Rise, my fallen angel

The past week has been really interesting to me. I'm hesitant sitting here at our kitchen table, wanting to post something (in my mind) quite bold. But, I did say if my experiences can help someone else, I'm happy to share. So on that note, here we go. This will be very open and raw.

After losing our darling Peach, I was given antidepressants. I didn't ask for them specifically, my OB offered a prescription and Husband thought they could help. I figured he saw how I was doing more clearly than I saw myself. After some hesitancy, I decided it would be okay for me to take them. This was a big deal for me. While I feel that I've struggled with depression long before this whole thing, I always prided myself on being able to handle it on my own. I didn't want to have to rely on a pill messing with my serotonin or dopamine levels. But, ultimately I took them. And at first I wasn't sure if they were helping. I knew they were working, as I had lovely side effects like headaches and dizziness. I was Leslie Knope on flu medicine.

Shortly after Dr. C gave me my prescription, (Zoloft, to be specific) Husband went to a family PA for reasons of his own that aren't mine to share. I came with because he asked me to. And for the sake of not having a ridiculously long blog post we'll skip to this: the PA suggested switching medications for me since I wasn't feeling like myself. I wasn't sure I wanted to. It scared me. I was already playing with neurotransmitters, and I wasn't sure I wanted to change, for fear of how I might feel. I can't really explain specifically what scared me, but I waited a few months while the PA's suggestion haunted me and eventually bit the bullet. Side note here: I do not like going to the doctor. Nope nope nope. I adore my OB, but I would still get nervous before every appointment. I also really like this PA, but again, I still get nervous every time I go. But anyway, the PA gave me Prozac. This made me feel pretty crappy, as I was hoping he would give me the okay to go off the antidepressants entirely. I gave it a shot with the Prozac, unsure if the fact that I was feeling slightly better was due to the medications or just time passing. It was late May at this point. I really wanted to feel better, but I was still having some side effects. So I gave the office a call, and my medication changed again to Celexa. This really didn't make me happy. My poor brain probably didn't know what hit it. With no relief of the side effects, I went to see the PA to say I'm done with antidepressants. And wonderfully, he listened and thought I was at a good point to see how I did taking everything out of my system.

So this week has been my first with no meds. And you know what? I feel amazing. I did it, guys!!! Looking back now, I don't feel the same sadness I did. The situation still sucks out loud, but I have this renewed sense of strength. It's somewhat difficult to explain. The title of this post comes from a song by Bon Jovi. (Really, are you that surprised? If I ever get to meet that man, I will give him a huge hug and say thank you. And probably cry. Then ask him to sign my guitar.) The song is called Brokenpromiseland and it comes from The Circle album. The full bridge says "Rise, my fallen angel. Come on, now. Shine, don't let them break you." Check it out if you'd like, it's one of my favorites from that album. But I remember so many people telling me I'm a strong woman when I was in the hospital, and at the time I didn't get it. I didn't see it. I was sitting on the edge of my hospital bed crying out of fear, not pain, as I got my epidural. Supposedly the anesthesiologist told my mom I'm a very strong girl afterwards, but again, I didn't feel it. Now I do. And it's fantastic. While my life at this moment is far from perfect, and not at all where I thought it would be at this time, dare I say it? I'm happy. Something the PA said when I was explaining how I'd much rather be doing the analyzing than be analyzed kind of smacked me upside the head. It wasn't anything I hadn't heard before, but you know how sometimes things finally get through to where they're supposed to and smack you? That's what it was. He said that sometimes we need to be on this side of the table (gesturing to where I was sitting) and that's okay.

We can't (I can't) help others until we first help ourselves. And I now feel like I've done that, and I'm much more prepared to help those around me. It's not selfish. I'm not ashamed of my story and the things that I did to get to this point. I want nothing more than to use this strength to help those who may be feeling the things that I've felt, and really can't be understood unless you've been there yourself. And because I feel like songs say the things that I want to better than I can about 90% of the time, I'm going to end this post with another Bon Jovi song. Same album, but this one's called Learn to Love. It's helped me through many difficult times, not just this most recent one. Please take a few minutes to listen to it. From my heart.