“Oh my man, I love him so.” That’s a line from a song in Funny Girl, one of the best musical movies of all time. And that line? I’ve been feeling it quite a lot lately.
I’m one of those people who gets super irritated when I hear that others with anxiety and depression don’t take their meds. “What are they thinking?! They should know better! Feeling fine doesn’t mean don’t take the meds, it means your meds work!”
I am also a person who sometimes stops taking her meds.
But no, wait, I’ve got reasons, you see. Super selfish, private, ridiculous reasons. So it’s ok, right? No. No it isn’t ok. I am a person who stops taking her meds, and it is never good or ok.
I had one of these times recently. It always starts the same way: I forget them once and then I forget again the next day and start the rationalization game. Hey! I don’t feel sick to my stomach every minute! I feel good. Normal. Rational. Then all my other private reasons show themselves and I’m completely on board with this stupid idea. What I don’t notice, ever, shockingly, is that I start to get annoyed at little things. I start to lose my temper with the family. I snap. It still doesn’t click with me at these times that my snappiness is because I’m not taking meds. I am always able to convince myself that depression means I’m sad if I don’t take meds.
If you’re a person who believes depression equals sad, please let me help you understand something: that’s just false. Depression, especially when coupled with anxiety, shows itself in many ways and it isn’t just being sad.
Like I was saying, though, I did this recently. It was the worst possible time to do it- conference week- because my anxiety was already running on its highest level. My conferences were fine, though. I’m always fine with my kids and parents at work. Sometimes I snap at coworkers, but my kids are always priority one and my job is pretty sacred. I was, however, a downright ass to Husband and Daughter.
I finally realized my jerkiness and linked it with how long it had been since I took my meds when I felt frustrated to the point of tears at the family. I went and took my meds. I knew I’d be on the mend.
But psych meds don’t work right away, at least not the daily, slow release ones. So, even though I had made a good choice again, I was still in my extreme anxiety mode. This showed itself at the grocery store. It was a completely ridiculous situation in which I had wanted to purchase something but missed my chance, and I was about to lose it. It wasn’t something important, it was not a necessity, it was just something which would have been nice. And there I stood, about to collapse in on myself.
Husband looked at me. One look. He knew. He saw me worse than I ever am, about to snap. In that moment, in the grocery store, he grabbed my face and he kissed me. This is very rare, for him to show that sort of affection in public. He’s a hand holder and a hugger, but almost never a kisser. It shocked me enough that it pulled me back to myself, and it was in such a way that I knew I was loved so much. Despite my impending break, despite how often I had snapped at him in the last several days, he took a moment to show me how much he loves me. And he looked in my eyes, and just said, “It’s ok.” He knew exactly what to do to bring me to reality, to show me I was valued and loved, and to let me know that I couldn’t mess it up.
Oh my man, I love him so.