl.

What if I just went off them? I have also considered it. Ah- but most would not recommend that. Abrupt cessation of antidepressant use leads to adverse side effects. More than headaches and nausea, genuine withdrawals. Low moods return but worse, worse than ever. Back in bed- sweating- confronted with my repressed emotions I scream- “I need my fix! Where’s the prozac!”.

So, I have learned that dramatically flushing them down the toilet or whatever is not the best solution.

So why do I take them?

Why do people always ask that?

If it wasn’t clear- I have depression. It's an uphill battle, and this tough climb requires new strategies. Medical professionals have not figured it out yet, either. Women used to get lobotomies, shock treatment, and the "rest cure," where men locked their depressed wives away for maybe years until they could be happy again, or atleast fake it better.

Depression hurts myself - but others too. Untreated I avoid friends and unintentionally yell at family. Unmedicated, the inner child in me still must watch sadly as I abuse the person they wanted me to be.

The truth is- I don't know how to deal with depression. I know therapy is expensive and that looking on the bright side or going for a walk won't go all the way. I know when depression gets its dirty hands on me, other drugs, those bad ones, begin to sing their appealing song a little louder.

I think back to being funny that day.

I hate my mental illness because it prevents me from being funny, from being normal. From waking up and feeling like life is worth living.

Our world seems to love mischaracterizing mental illness as if it is a fun fact and not a sickness with fatal consequences.

Listen, I don't want to be taking prescription mood stabilisers my whole life. I want to be in control of my mind and come back in with a megaphone screaming I'm back as manager, but things have to be different around here. I also know that I needed to take them when I did because I could not go on living as I was. At the end of it all, narcotics are scary. I mean, you put the word drug on something- forgive me for feeling like I have become an addict.

We need to restructure how we talk about mental illness, though. How we critique the strategies intended to make a lifelong struggle less harrowing. "Why are you on antidepressants?" Why does it always come with an arrogant sense of judgement? Well, I don't know, Jessica, why are you with your toxic boyfriend? Why do you exercise in the morning, or better yet, why do you drink vodka crans till sunrise on weekends with your friends? We are all just doing the best we can with our situation.

We also need to make therapy more accessible. We have gone past the days of shock therapy, but why is the first response to a depressed patient a prescription putting money in the pockets of big pharma? We need to normalise conversations about mental illness among friends- men, I'm looking at you, educate parents and take it to the big guys- I mean government offices. If we want to lower the curve of the spike in depressed youth, in suicides, we need to modify the entire system in place so that pills are not the only option. They clearly are not the perfect solution.

Am I addicted? Maybe. Do antidepressants dull my emotions? Maybe. But am I losing some core version of myself? I hope that's not who I am. In any case- I'll take my drugs so long as they work, so long as I need them- because I value my inner child. I took them because today I woke up, and because I could be funny.