I read my past posts and I cringe a little. I cringe because my posts seem so glossy and so happy, and this past week… Well, this past week has been a struggle to say the least. You see, in late April I decided to start weaning myself off of Zoloft. Not because I wanna act tough and be “strong,” (which is a load of crap anyway, because having a mental illness does not make one weak, let’s just get that common misconception straight) and not because I feel the need to prove how big my God is. He is big enough to do that on His own. I decided to slowly stop taking Zoloft because my husband and I want to have another baby.
Now that I mentioned that, I’ll answer your follow up questions. Yes, we are fully aware we already have 3 kids. Yes, we know we live in a 3 bedroom house. No, we do not plan on moving. Since when was it a requirement for every kid to have their own room? Oh sorry, I forgot, you were asking the questions. Ok, let’s continue. Yeah, here’s a tough question: If you’re so depressed why do you want to have another baby? Now, I can give you this long drawn out answer, but simply put: I love my kids more than I hate my depression. And y’all I already have a love for this baby that we haven’t even conceived yet. It’s crazy, and I can’t explain it, but that’s what happening right now.
So, I started by cutting my pill in half and just taking half a dose for a couple of weeks. I didn’t notice much of a difference, and still felt pretty darn good. Then I started taking a half does every other day. Again, still felt good. Then I started taking a half does every few days… and I started to get more irritable, but no depression yet, which was hopeful. I could live with irritability and just bathe in Balance and Citrus Bliss oil all day, right? Then I stopped taking my Zoloft. I refilled my ‘script, and then I came home and it just sat there for 2 weeks. I wasn’t really planning on the last day being the last day, but it was. This second week off the Zoloft has been a very difficult week. My emotions are all over the place. I cry at the drop of a hat. These familiar feelings that defy all the logic in my head are screaming at me. I hate these feelings… Mostly, I hate the nights. When it’s quiet and my mind is racing and I can’t get it to shut off. My mind reminds me of all these perceived “failures” that are too ridiculous to write down. I mean, really, if I didn’t get something done that was on my To-Do List it turns into me being the worst wife/mother/daughter/sister/friend/fill in the blank. I’m telling you, it’s ridiculous. My brain thrives off of facts and structure and logic. In almost any other circumstance, I push feelings aside and simply look at the facts. But right not my feelings are on freakin’ overload and screaming at me and silencing my facts loving brain…
I don’t really have a way to end this post, but I can tell you I feel much better after writing all this down. So there we have it. There are my struggles, not really solved, but acknowledged.