Not “days of thunder”; swirling rafts of dank grey fog twist around me today, forcing lights and wakeful driving. Blue is peeping through the cloud edges slowly.
It’s been a week with the consistency of cold porridge. The sort that is water and basic oats, no syrup, no milk, sets like concrete in stomach and saucepan.
A feeling word picture. I’m on sertraline, an anti depressant, for the next few months. I am so suprised at the back up it is giving me. A lift sufficient that I walk to work, train in the gym and pool and am rebuilding my relationship with God who needs to be the most important person in my life. And is the one I treat the worst sometimes!
Transparency forces me to admit that the first few weeks felt dreadful. Dry mouth, queasy stomach, anxious, and very sleepy – with a brain feeling like scrambled egg.
It kicked in after 3 solid weeks. Sufficient for a job interview, for smiling with, enough for me to forget that social overindulgence is my downfall still! I need to learn to rest and slow life a little. I’d forgotten how normal it feels to wake up after a good night and not pace around in the morning to stay the ridiculous tears that are drawn like rising sap. Not life giving just depression’s unexpected downside. Costa coffee has probably survived without my Sunday morning attendance.
When I was in my late teens and early twenties, I remember being told that Christians shouldn’t need anti-depressants and well meaning folk may tell you not to take them. I take an inhaler for asthma. I’ve not heard anyone tell me it is a slur on my faith to want to use medicinal support for fairly inadequate lungs. Medicated, I have walked mountain ridges even if they are what another friend calls “practice mountains”
I am happy to concur with my doctor’s advice and co-operate. My only regret is the stubborn heart that thought I could do it by myself and was too proud to ask for help.