Monday, 4 May 2015
The daisies were all up - numerous, hundreds of the blighters - ahead of me, in my peripheral vision, squashed under foot. If I'd begun counting them I would surely have sent myself to sleep. One... two... three... A delightful distraction, a cornucopia of jolly petals, they saw away the apprehensions, a few of the worries circulating around my head...
But what if this and what if that... and what if I end up the same again... and what if I can't cope... and the pms - what of that... but my hormones... my bloody hormones...what if it's a wasted effort... what if I have to start over again... but it's been nearly three years... I have to give this a try... I have to give this a chance... I have changed... my life has changed... I think I'm ready to give this a go.
I have bought a pill cutter to cut the pills. The blade is sharp and slices through the compounds like butter. I blow away the tiny specks, the afterthoughts of the blade. The dosage is accurate or near enough. A week ago I reduced the dosage from 20 mgs to 10 mgs but too much too soon; after five days I felt strange, out of body, tearful and nauseous. So I had to start again. I bought the cutter and increased the dosage to 15 mgs instead. It made the difference. I felt lighter, near enough okay, a little off kilter in the evenings - the chemicals wearing thin.
I am weaning myself off them, the anti-depressants, but gently, gently does it, tread with caution, tread with care; the side effects are like wild horses, untameable, uncontrollable. The best way forwards (for me) is slow and steady. After three years of artificially created stability (and very necessary) it will take time to reduce the dosage to nothing, maybe even a year or more. 15 mgs for four months, then 10, then five, then as small as the cutter can cut... to specks. It will take time for my brain to reset itself, like taking a month to walk down a small flight of stairs.
I don't want the illness to return (and I'm sure it won't). But I am nervous.
And I am headed towards that time of my life. No more blood. No more eggs... and the flippin' hormones, those raging harpies... but... but... but...
I have to give this a go.
It doesn't sit well, no, no, not at all - the idea of being on medication long term. My poor, over worked liver needs a rest. I love the idea of a good night's sleep, free from the stimulation and the neon vivid dreams, dreams brighter and fresher than spring green grass, but too brilliant and too real (I won't talk about the nightmares). I have a structure in place. I have yoga and writing. I have a good diet and meditation. I have a plan...
These pills have served me well. I needed them. They brought me to a better place, saw me through the tough times of trauma, stress and depression. I need to see where I stand now... I need to see a new lay of the land, count all those beautiful daisies.
I am currently raising money for The Birth Trauma Association through my writing: writing was one of the biggest healers in my battle with post natal illness. If you would like to sponsor me, and find out more, please go to my Just Giving Page. Thank you. It really is for a great cause.