About a year ago, I came off my antidepressants.
—
I remember the day I went to a psychiatrist and told him I was lost, more than lost, crazy lost, and that I wanted antidepressants right now, this second, because I knew they existed and there was no way I was going to let myself be this mess of a woman.
“Okay,” he’d said.
I hadn’t slept for years. I would wake up from my half-sleeps with the world already screaming in my head. I handled it like I was personally responsible for putting it back in order.
Then as I would walk down the stairs to make my coffee, my own problems would begin to percolate, with absolutely no hierarchy to them. Chaos, the environment, anxiety, my friend’s breakup, powerlessness, my coffee being too strong…
Everything was overwhelming.
“Overwhelm is a sign of depression,” he had said.
Ah, I thought. I had figured something was wrong. My life was feeling more and more like The Upside Down*. Everything was slowly getting grey, and lonely, and dark.
—
He had piercing green…