I feel alive.
Yeah. Yeah. My heart beats. My brain functions (barely). I talk and walk without assistance also.
But, mostly, I feel alive because the good Dr. Patel gave me an antidepressant that works. I have not gained weight. My skin does not itch. It’s affordable.
Oh, and I feel alive.
First, I want to do things. I want to experience senses. I want to finish this novel for the love of God.
Thanks to my antidepressant.
Second, if you’re anti-vaccination and anti-medication, save your rants. No one knows me better than me, and if you ever dealt with depressive episodes of Bipolar II, you know never to dissuade someone from taking care of their health, even in pill form.
Third, before the antidepressant, getting out of bed required multiple counts of persuasion and/or my husband or kids reminding me that, yeah, the yellow shining through our windows came from the sun. Laundry piled. My husband and kids ate takeout.
Of course, I’m censoring other dramatic effects of my episodes because I’m fond of privacy. Thus, I’m not the type of kid to put my biz in the streets (Thanks, QTip, of A Tribe Called Quest).
Fourth, I’m editing and writing like never before. I can put sentences together. Words flow without issue or pause. To be a writer without word access is simply sad, and Depression’s sad enough as the disorder dictates.
Finally, I’m smile because my snarky self is back. My wits dancing without abandon. No one can check me, except my husband and mother. I’m good.
I feel alive for the first time in two months (Longest Depressive Episode Ever!).
Sometimes, pills hurt, and sometimes, they help. For me, my experience belongs to the latter. I’m grateful to have found the right combination to see me through the day, and I wish the same for others fighting for their lives daily.
Never give up hope.
Never forget who you are.
Never forget to breathe and feel alive.
Remember…Sunshine Over Showers.
First Picture: Courtesy of Marta DeWinter
Second Picture: Courtesy of blackchristianreads.com