But despite my robust health, I have been a worrier, and in my senior
year of high school finally developed the one thing it had not occurred
to me to worry about - depression. In the years following, depression
has come and gone in various cycles lasting from 2 days to 3-4 months,
with months to years of relative contentment in between. I've been
seeing a Christian counselor since I was 20 to combat this, and have
gained an enormous amount of personal insight and healthy coping
mechanisms. I have also taken St. John's Wort, Celexa, Zoloft and now
Prozac.
Depression has become my handicap; not the cancer, the diabetes or the
actual loss of limbs or senses. The patterns of the affliction have
become as familiar to me as going through the motions of brushing my
teeth. Yet I have struggled against it, tried to justify it, resisted
medication, embraced suffering, sought and found God within it, and
eventually hit bottom and begun the rise back up to normalcy.
I particularly resisted medication for a long time. Only when I went
through a truly horrific bout when I turned thirty did I finally succumb
and start on Celexa, eventually switching to Zoloft. It always seemed
to me that taking medication meant that I was truly helpless and out of
control; that it being a chemical issue meant that I couldn't fix it on
my own. I still believe that a lot of my depression is due to my poor
coping skills and overactive imagination; but during an extended bout of
depression my serotonin levels get so low that I am unable to pull
myself back out of despair. The thought of being on medication for the
rest of my life seems unendurable. I see the whole Prozac phenomenon as
unnatural and an easy escape from coping.
Lying on the couch in my office during my lunch break one day, I wept
at the life that I saw stretching ahead of me; where I would
periodically be incapacitated by depression and the difficulties that
might arise if I married or had children. And a little voice in my head
pointed out that this was my handicap… that if I had useless legs
I would use a wheelchair, wouldn't I? Then why was I (figuratively)
dragging myself along the ground, refusing to use a wheelchair or
crutches because it wasn't "natural?" It's ludicrous; and likewise,
suffering needlessly through depression and despair is the same as
dragging myself down the hallway. Yeah, I could get where I'm going
eventually, but it would be mighty unpleasant and take a very long time!
So for now, my crutch is Prozac. Maybe, years down the road, they'll
figure out another way to combat depression that I don't find so...
upsetting.
