Bottles on my bedside table…

Yup, they are there. Sometimes it seems like tons of them. Here’s why: I have battled depression for what seems like all of my life. Since I was a teenager, really, possibly longer. That might explain why I used to come home from school and just go to sleep. In any case, it has been a long time. And since I have had what can be qualified as three major depressions in my life (actually 4 that I have had treatment for), I will need to be on antidepressants for the rest of my life.

Recently I had the worst episode – I’ve taken to calling it a breakdown – and have gotten a new diagnosis: bipolar (most likely bipolar II, meaning that I don’t have super manic episodes). And so extra meds have been added. Here’s what sits on my bedside table: my antidepressant, of which I take 4 pills each morning; my mood stabilizer, just one of those each morning (larger dose in one pill, to be truthful); sleeping pill, which I sometimes take a half of when I can fall asleep at night, but I am not taking that one as much; anti-anxiety med, which I take as needed… sometimes a half during the day and/or a half or whole in the evening (depending on my twitchiness/agitation); and the new med that is for keeping me asleep at night (the sleeping pill was only working for about 5 hours) and which is a complicated combo of mood stabilizer and antipsychotic that works well at low doses for treating insomnia. Erm, yeah, I am on an antipsychotic med.

The point here, now that I have spelled this all out and made myself sound a lot more crazy than I really am, is that although these pills help me (to not want to stay in bed all day, to not freak out and obsess about every little thing and to actually get some sleep at night), they do not define me. Because the important part of all of this is that the meds make me better able to live my life! They make me able to be true to *me* and not true to the depression or the anxiety. They make it possible for me to write this blog! Isn’t that to your benefit, lovely reader? So that’s the last that I will write about those bottles on my bedside table unless they seem to stop working… if you see me writing about them a lot in the future, please slap me around and tell me to talk to my psychiatrist!!

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