my relationship with anxiety medication

TW: mental illness, anxiety, depression, irrational behavior

it’s been just over a year since i first started my medication for anxiety and depression. when i first started on it, i was so happy. getting that prescription helped me cope with  and come to terms with the fact that everything was not okay. the bottle was something tangible for me, something i could hold in the palm of my hand as if to reassure me. it truly made me feel less alone. it gave me an external source of strength when i didn’t have any left within me. but then one day something inside me changed and looking at my medication instead filled me with resentment and shame.

white and yellow

i stare down at the tiny pill in the palm of my hand; some kind of magic mix of chemicals encased in a yellow and white shell. Zoloft. annoyed that my brain doesn’t regulate these neurochemicals by itself.

taking my meds became routine – wake up, have breakfast, medication. it became so automatic that sometimes i would forget if i even took it or not. “did you see me take my medication this morning.” at this point, i didn’t even think twice about taking the medication. i still had bi-weekly check-ins with my doctor to talk about symptoms, i was actively looking into therapy options, i was still on that weird high from finally telling my family about my struggles. i kept myself accountable.

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