Why I Shouldn’t Have Gotten Off My Mental Health Meds

I created this while smack-dab in a low mental health place over the Summer. My anxiety was causing my hand to no-joke shake with the paint brush in it, yet I felt so sure: everything I was going through (everything I ever go through) was material; it will take me somewhere.

Well, it happened again.

I feel like life for me over the past decade has basically been this: me scurrying around scooping up my marbles, then losing them again. Scoop em up, lose em again. Scoop, lose, scoop, lose.

The particular Marble Scattering that just occurred, though, I mostly did to myself.

In late Spring, I had successfully thrived through several consecutive months of strong mental wellbeing and successful management of my ADHD symptoms. I had all my personal/home support systems in check, was straddling clouds of inspiration and creativity, found myself plowing through to-do lists and social endeavors like a John Deere tractor, enjoyed almost all of my inner thoughts about myself and the world, and generally found life to be manageable, maybe even - dare I say it - easy.

Let me pause here to offer my medication backdrop: My anti-anxiety go-to med for these ten years has been Lexipro. I have done lots of personal development around acceptance of this gift from modern medicine; therapy and inner work have assisted in my slow descent off the pedestal that used to be a shrine to my ego. When anxiety first presented in my early thirties, I used to sit on that pedestal - suffering and panic-ridden - as if by not accepting the assistance of pharmaceutical intervention I somehow was stronger (albeit iller). But then I got wiser. I've written a "Medication Manifesto" to myself and have it tucked away in my journal for regular review, its core message that I am strong for all the work I put into my wellness - medication included - and that it's not cheating. After all, strong people accept help.

But, after having just explained to you how much comfort I had worked hard for surrounding the gift of Lexipro, I still had this quiet eagerness to get off of it. Without even consciously knowing it, I think I was secretly looking for enough evidence, enough stability, enough consecutive weeks/months of my marbles well-kept to warrant an off-ramp from anti-anxiety meds.

In May, I was solid. And I was ready to hit the eject button to my pal, Lexipro. I said, "Thanks, old friend. You were there for me when I needed you, but life is telling me I'm ready to move along now. I'm grateful for you, and I will now say my goodbyes. SEE YA!"

So, I did. I removed Lexipro from my regiment.

Oh friends, that was not the right move.

I don't mean to throw life under the bus (because it's just doing its thang, nothing personal of course), but shortly after I said ta-ta to Lexipro, I did unexpectedly lose my favorite housecleaner/laundrymanager/homeorganizer (my beloved Jane) and I did transition from school mode into summer mode with four kids around (I thought I had a balanced-out summer plan with proper self care but apparently not - the ample amounts of me-time I glean during the school year didn't transfer over) and I did have back-to-back houseguests (which sorta throws me off without enough reset time between).

Actually, to be fair, life only threw the first curveball in that list. The others I knew were coming. I was just too much of a dingbat to not account for them when I made my "I"m OK to go off Lexipro" decision. Like I said, I was in conquer-life mode when I made the decision, not prepare-for-the-worst mode. Oh, and also, I was on Lexipro when I made the decision to go off Lexipro. Kinda twisty, the way that works.

By early July, I had lost a couple marbles. I was instantly aware... on standby as I ramped up mindfulness meditation and self care as best I could. But by mid July I had lost the whole lot of those fucking things, my mind a pretty panicky and whacked-out place, my body affected by sleep loss, appetite loss, heart racing, and overall pretty darn shaky.

I texted my favorite full-disclosure people to fill them in and got back on Lexipro on July 14th.

It's been a slow return to mental health wellness since.

And, since I'm 76% not embarrassed about it, I'll say that because Lexipro was taking a much longer time to kick in and since I was forced to admit that I couldn't handle continuing to go downhill during the wait, I layered on a second medication to try to get some relief.

And I did.

So, here I am - a little beat up and weary - but better. Much, much better. And fully aware that anti-anxiety meds might be in my life for a lot longer than I was expecting. I can live with that.

I'll stop here to share with you what one of my favorite people gifted me as I was getting better:

I was feeling like my inner tube might actually be losing air, but it turns out if you're breathing then you're doing the most important thing right and that must have meant my head was in fact above the water.

Thank you, my dear friend who reminded me of this when I needed it most.

Now onto a confession that is related by a thin chord to my Summer/Early Fall mental health bottoming-out.

It probably comes as no surprise to those who know me that I'm a sharer. I'm often filterless, No Holds Barred, unbridled, honest. Sharing by writing often exposes me further, and that's by choice. I tend to just wholeheartedly put it out there. This style isn't for everyone, I know. (Some of my peeps probably silently wonder, "Does she know she can have a thought and keep it to herself?") I've adopted two philosophies surrounding this: #1) That, while my sharing might not be for everyone, it might just be for someone. #2) That, in a time when public consumption of personal information is often one-dimensional (think social media), the light shining on only one surface area of the complex stones of our lives, I'd like to offer for public consumption the gritty angles, too... the unpolished, rugged surfaces of our crazy geodes. The spotlight belongs on those parts, too, because if those angles of all of our lives are only allowed to be seen by the darkness, then that darkness and its bedmate - isolation - will start consuming the best, glittery parts, too. Darkness, the selfish bastard.

On to the confession.

I liked my dress in the picture below. I had found it by sheer luck at a consignment shop just in the nick of time for the fanciest gala of the year Scott, through work, invites me to. Bag in hand, I skipped out of that shop like a toddler with an ice cream cone, a childish grin on my face. At this point, I was finally feeling good internally, I was pumped about a steal of a deal on the most glamorous dress I've ever owned (frugality for me is like crack cocaine), and was genuinely eagerly to go on a date night with my husband knowing I'd feel pretty.

So, when the night came, I had one of our kids take this picture on the way out the door and no sooner had I proofed it (no lipstick smears? all four eyes opened? how're my boobs... even and in the right places?) did I plaster the hell out of it on my Facebook page.

Can I admit that I checked probably six times throughout the gala to delight in the Facebook comments and likes? OK: a dozen times. OK: fifty.

Gaaaah. Why am I such a shallow son of a gun?

My closest peeps knew this was a happy ending photo to a Marble-Losing period of time (which is probably why I fell a bit into social media self-involvement in wanting people to see it). The other twenty-two and a half Facebook friends of mine - the ones who haven't seen me since high school or college or acquaintances from church/school or even my neighbors on the street - they don't know the following:

1) That the weight loss that allowed me to fit into this dress was the unhealthy kind, the kind not won voluntarily nor by hard work. In fact, during the past couple months, I'd look at my body in the mirror and frown at my diminishing, gaunt figure, thinking I was wasting away. Since, with my anxiety, my appetite decreases and feelings of nauseousness increase, this weight loss was a mental health by-product, not a get-skinny phase.

2) That whatever toneness that might present in this photo is a product of exercising almost daily during this bad patch; the endorphins offered by a cardio work-out were some of the only things that made me feel mentally better. So, while I am a lover of running, I don't necessarily normally run every single day. I had been running every single day. Again, this extremeness is a mental health by-product, not a get-fit phase.

3) That the smile on my face is genuine and real and relatively freshly so. Most pictures from the previous period would not have been so, given that I was struggling so big time.

4) That my front yard normally looks like that of the family in "Overboard" before Goldie Hawn straightens them out: we don't take good care of our belongings or our lawn. The frame barely cuts out bikes, balls, cardboard boxes used for play, toys, weeds, and a gaggle of kids. Glam is not how we roll normally, which, along with reasons #1-3, is why this picture can come across as ashamedly deceptive.

It's ultimately ok to get gussied up by comparison to my normally sloppy life. It's even OK to share it. Just as long, in my belief, as I'm sharing all of the other difficult angles of my life in an equally bright light... which is what I hope this post does.

Thanks for hearing out my most recent dip in mental health.

It's. All. Material. It'll take me somewhere... hopefully to the someone reading who needs it most.