Confession#5-I Need Medication

So I’m very open about my depression (online at least) and I wanted to let everyone know that I scheduled an appointment with a psychiatrist, so she can tell me if pills would be a suitable option for me.

I have always rejected the idea. To admit I need medication is to admit I have a problem. And don’t we all just want to be normal? We don’t want to be lesser in anyway. Sure, it’s not my fault that I have depression, but it doesn’t matter whose fault it is. I’m handicapped. I’m not normal. It’s tough to get a grip on that.

But I decided that I need medication. I asked myself the big question: what is the meaning of life? Surprisingly, it was an easy question. Sex. The reason we’re alive today and the reason our species will survive for a long time is because we have sex and we reproduce. Reproduction is our purpose. Plain and simple. It’s the purpose of every living thing. Everyone just wants to keep their species going. When life first began, there might have been organisms that didn’t feel the need to reproduce, but…they didn’t reproduce, so now they’re dead and it’s just us sex-addicts that survived.

Some of you are probably saying, “Well, sex is great, but I don’t get up every morning just to have sex. That’s not why I keep going.” You’re right. If you think of the meaning of life in those terms, than the meaning of life is simply to be happy. You keep living because you want to. Life makes you happy and if it doesn’t, then there is hope (small or large) that you will be happy in the future. If you didn’t have happiness or hope of happiness, you would commit suicide (well, maybe. I’ll get to that).

I’m a bit of an exception, though. I don’t feel happy now and I don’t feel any hope. In fact, one of the symptoms of depression is hopelessness. I’m still here because my genetic programming makes me scared of death and scared of more pain by attempting suicide. And as horrible as my life might seem, it is not so horrible that I could look past my fear and search out death. Instead, I have passively hoped for death to find me.

Right, sorry, we’re getting dark. Anyways, I reasoned that there are things making me unhappy that I can change. For instance, in order to get past my social anxiety, I need to be social. Also, I want to look better and I can do that by exercising more. But here’s the trouble. I do exercise and I think that I am in decent shape, but I’m still not happy. Even despite the endorphins, I’m not happy. And always, after a while, I stop exercising because I lose the energy. I’m not strong enough. With my social anxiety, I can rarely be outgoing on a regular basis. Again, I lose the energy. I’m not strong enough. I embarrass myself once and I can’t take it anymore. Behind the embarrassment is improvement and success, but I just can’t get behind the embarrassment. It makes me feel worse and I don’t have the motivation to push through.

“You can motivate yourself,” you guys say, “Just tell yourself to do it. Just make one step and you’ll follow through with the rest of the steps.” No, that’s not how it works. My motivation is so bad that it took me a full week to send a nonimportant email to one of my professors. There were no negative consequences. I just didn’t feel comfortable doing it and it took me an entire week. You can try and force me, but if you force me to socialize, you might trigger an anxiety attack. Please don’t do that.

So what’s going on with my terrible motivation and my depression as a whole? Well, my neurotransmitters are all out of whack. Specifically, I am low in serotonin, dopamine, and norepinephrine. I won’t go into all the science because I’m already rambling as it is, but the point is that I’m missing neurotransmitters and there’s not much I can do without medication. Without medication, I can’t alter the levels of neurotransmitters in my body in order to get the motivation and happiness I need to enjoy a meaningful life.

That’s why I need the pills. I’m missing out on the meaning of life. Without pills to give me the extra neurotransmitters I need, I won’t be happy and I can’t be happy. I’ll be stuck waiting for a miracle.

Ironically, the notion that medication could give me a life with hope, gives me hope already. I’m excited to be normal. I’m excited to be happy. I deserve it. I’m not a saint, but everyone deserves to be happy. I wouldn’t wish this condition on anyone else. It has brought me to some very, very low spots. 

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