I immediately stopped my meds after I gave birth and given a year for symptom-monitoring before I was cleared off. During the year, I still talk to my psychiatrist about the big events that happened in my life, in case it would be significant to his investigation. Like the passing of my dad and how I dealt with it. He had assured me that it is easier to come to term with death when the deceased had been ill for a long time, that nothing is wrong when I didn’t heavily mourn over it. Now and then, the weird feelings of sudden sadness revisit, but this time my head is clearer to just swipe them off aside, sometimes with the help of good food, sometimes with the help of a dUCk. Ha!
I won’t say I came out of it unscathed. But at least my body parts are still intact. Kidding. I lost a good deal from it. But I gained a good deal too. Like learning to be independent (I managed to attend all the session on my own, that is such a huge achievement in my life!) and to first understand why people behave a certain way. I learned to forgive. I learned imperfections. I learned love.
I will miss having someone whose job is to listen to all my teeny tiny complaints no matter how small. Psychiatrists are busy people, you know. One time I tried to re-schedule my appointment to match my work schedule, the only slot empty is a month later. That time when I cry no shame in front of a med student who was on training when I was asked if I have a close friend I could talk things too. Ha ha. I genuinely hope that med student turned into a good psychiatrist. I had that in mind when I allowed her into my session.
It was indeed a long emotionally exhausting journey, but one I would treasure throughout my life.
But yeah, I hope there is no second time of it.
For aren’t we all an Alice, one time or another.
Tumbling down our own rabbit-hole.
Goodbye, depression. It was nice meeting you. Scary, but nice nevertheless.